#my attempts at kicking writers block in the teeth

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[trashmouth-richie]

I feel like I’m really bad at prompts so I’m just gonna go with my “do’s” from costar today…

Stomping. Instant coffee. Cold* shower.

*“Cold” autocorrected to “come” and I almost didn’t fix it, soooo…do with that what you will.

OH MY LOVE.

hoping my slutty choices for this prompt find you well.

18+, no minors, acts of sex, yay.

**peep my little hints at 90s tv and movies—there are 4 🖤

<1k

send me a prompt from this post ! (writers block is killing me !)

Cold beads of water trickle like ice down your body. Making your already pert nipples stand at attention and harden in an instant. 

Cursing the boy you’ve been best friends with since diapers, you turn the faucet off in a quickened haste— exiting the tub in an anything but graceful fashion, stubbing your toes on the way out. 

“Eddie!” your shrill voice is clouded by the throbbing in your foot and the chatter in your teeth. “Did you pay the water bill?”  

One job, the menace had one job— one duty for the small shared apartment, and it was to pay the water bill each month. 

Wrapping yourself in a threadbare towel that had once been a swim towel for an uppity family— you stomp down to his bedroom, kicking open the door with enough rage to channel Jackie Chan.

You should have knocked. Fuck, why didn’t you knock? 

Eddie was naked.

Pale-moon colored ass on display. 

Thigh muscles rippled beneath dark patchwork tattoos, arms that never looked muscly suddenly flexed tight. A veiny hand wrapped tight around a black haired pony tail. Hips, his hips were— fucking, thrusting, pounding. 

His mouth was slack, slick like an oil painting, head back and eyes rolled to squinted ivory surrounded with a colossal woodland of thick lashes.

Sweat coated his brow, dribbling down until it collected on his cupids bow, a salty pooled tease. His rougey lips were spit coated, sheer— glossy— begging for your tongue to taste them. 

Your heart thumped loudly, heat in your core on its own tempo, hot and deep. 

And then you hear it. 

A whimper. Softer than silk, low, whiny, almost sweetly pathetic in its delivery from a deep space in his throat. 

Your cheeks warm, cunt heated like a fire, sirens going off for extreme temperatures. 

Oh—fuck.

His eyes meet yours and you hold his gaze for a second. The clouded look of a man being sucked dry took over his normal instant coffee colored irises. Glaucoma esque beauty in the dark swirls, and you wet your lips at the sight of him— at Eddie Munson— resident freak of Hawkins and your best friend. 

Jesus.

Both your lips explicitly mutter words with eyes wild doe like. His going from lazy pleasure to shock. Yours were covered with your palm, the other reaching, fumbling for the door knob. 

Apologizing profusely you suddenly stammer around clearing your throat and trying to leave ASAP. 

The towel around your middle, the only thing keeping you decent, glides to the ground—falling gently like that fucking feather in opening scenes of Forest Gump. Practically in slow motion but still too quick for your blind shut eyes to catch it. 

Fuck.

Pulling with both hands on the knob your heart races to shut the door, not registering that the towel is wedged tight between the frame, making it impossible to shut. 

Shit shitshitshitshitSHIT

With a last feeble attempt of yanking your arms, the latch clicks into place and you beeline to your room with a slam of your door so hard it ricocheted off the walls, making a framed picture of you and Eddie at a Metallica concert fall to the ground, shattering the glass.

What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

Your heart boomed in your ears, back stuck to the door like you were holding it up. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Eddie naked, pretty sure your entire graduating class saw him naked on more than one occasion. But this?! This was so mouthwatering better than any other time. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin at the burned image of Eddie getting head on your retinas. The two of you had never crossed those lines. Each dating, fucking around it never once crossed your mind what he would be like in the sack, or what his sack would be like in your mouth. 

You’re pleased when you don’t cringe at the dirty thoughts of him— it felt like second nature, like eve seeing adam —lol okay maybe not, but still! What your mind was conjuring up was biblical. 

A giggle surpasses your lips and you wipe a line of drool from the corner of your mouth. Nerves finally settling as your realization hits— who was it?

It wasn’t Sarah, you hadn’t seen her since last fall. Eddie had said she started dating Steve—his comic book “arch nemesis” but in reality another bestie, who spent most of his time wallowing on your couch about Nancy than he did actually going on dates. 

Mary ended up being a virgin—preacher’s daughter, one of seven. He stopped seeing Clarissa after she wouldn’t stop over explaining every single minute detail of her day. Could it be the girl with the green leather jacket? Darla? Daria? 

The horny ache in your belly soured like curdled milk. 

How dare her (whoever she was!) The thought of someone other than you pulling those noises from Eddie suddenly set you on edge. Rage burned through your veins like lightning. Spidering and leeching to your skin. 

The pajamas you had taken off before your shower lay in a heap on your floor and you quickly yanked them on. Muttering to yourself about every vile thing you could imagine about whoever the lucky girl was who currently had a mouthful of your roommate. 

You needed to leave. The clouds of embarrassment eased overhead, colliding with the lightning making a storm brew deep beneath your surface and you be damned if you were going to let the rain fall whilst still in this apartment. 

Keys in your palm you throw open your bedroom door, ready to bolt through your apartment and down to your car— destination unknown. 

You nearly knock him over in your attempt to run. But you’re stopped cold by sweaty bangs, a heaving chest, and the same stupid pair of boxers that had small tears along the elastic from years of wear. 

“Sweetheart…” he coaxed, voice so sugary and laced with tiny shreds of venom it could ice a wedding cake— then strike you dead. 

You had seen plenty of Eddie today, your body screamed for you to leave, but your feet were stuck in the icing, waiting for the bomb to drop. 

Warmth from your cheeks from your shame could keep a trailer with broken windows warm in a blizzard—your stomach flipped— dropped like lead as his next words hit like a bullet. 

“We need to talk.” 

part two

steve tied up

[thezombieprostitute]

Dream Come True - Part 3

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

Warnings: Violence mentioned and referenced, not written. Insecure reader. Bullying with an emphasis on fat shaming. Please let me know if I miss any!

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

Ransom was not having a good day. Truth be told, he hadn't had a good day since Steve punched his stomach over a week ago. The writer's block had hit harder than usual. Many applicants for the Assistant position were garbage, completely upsetting his idea that you just needed to google the right answers.

He was starting to realize that Fatso, as he had taken to calling her in his head, was able to help him through his writing blocks because she had the context of the other questions, some rough draft information, and she'd include ways to use her research into the story. Maybe he just needed to actually hire someone from the "competent" file and try from there?

Problem was, time was an issue. His writer's block had kicked in hard and his publisher was getting more impatient about updates. He spent so much time just staring at his computer.

He was startled out of his contemplation by a phone call. If it was his publisher he'd just ignore it but the Caller ID showed "Steve Rogers".

Ransom answered, "Rogers! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where the hell are you Drysdale?" Steve was quiet growling into the phone. Indicating he was around others.

"What do you mean?"

"The damned Stark party? Raising funds for Rhodes's campaign?!" Ransom could swear he heard Steve's teeth grinding. "You're supposed to be here chatting with Mrs. Devereaux. Buttering her up to at least not donate to Wilford?!"

"Shit," Ransom jumped up and ran towards his closet. "Tell her I'll be there in 20 minutes. If she needs an excuse, I was writing up a storm. I'll make it up to her by naming a character after her or something."

"Just. Get. Here." Steve hung up.

Yeah, Ransom was not having a good day.

Your life was returning to some sense of normalcy. The crutches were a pain but, thankfully, you didn't have a lot of places to go. You wanted to get back to working as quickly as you could, if only to feel like you were actually earning some of the money you'd been given.

But you'd kept your promise to be safe, and allow yourself to heal. You did your best to keep within the movement restrictions you were given. Part of you was still waiting for that hospital bill. Yes, Curtis, Dr. Beck, even Jake and Jefferson all said it was taken care of but part of you still waited for that dreaded notice of nonpayment.

Thankfully the cybercafe wasn't too far and you were able to convince the J's (as they told you to call them) that it was the perfect distance for your needed exercise and movement and you'd sit at the cafe long enough to rest for the return trip. You were happy to get back to tutoring the girls in the afternoons. Your mornings were spent applying for other jobs.

One morning your applications were interrupted by Jake.

"Hey, Y/N, this is Hal," Jake gestured to the handsome, shirt-haired man, wearing a too small shirt, next to him. "He's here to work with you towards getting his GED.”

"Oh, yes," you perk up. "Curtis mentioned another possible student." You reach out your hand and Hal, grinning even wider, shakes it.

"It's mighty kind of you to agree to this," he began. "I've been meaning to fill in that gap on my resume for some time.”

"Well I'm happy to help you with that. Please, have a seat so we can get started?”

Hal pulls out the nearest chair and turns it so that he sits on it backwards, his muscly arms resting on the back of the chair.

"So, is this a time that works for you," you ask. "I've got a pretty open schedule so your time preferences are get priority.”

"Well," he hesitates, "my schedule is pretty all-over-the-place. Is there any chance we could take it a week at a time?”

"Sure," you affirm. "As long as you give me notice so I'm not sitting here doing nothing.”

"Yes, ma'am," Hal nods. "I'm not in the habit of leaving pretty girls wanting." He gives a wink but you drop your eyes and sigh.

"Hal," you scold. "I'm going to guess you're the type to hit on anything that breathes?”

Clearly taken aback by your tone Hal straightens in his seat. "No," he denies. "Maybe. I swear I was just trying to compliment you.”

You pause your comeback and take a deep breath instead. "I suppose there is a difference," you concede. “Just please be careful with both of those around me. I am not a "pretty girl" and I do not appreciate being addressed as such.”

Hal's eyebrows furrow in confusion so you continue, "let's just keep the compliments related to our work? Please? I'd always prefer being smart or nice to being pretty." You give him a small smile and he visibly relaxes.

"Sure thing, Teach," he says. "So, where should we start?”

Curtis was cleaning up the interrogation room after Barnes and Fowler's latest “message” to Rumlow’s crew. They had already taken the body to drop it off on Rumlow's front door, Curtis would make sure all evidence was removed from the room. It was ugly work but maybe, just maybe, Rumlow would stop trying to push his drugs and thugs in their territory.

He was finishing up when he got a text from Jefferson saying Hal’s first session went well. He normally doesn't need these kinds of updates from the legitimate side of things but he found himself rather invested in your progress. You were unusual. A puzzle he wanted to figure out.

Or so he kept telling himself to explain why he was thinking about you so much. You’d shown yourself to be sweet and patient with others but he remembers the fire with which you spoke to him. He almost felt like a moth drawn to your light but he had to keep himself in check. For now it was enough to know you were doing well and helping his family.

At least until he got the follow up text from Jefferson saying, “Ran is looking for Teach. Ok to share info?”

Curtis felt his jaw tighten. The pompous ass had fired someone for taking a bullet. He didn't want him anywhere near you. He was sure you wouldn't want to see Ransom, either. Jake had told him you'd blocked your former boss’s number and his emails would go straight to spam. He texted back a simple “no.” Let the asshole suffer.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would.

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@texmexdarling

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[7-wonders]

Between Wrath and Mercy

Sith!Ankain Skywalker x Rebel!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Finding yourself in a fight with Darth Maul, you quickly realize that you're way out of your depth. Unfortunately, no one's coming to save you. Aha, unless?

Word Count: 2.0k

A note from the author: Remember how I was like, "I'm having a lot of trouble writing the words aren't coming like they used to"? I think this helped to unclog a bit of the writer's block I've had. Maybe I just need to write for a different fandom for a bit. This takes place in my Rebel!reader fic-verse (gender-neutral reader!), but before What You Stand to Lose. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (especially the latter two), and I hope you enjoy!

How do I keep ending up in situations like this? you wonder as you dodge yet another Sith Lord’s lightsaber strike and immediately counter it with your own.

That’s a stupid question, because you know how. You decided to join the Rebel Alliance, to fight for a noble cause, and now your life is pretty consistently put in mortal danger. Still, when a mission to try and convince the head of Crimson Dawn that you were all fighting for the same goal was proposed, you were the first to volunteer. Maybe it’s a desperation to prove yourself as useful that made you do it, or maybe you need to remind yourself that you’re working for something good. Regardless, you had been stupid and self-assured, enough so that General Kessyk had given you a small team to command and sent you on your way to Corellia.

Said small team is now incapacitated, rendered useless almost the moment you had ambushed the Crimson Dawn leader who had turned out to be none other than Darth Maul—a surprise to you all, since Dryden Voss is the public face of the syndicate. This revelation completely turned your game plan on its head, as you’re now left to face his wrath alone.

And he has a lot of wrath.

“Look, if you would just listen for a moment,” you yell at him over the sound of electricity humming, “I think you would see that we all want the same thing!”

“And what thing is that?” Darth Maul snarls, raising his blade above his head and attempting to crash it down on top of you.

You meet it with your own, gritting your teeth under the strain as you attempt to hold him back. “The end of the Galactic Empire!”

He bears down harder in response, and your arms begin to shake. Knowing when to give up some yield is half the success in battle, so you adjust your strategy and drop to your knees, doing a quick roll to get some space in between you. He turns to face you once more, his yellow eyes so filled with hatred that it makes a frightened whimper get stuck in your throat.

“Please, we only came to talk. We can be allies!” you plead.

“What happens after the Empire is defeated? We part on good terms and go our separate ways?” Maul shakes his head, twirling his saber and stalking towards you. “No. At the end of the day, the Sith will always be an enemy. I will always be an enemy.”

“I’m sure that—woah!” He renews his attacks with vigor, clearly done talking. Unfortunately for him, you’re not done. “I’m sure that the Rebel Alliance would be happy to negotiate some sort of treaty.”

“I have had enough of arrogant little Force users thinking that they can change the galaxy with ‘the power of goodness,’” he mocks. “You are not the first to approach me with your misguided ideals.”

Maul kicks the center of your chest and sends you falling to the ground, a position you never want to find yourself in when fighting for your life. Attempting to scramble backward is made extra difficult with the lightsaber in your hand, and it’s only delaying the inevitable as Maul follows you slowly, a predator stalking his prey. With a firm smack, your saber goes flying out of your reach.

He holds his lightsaber to your chest and smirks down at you as it burns a hole through the fabric of your shirt. “But you will be the last.”

You raise both hands up in a last-ditch plea, though you know it’s for naught. This is it. You’ve lost. You’ll become just another name on the long list of lives lost as sacrifices for the fight for a better tomorrow.

Though you’d like to say that a sense of peace comes over you as you stare your impending death in the eyes, that’s not the case. You’re scared out of your mind, actually, and the only thing comforting you is the fact that it’ll be a quick death. With that in mind, you close your eyes and await the inevitable.

But the inevitable never comes. Where you were expecting pain and darkness, there’s simply darkness from screwing your eyes shut. After a couple of long moments, you hesitantly open your eyes. Darth Maul no longer looms over you. Instead, he’s a few feet away, engaged in battle with someone else.

“It was foolish of me to believe that Kenobi could actually finish the job and successfully kill somebody for once,” he spits, twirling his saber in his hand as another red saber clashes with his.

“You said it, not me!”

Belatedly, you realize that you know that cocky, annoying voice. Sure enough, Darth Vader is now Darth Maul’s opponent, and he’s faring much better than you had. His helmet is off, allowing you to see the arrogant grin he’s sporting, and his blond curls fly around his face as he swings his lightsaber through the air.

“Vader?” you call, still feeling like your eyes are deceiving you. 

He looks over at you, his grin somehow getting bigger. “C’mon, get up and help me out!”

You stumble to your feet and call your lightsaber back to your hand using the Force, but remain back. Vader doesn’t need your help, because he’s very clearly winning. You would only be a hindrance if you were to join, so instead, you watch.

Even if you didn’t know that the two Sith lords had been trained for a very long time, their fighting styles would make it obvious. The way that they move, so fluidly and deadly, is an art form. It almost looks like a dance, if a dance could end in somebody’s death.

“Darth Sidious won’t be pleased when he finds out you’re helping out the Rebel Alliance,” Darth Maul taunts, bending over backward to avoid a swing.

Darth Vader curses at the near-miss. “Oh, but I’m not.”

“Then what do you call this?”

He looks over his shoulder and winks at you. “Helping the one particular Rebel that I have a vested interest in.”

“Pathetic!” Darth Maul spits.

Vader’s lightsaber makes contact with the palm of Maul’s hand, and he yells out in pain. He catches his saber with his other hand before it can fall to the ground, but he’s unable to grip it with both hands now. Though he could fight one-handed, against somebody as talented as Darth Vader, he wouldn’t be very successful. The light from his saber disappears as he extinguishes it, giving one curt nod before he backs off.

“This is not the end,” he promises.

“No, I don’t believe it is.”

Though Vader could very easily finish him, there are rules to a battle. When one willingly concedes, the fight is over, no matter how much the other wishes that it wasn’t. You and Vader both watch as Maul makes it to his ship and escapes, flying high above your heads and away from Corellia.

Vader turns his attention to you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms and looking you up and down. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You were the one about to die.”

“I had it under control,” you claim, even though you very much did not have it under control. “And I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That’s not what it looked like to me.” 

His fingers move to the open hole in your shirt left by Maul’s lightsaber above your heart. The skin there is shiny from a light burn—it’s nothing that will hinder you in the long run, but it does sting a bit, especially when Vader lightly touches this wound. You hiss through your teeth, but he doesn’t move.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he notes, his voice soft from concentration.

Your cheeks burn at this because you know there are a couple of reasons for your racing heart, and only one of them is from the exertion of battle. Wiggling your hands up, you get enough of a space that you can lightly push yourself away from Vader.

“What are you—how did you know that I would be here?” you demand, having been under the assumption that everybody had done very well in making sure this was a top-secret mission.

“We received some intel that the Rebel Alliance would be making a rather stupid attempt at reaching out to Crimson Dawn. I was going to just let Maul have at it, but then I thought, ‘What are the odds that my Rebel would be involved in this?’”

“I am not your Rebel.” The way that he looks at you, like you mean something to him, makes your heart clench in a way that you don’t want to consider right now. Onto the next subject, then. “Why did you help me in the first place? You could have let him kill me. You should have let him kill me, actually. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you just want me to join you and go against every one of my morals.”

“I still have morals, Rebel. If you were willing to listen, to be open-minded, I think you’d find that the Dark Side is not evil. Where the Light Side wanted their Jedi to shirk all of their emotions and attachments, the Dark Side encourages those emotions. Anger, sadness, passion…love. Sith believe in a world where we’re all free to feel what we want, to allow that which scares us to be out in the open so that we may overpower it. You can’t tell me that this sounds evil.”

You remain silent, because you don’t know what to think. With how Vader puts it, the Dark Side doesn’t sound all evil. Actions speak louder than words, however, and you’ve seen the terror and devastation that the Empire and the Dark Side have unleashed on the galaxy. You’re not willing to dwell on it right now (or ever, really; just thinking about the possibility of Vader’s words having some validity makes you feel like you’re betraying the Rebel Alliance), so you force it to the back of your mind and refuse to think about it any longer.

“Well, I think my work here is done,” Vader declares with a sigh, clipping his saber back onto his belt.

You look at him in confusion. “Wait, you’re not…going to force me to be your apprentice? I mean, now’s kind of the perfect time.” You don’t want him to do so, but you were sure you knew what his end goal was, since he’s made it clear every other time you’ve encountered him.

“It is,” he agrees. “But I’ve decided that it does no good to have you join me against your will. When the time comes, you’ll give yourself to me—to the Dark Side willingly.”

He sounds so sure of this, like it’s a foregone conclusion. You’re about to argue, to insist once more that you’ll never join him, when you hear groaning behind you.

“Looks like your crew is starting to come to,” Vader notes. “I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t doubt that, but you won’t let him know that. “I sure hope not.”

He laughs, already walking to his own ship. “Make sure to get that burn checked out so that it doesn’t get infected!” he yells to you.

The groaning gets louder before you can tell him to not tell you what to do, and somebody calls your name sluggishly. Your pilot is trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, and the others aren’t far behind him in waking up. You get ready to help, as all good Rebels do—because that’s what you are, someone good and helpful and nothing at all like the Sith Lord that increasingly occupies your thoughts as of late.

You’re not like him, you tell yourself, and you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that you won’t ever be like him.

[thebellearchives]

hi there, i'm new to your blog. would you consider fluff 18 for sukuna?

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐘

~ ryomen sukuna ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : you’ve been stuck on a bad moment of your life for a while, thankfully someone comes along to break that monotony

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : fem!reader, non-curse!au, sukuna has his own body but is still described with yuuji’s physical appearance, slightly suggestive, fluff, consumption of alcohol, weapons (reader almost gets mugged)

‧₊˚ a / n : hi anon! i hope you’re still around 😭?! writer’s block’s been kicking my ass lately so i hope this didn’t turn out too bad (once again did not proofread) ): enjoy the reading ~

You told yourself over and over again: going through a rough patch in your life is normal. It will pass. But this one rough patch seemed to be turning into a particularly long one. Loneliness was the worst part, but you also knew you didn’t want to have anyone around either, so you started going out alone. Going to the movies alone, going to coffee shops alone, even started frequenting this one bar. It was a pretty establishment, fancy but not too much, people generally minded their own business and the music was just perfect, at a certain point you even wondered if they had been playing songs directly from your playlist. Nights at the bar were nice, sipping on your favourite drink and enjoying the music, nothing out of the ordinary ever happened… until it did.

Not like it was usual for you to get hung up on guys at first sight, but the sound of his voice on a thursday night set butterflies loose inside you. He was taller than you, a handsome smirk danced playfully on his lips, tattoos covered the visible skin of his arms as disappeared under a black shirt that stuck to him like a second skin. Curves of muscle decorated his torso and his arms, and he was talking to you. Dark crimson eyes staring right back at you, the smell of his cologne enticed you the moment you perceived it. Sparks between both of you were instantaneous. Confident, almost arrogant, flirtatious comments from him made of that night one you wouldn’t forget for the next years. So when it was time to leave you decided to not say much, kept your address a secret, leaving on your own and saying you might see each other again in a stupid attempt at keeping some kind of mystery.

“I’ll be looking forward to it sugar” he leaned back into the wall as he watched you leave with a smug smile.

And so you returned the next thursday, and once again you both ended up in the dark alleyway next to the bar’s back door. You left with tingling lips and teeth marks. And then the next thursday, those marks had started traveling lower, jaw, the crook of your neck, even your shoulders. The little affair had your head turning in circles, the way his strong arms held your melting figure so firmly, his intense irises making your body shake, that damn smirk of his that spiked your heart rate. So the next thursday your decided to let your fingers linger on top of his hands and pull him playfully away from your hiding place. You tried to lead him towards your apartment, the sweet taste of alcohol and his mouth lingering on your tongue. Unfortunately, it didn’t go as planned.

Something cold and pointy was placed against your lower back, almost piercing fabric and threatening to injure your skin. You almost swore all your drinks evaporated from your bloodstream in an instant, suddenly going cold and a chill running throughout you.

“Tough luck pretty girl, give me that purse of yours and i might think about letting you go unharmed” a voice came up from behind you, tour breath got stuck in your throat.

“What’d you say, scum?” the moment your lover came closer and the street lamp’s illuminated his figure the blade faltered, the man took a step back.

Sukuna pulled you out of the way by your arm and you quickly moved away to step behind him, your eyes finally meeting the stranger who had just tried to rob you. The tingling of the sharp dagger falling to the floor was followed by the dull thud of his chest hitting the wall, Sukuna held him there from his shirt, his shoes almost didn’t touch the ground.

“Wait! I didn’t- It wasn’t my intention to-”

“It wasn’t your intention to hurt her? Then what was that pathetic bad quality dagger doing pressed against her back, you lowlife?”

Your shocked eyes could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of you. Part of you wanted to stop him, fearing whatever could happen next if his anger kept rising, but another part of you demanded to see the man get the punishment he deserved. Thankfully you didn’t have to make a decision, because with a displeased expression on his face Sukuna relaxed the grip on his shirt until the robber was able to feel the floor underneath him once again, pupils blown and gasping for air.

“You’re lucky I don’t think the lady should watch this, but if i see you again…”

“You won’t! You won’t”

He didn’t add anything else, but swung the man from his shirt and tossed him towards the street. Stumbling, he struggled to stand on both his feet again, but quickly ran away, not looking back. Still shocked at everything that had just happened and with your heart pumping quicker than ever, you watched him run away, until Sukuna’s voice brought you back down to earth.

“Are you alright?” he walked up to you inquisitively, your eyes snapped back to his.

“Yes. Yeah I’m fine” with a sigh you walked up to him to bury yourself into his arms and chest, he held you there firmly “I’m fine thanks to you”

Sukuna held you close, one of his hands cradling your head and threading fingers into your hair.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I just… feel calmer when I'm with you”

[sparrowrye]

A Little Something….

Update + Snippet

Greetings my little devils. Thank you, as always, for being so persistent in your patience with me! I’m hitting quite the writer’s block as I start the transition between DEMI DEMON and a new Alastor x Reader story.

It’s a late Spring cleaning for us! Expect pinned posts to be rewritten, new pinned ones to come out (super excited about some of these), and a few polls about the current or new story.

Part 15: boiling blood is half written and boy is it spicy 🌶️ I’ll update you when I’m close to posting it

As a little gift for your patience, here’s a snippet I wrote awhile back. It was the first part of a random story I had and the inspiration came from these images (at the bottom) on Pinterest - my unhealthy addiction

Enjoy!

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

My hands gripped the edges of the stone sink as I sucked in a shaky breath. My legs were ready to give out at any moment. My recent patient nearly died and it had taken nearly all my energy to bring him back from the land of the dead. He was a fighter and his memories alone were enough of suck the very life out of my lungs; memories that were familiar to me.

I splashed my face with the ice cold water before I could trail down that dark path. My bones ached, a migraine pressed at the front of my head, and my throat was horribly dry. I gulped down several mouthfuls of water before looking at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were red and chronic dark circles under my eyes dragged my skin down. I looked half dead, which to be fair, wasn't really far from the truth. I grabbed the small towel and dried my face. I kept it pressed against my eyes, enjoying the only clean and sand-free thing I owned.

When I looked back in the mirror, hoping to see a slight improvement in my features, I noticed a dark figure in the doorway.

I spun, hand extended. A silver blade flew from my sleeve and buried its tip in the stone. I instantly recognized the tall ears, skinny cane, and red coat. His lips pulled back to reveal a yellow-teeth smile. His head remained still as his eyes glanced over at the knife a few inches from his face.

"Was that out of respect or inaccuracy?" he asked.

"What do you think?" I lowered my hand and took two steps back.

"Good to see you haven't lost your touch." His sharp claws tapped his cane one at a time. He brought a hand up to examine the knife still buried three-quarters of the way in the stone. He recognized the art of the handle. "Or my gift."

"Weapons aren't allowed in this settlement," I justified. "It's the only one I have." I mentally kicked myself. I had just admitted to being defenseless.

He grabbed the handle and pried it out of the wall with one swift pull. He examined the blade in his hand, glancing up to look at me briefly through his red hair. Had it gotten darker? "Come, dear," he curled the knife in his hand and turned away, "we have much to discuss."

I clenched my hands into fists at my side. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"We're not going anywhere," he said over his shoulder so nonchalantly, "but it's rude not to entertain a guest. Especially at such a late hour." I followed to the entrance of my room and watched him lean against the wall closest to the stove. "You remember how I like my coffee."

"At such a late hour?" I mocked, taking only a few steps from my room.

"I have business to attend to at the Hive. Traveling at all hours of the day gets us there sooner." His eyes glanced briefly at the stove as an incentive.

I swallowed on nothing. "I'm not going to entertain you after you nearly killed me and Creo when we escaped." The memory of my brother and I trying to make our escape had always burned in the back of my mind.

Alastor gave a fake gasp, still sporting his stupid smile, and put a hand on his chest. "I did not try to kill you..." His smile molded into a smirk. "That was the attempt before your successful one."

"We almost died on that cliff!" I took a daring step forward.

He shrugged and put both hands on his cane, swiveling it around in front of him. He cocked his head to the side. "It did what I wanted. You broke your foot and couldn't attempt it again for weeks."

My voice dropped an octave. "You did more than just break my foot while I was stuck with you."

"May we have this conversation over coffee? I am so very tired and we have much to discuss." He lifted the knife from his cane and spun it once in his fingers, eyes glancing sideways at me. I knew what he was implying.

I pulled in a deep breath then I crossed the room to start the coffee. The embers in the stove were enough for the dry weeds to catch flame. I closed the metal door and brought out the coffee pot. I dropped the powder in and put it on the stone plate over the fire.

"What do you want?" I asked, turning to lean against the adjacent wall so I could have him in my full sights. My arms crossed my chest protectively.

"Tell me about this life of yours." He gestured to the small cave.

"It's simple and perfect. Wouldn't want to ever leave it."

"Why's that? Surely you're bored here."

My heart was beating in my ears now. "I'm not leaving. And neither is Creo."

"Quit being so defensive, my dear." He pushed off the wall and swung his arms dramatically. "We are merely two acquaintances catching up after a seven year parting."

I couldn't abate the nausea that was creeping into my throat. I was so nervous it was making me sick. "Is that we are?"

"You don't believe so?"

"'I am the master and you the servant. Heed my words carefully,'" I repeated the phrase that had haunted me for years.

"I recall saying that within the first year of you joining me," he sounded unfazed. "Our dynamic changed as the years went on."

"Careful, Alastor," I dared to say his name in such a casual manner, "someone might think we're lovers."

He closed his eyes with a soft chuckle. Being lovers had been insinuated by the warriors after my first two years with him. He had always kept me at his side and put aside time to find ways to enhance my magic or my vision seeking. It had never been anything more than rumors. Eventually they were silenced when Husker, the captain, earned enough credit among the ranks for them to believe him when he said Alastor and I were master and student, not lovers.

When Alastor opened his eyes again they were already looking at me. "I must say, I do enjoy seeing this new you. Not as timid and afraid as you once were." It took him three steps to cross the small kitchen and stand an inch from me. He towered above me like he always had, making me shrink under his daunting shadow.

"W-well, I've grown," I replied. "Seven years can do a lot for someone." I leaned against the poorly melded counter, nails scraping the stone on either side of my hip. His familiar, overpowering scent of smoke and incest filled my nose. It made the world kilter to one side.

"Indeed it does. Perhaps you will hear me out then." He leaned down so our faces were inches apart. My back was hurting from bending it so far over the counter in an attempt to keep the distance. I casted my eyes down at my hands on the edge of the counter, at my shirt, at anything other than him.

A blade snapped up in my vision. I let out a gasp as the edge barely caught my nose. Cold claws grabbed my wrist and wrenched it off the counter. His red, beady eyes stared back at me, focusing less on the knife and more on my eyes. It was hard to breathe.

The knife dropped into the palm of my hand and I flinched. My eyes darted down to the weapon as he gradually moved closer, red hair brushing against my cheek. What was he going to do? I've seen him rip someone's ear off before. Nothing but red filled my vision as he pressed me further into the counter. His breath was hot on my ear.

"The coffee is boiling."

He abruptly straightened up and took a single step back. I sucked in fresh air, eyes jumping from him to the kettle. The sight of the brown liquid spilling on the hot stone pulled me out of my daze. I grabbed the pot and put it on a single plate full of cold sand to keep it from toppling over. I slipped the knife into my sleeve holster and brushed past him to grab a mug, careful not to actually touch him. I drew in another deep breath.

The kitchenware was stored in a cabinet further from the stove, also dug into the rock. We had only two mugs - for two people. They were probably the finest, straightest thing we owned. They were a cool, maroon color and had a wide base.

I grabbed the two mugs and poured a full cup in one and half in the other. I made sure to use the non-chipped mug for him. When I turned to hand it to him, he had already seated himself at the living room table. His legs were folded neatly under him and his staff resting not too far. I hated when he moved silently - it was unsettling.

Biting the inside of my lip, I passed over to the carpeted area and placed the mug in front of him. His eyes examined the simple mug before bringing it to his lips, taking a long inhale of the steam. His eyes flicked up to mine as I pretended to take a sip of my own cup.

"Your taste in coffee has sweetened," he remarked into the mug, finally tasting it.

"Creo doesn't like the dark brand you drink."

"But you do."

"Not anymore." I placed the warm mug on the table and leaned on my elbows. I pressed my hands against the hog mug in an effort to keep myself from fidgeting.

"Your elbows, dear," he corrected.

I had half the mind to ignore him but the last thing I needed was to give him a reason to be angry or annoyed. The uneasy feeling in my stomach grew as I pulled my elbows off the table and tapped a finger against the clay cup.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you," he glanced at me briefly over the rim of the mug, "I have an audience with Lucifer in the Hive."

"No. Why are you here? It's not like you to be away from the front lines and when you do you're quick to get back. So why bother stopping in a small, unimportant village?"

His smile quirked to the side. He placed the mug down, using his pinky finger to keep it from hitting the table too hard, mostly out of sheer habit since the table was covered in rugs and wool.

"Perceptive, as always." He placed his hands in his lap, back straight and manners reigned in perfectly. "Well, my dear, I had a vision of this very conversation. I planned my route to the Hive and stopped only at the nearest villages that I knew had their residents living in stone."

A vision. How developed was that skill, now? He had them quite often when I was with him but now it's been seven years. Surely he developed that skill exponentially. Is that why he hadn't flinched when I threw my knife?

"Most villages live in stone," I said, unsure of what to say.

"Not anymore, my dear. They have no need to be with the Humans securely behind Sharptooth's pass."

"Then why look for me? Why waste your time going to villages to find me? Surely you've already found a replacement healer for your army. That wouldn't be very smart of you if you hadn't."

"Indeed I did." He lifted the mug to drink again. He must be pretty tired if he's drinking sweet coffee.

"So then why are you here talking to me?" I asked again. He took his time, eyes closed as he drank the thick coffee, and let the silence hold over our heads. I could remember how uncomfortable it once made me when he created prolonged silence. I felt it creeping back into my bones, struggling to shove it down and stare at him until he was ready to speak again.

Finally he lowered the mug. His claws stayed wrapped around the handle as he placed it on the table. "I had not intended for you to stay away for so long. My spy's past caught up to him and died on his mission to follow you. I intend to bring you back."

There it is. I knew what he wanted but hearing him say it still hit me like a train. My hands pressed into the mug so hard that I worried it might crack and shatter. Fear gripped my shoulders and held my spine in place. His eyes stayed firmly locked with mine as I struggled to find my words. I had to pry my eyes away from his and stare down at the dark liquid.

But did he say...

He had let me stay away? Did that mean he had let me escape on purpose? How long was he planning to let me try to make a life on my own before roping me back in? Who had been the spy?

"I will not be going back with you," I said slowly. It felt like I was standing in the center of a metal rabbit trap, the claws ready to snap up and decapitate me. "I fought tooth and nail for this life, for Creo. You won't take it from us."

He let out a sigh, his smile still pressed in his cheeks. "Is it really one you wish to risk your safety, your brother's safety, over?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He tilted his head so his ears waved. He lifted the mug to his lips again, eyes never once leaving mine. He sounded genuinely interested in my answer.

My palms turned up to the ceiling, mouth moving but no words coming out. How could he be serious? My life was hell with him and his army. He knew how to twist my thoughts around so I went the other route. "Creo's life isn't being threatened. He's not at risk for dying from a Human attack. And he's not being influenced by the tough, respect-less army lifestyle.”

"You view it as respect-less?" He sounded surprised, curious even, at the term.

"Among each other," I revised, "I don't want him adopting their behavior." My back was starting to hurt.

"He is not six years old anymore," he lowered the mug just enough to say his part, "he's now, what, fourteen?”

"Sixteen," I answered. "Still an impressionable age."

"Most people his age have their occupation or are married. It appears he has found his occupation." He glanced around at the various gadgets and inventions littering the place.

"He's finishing his childhood since he didn't have one."

"He's a man, my dear, no longer a boy."

"My answer is no. We are not coming with you."

He placed the mug down. "Then leave him. I only need you."

"We don't separate."

He broke his manners by placing his elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the back of his hand.  "You realize you are the one who makes these things difficult? I am not to blame anymore."

"We are not going with you," I punctuated each word. "You will have to drag me by my teeth." Even as I said it, I wish I hadn't. I knew he would do it if it came to that. He wasn't above anything.

"How unfortunate." He grabbed his staff and stood. I was faster, on my feet in an instant and ready for him to do something dangerous. "You've lost your good manners in my absence."

He looked to the front door as two men burst through it, dragging Creo's hissing form. They were dressed in red and both held a struggling arm. One of them had a tight grip on the back of his neck. Creo dug his feet into the ground and tried to wrench himself free.

The men forced him onto his knees and the one man pulled on his hair so he was forced to look up at Alastor. The Demon took a single stride to stand above him. "My my, you've grown quite a lot," he crossed his arms and leaned heavily on his red cane, "You were barely past my knees last I saw you. Do you remember me?"

"Should I?" Creo hissed when the man pulled tighter on his hair.

"Indeed. That burn mark on the back of your neck is my crest." He reached a single claw around to press on the spot under his long hair. Creo's eyes fell to me. "You belong to me."

"He doesn't know how to fight like your warriors," I said, voice echoing too loudly off the walls. Alastor straightened up and turned his head just enough to look at me out the corner of his eye. "He has no use for your army."

"No use? I see a bright mind eager to explore his skills and limitations." He looked at the random metal objects and inventions lying around the cave. "I could easily provide materials and guidance to a gifted inventor."

"Neither of us are going with you." It didn't sound as firm as I wanted.

His eyes found mine. "I am gracing you with one more opportunity, meerkat," he used the condescending nickname. "Return with me willingly and I ensure Creo stays out of my ranks and out of harm's way. If I have to...drag you back by your teeth...he will remain on the front lines." He leaned his cane sideways and watched, waited, for my answer.

Why hadn't I received a vision about this? I had lost touch with that skill since leaving Alastor but surely my mind would've predicted this? Would've saved me? Yet I had no vision. I was standing before Alastor and about to determine how my life, and Creo's, would go. Why could I never keep either of us safe? Why was it so hard to keep our lives secure? To give us a normal life?

Alastor was uprooting us. We had found a place to let our roots grow but he was pulling us up as if the soil had been sand this whole time. He was taking us away from a shady, moist area and placing us in a plant pot in the middle of the desert.

I didn't know how to feel. I was at a complete loss. My heart felt like it had been wrenched out. I had believed wholeheartedly that I had managed to evade him, to finally outsmart him and hide away. Our city was far from the front lines and he had no reason to be so far back into Duner territory. It was thanks to his audience with the King that he had found me.

"What do you say, my dear?" He stepped closer and the sound of his cane tapping the stone sounded like a key locking the cage door.

There was no debate. Alastor had spent half his life fighting, meaning I wouldn't be able to beat him in a one on one fight. Even if I had a chance, I didn't want to bank Creo's safety on it. If I fought Alastor and lost, he would put Creo on the front lines. I may never see him again. I lowered my head, staring at the tip of his black boots.

"Okay."

"What was that?" He took another step forward. It felt like the corners of the room were darkening.

"I will go with you."

He stepped closer still, claw coming up to push my chin up. His red face was clouding my entire vision and his canine teeth poked out of his lips in an ugly smirk.

"Willingly?" he pressed.

"Yes," I clenched my teeth in a snarl but it was far from one. He raised his eyebrows and examined my face with half lidded, knowing eyes. My lips closed over my teeth. "Yes, Alastor."

He hummed in satisfaction. "Come dear, show me that lovely smile. You know you're never fully dressed without one!"

[rosewaterandivy]

5. a ticket to anywhere

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, depictions of bar fights, winter holidays (Christmas), call outs to It’s A Wonderful Life, two idiots making bad decisions in spite of their feelings, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. 

A/N: Ohmygod, sorry for falling off the face of the earth! Had a bit a writer’s block with this bad boy, but hopefully that’s rectified now. Here’s 5K of idiots being bad at feelings; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

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Then - Winter break, December

Going to The Hideout the last day of term was tradition. A celebratory drink to kick off the festivities of winter break (mostly sleeping in, if you were being honest) and relax a bit. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards tonight. As Steve quickly found out at the bar.

“Funny seeing you here Harrington,” he says, sipping from his pint glass. “Would’ve throught the two of you’d be cozied up by now.”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble,” Steve says, signaling for the bartender, “Just ordering drinks and I’ll be on my way.”

He pauses, considering Steve’s words. A scoff as he shakes his head, “Course she didn’t tell you, figures.”

Steve ticks his jaw, fuse growing shorter and shorter the longer he stands here with him. He should’ve just sent Robin to get the drinks. 

“Not at all curious why we broke up?”

That about tears it. 

He turns to your ex, appraising him in his drunken stupor. “No offense,” he spits, “But I could give a fuck about your excuse for putting her through all that.” 

“Mm, I see.” He signals for another drink, “Guess it doesn’t matter the reason, as long as you get yours, eh?”

“Excuse me?”

Kyle sets the drinks down in front of Steve, staying close to keep an eye on the situation. Steve nods in thanks.

“Well,” he sighs, grabbing the drinks in both hands, “I would say it was nice talkin’ to ya, but we both know that’s a lie.”

He’s halfway back to the table when he hears it, a snide voice ringing out from the bar: “Told her it’s ‘cause I didn’t want your sloppy seconds.”

Steve stops short, beer sloshing over the glasses where they’re balanced between his hands. Robin sees as he girts his teeth, jaw strained. She hops up from the booth and takes the drinks from him, nods when he says, “Keep her distracted or get her out of here.”

The bar isn’t silent by any means, but the regulars know enough to be wary as Steve turns on his heel and slowly walks toward the man in question. “What was that now?”

His voice is soft, just loud enough for it to pique your ex’s interest. He turns toward Steve, smirk fixed on his face. “Too many knocks to the head Harrington? I said—“

Thumb tucked over his fingers and knees slightly bent, like your dad taught him, Steve’s fist collides with the man’s jaw before he can finish the sentence, liquor and spit spilling from his mouth. He stumbles back against the barstools, attempting to stand back up.

“Think that’s last call for you,” Kyle says, sliding the bill toward him, voice gruff. “Close out and leave.”

His eyes narrow as he wipes his mouth, hand coming away bloody. “Considering the circumstances,” he spits on the floor, saliva tinted red, “I think you’ll find my tab comped for the trouble.”

Steve remains where he is, both stunned by his own actions and terrified for any retaliation. Kyle looks from the man in front of him to Steve and back to the booth where Robin is struggling to restrain you. 

“Considering the circumstances, I think you’ll find yourself banned from The Hideout.” He sighs, exasperated, “Come back to fuck around and find out,” he warns eyeing you as you make your way toward them, “And I’ll let Trouble finish the job.”

He takes the hint, shrugging into his jacket as he walks toward the door. “Sorry sweetheart,” he calls out mockingly, “I tried. Seems like Harrington just can’t take a hint!”

“Hey, fucko!” 

You’re in the middle of it before Robin or Steve and wrangle you back - one hand fisting his jacket, knuckles turning white as the shirt beneath, teeth bared and glinting in the light. Your nose is pressed up against his, voice biting and acidic when you hiss, “You feeling brave today?”

Steve is suddenly reminded of that fact that you played roller derby in college. And you were scary good. Not just the skating and endurance, but the shit-talking and intimidation tactics, too. The occasional brawl. He swallows audibly, earning a look from Robin.

Shocked silent, your ex shakes his head furiously and you exhale, satisfied with the response. 

Slowly, your fist uncurls, leaving a wrinkled shape of your fingers and thumb in a vengeful imprint. With a calm smoothing of your palm, you press the jacket flat and leave the bar without another word.

Eddie finds you in the parking lot as he’s walking in to The Hideout. Shivering in the cold as the adrenaline leaves your body. Coat left behind in the booth, your wrap your arms around yourself for warmth. 

He drops his jacket around your shoulders and turns you around. “Hey killer,” he greets with a soft smile. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You nod as he leads you to his car, opening the door for you to slip in. You’re reeling from the confrontation with your drunk ex-fiancé and the fact that Steve punched him–holyshit–and then bartender Kyle banned him.

What the actual fuck.

Eddie is quiet as he pulls onto the main drag, fingers tapping along with the beat of the music. You’d wager Metallica or Dio, but it sounds an awful lot like—

“Jeremy spoke in class today,” Eddie warbles out in his best Eddie Vedder impression. 

It’s enough for you to crack a smile at the ridiculousness of it all. To be fair, it was a truly terrible impression, a disservice to both Eddie as a singer and the frontman of Pearl Jam.

“There it is,” he says, noticing your smile, “Knew you didn’t stand a chance against 90s grunge.”

He turns on a county road just outside of town, ignoring the notifications piling up on his phone. Eddie has half a mind to ask you to text Rob for him, but thinks better of it.

You’re still quiet, taking in the frosted scene outside of Hawkins. He still finds it odd that you can be this quiet, much more accustomed to your general vibe of chaos and a complete lack of impulse control. 

“Steve punched him,” you say, seemingly out of the blue, as Eddie comes to a stop by the lake. “My ex, I mean. Just popped him on the jaw after he started talking shit.”

“Huh.”

The car still thrums with heat, as you sink down into the seat closing your eyes. “I wasn’t close enough to really hear what he was saying,” you continue, “Rob was basically yelling in the booth and showing me these dumb TikToks at like, the loudest her volume could go.”

Eddie nods, knowing she was doing her best to distract you, probably at Steve’s request. 

“Then, the next thing I know, he’s back against the barstools and Steve’s winding up for another shot.”

“And you tried to stop it?”

“Yeah,” you open your eyes tiredly. “I hadn’t seen him since…” you trail off and look out the window again, “I don’t know why I did that, confronted him, I mean.”

“Did it help?”

Eddie watches as you pause, searching for the words that will somehow have this all make sense.

A slow shake of your head, “No, not really. I just wanted it to stop.”

He hums in agreement, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. 

“Why do you think he did it?”

Your voice is soft, you look so small tucked against the seat, his jacket nearly swallowing you. Eddie sighs for lack of a response, and shrugs.

“Dunno, sweetheart,” he reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze because he knows why Steve did it, he’s always known. But he can’t say shit to you about it.

He starts the car up once more, suggests something like Dairy Queen, which you readily take him up on (“Ice cream in December, fuck me up, man.”). 

You’re quiet once more which allows him to ponder exactly why Steve decided to deck your asshole ex-fiancé. 

And all he can circle back to is that god damn lab project he and Steve had back in high school, when Steve was with Nancy but, hand to god, would not look at, talk to, or breathe in Eddie’s general direction for a month after he’d learned you’d lost your virginity to him.

Poor Robin had to mediate the entire thing.

So, yeah. Eddie knows why Steve is the way he is about you. He’s known before Steve could figure it out for himself. 

The stubborn idiot was in love with you, had been half in love with you since god knew when, and had realized it, too little, too late.

Over the next few days, random thoughts and memories are fleeting through your mind and come seemingly without prompting. Just little things, you’re not sure why you’ve fixated on them. 

The conversation you had with Eddie as he painted your nails at the cabin, for example. Talking about high school and the stupid shit you’d gotten up to. Specifically, the pact: you and Eds, your parents away on business, and an empty house.

“Yeah, but I gave my v-card to you Eds,” you say, the scent of nail polish invading your nostrils.

“Pfft, on a technicality.”

You sputter indignantly, “Whaddya mean by that?” Shooing him away from your nails to blow them dry, “I give you the greatest gift I have to give and you swoop in and take a dump on me like that?!”

He laughs, moving onto your next hand, brush dipping back into the bottle of polish. “Yeah, such a travesty,” he teases you, “Everyone else has to get a sweater, huh?”

“Fuck off for real chump,” you grouse, “You should be so lucky.”

“I know babe, you’re always a delight.”

It was nice, all things considered; you wouldn’t change a thing. Steve was weird for a bit afterwards, but other than that no notes. 

Eddie was good like that, your resident fuckbuddy and “safe dick” during the lulls in your respective romantic lives.

Or when Nancy, slightly sloshed after dinner, pointed out something during the bonfire later that same trip. 

“C’mon babe,” Nancy tuts, sipping from her glass of wine, “You and Steve have been orbiting each other for years.”

“We’re friends!” you defend, voice a scoff, “Just friends.”

Nancy laughs, sets her glass down on the table. “Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself, Trouble,” she stands and stretches, blanket falling from her shoulders. She sets you with a look, a fond one tinged with concern. “But friends don’t look at each other like that.” Nods to where Steve and Eddie sit across the firepit from you.

It’s there and gone in a split second; for a fleeting moment, Steve looks at you hung the moon or something. The next, his eyes shift back to Eddie, nodding along with whatever he’d said.

Huh, you think, that’s … different.

Nancy throws the blanket over her arm and grabs her glass, ready to head in for the night. Crouches beside you, hand settling against your shoulder, head bent close to yours, “He’s never stopped that,” her breath brushes against your heated skin.

“Stopped what?”

She smiles, firelight illuminating the fond pull of her lips, “Looking at you like you’re the only star in the sky.”

These are the thoughts that torment you and bring up other instances you hadn’t considered as significant before: Steve designating you as his plus one for nearly every family function he’d been drug to, your parents looking at the pair of you with knowing smiles despite your insistence of “just friends,” Mrs. Harrington knowing you by name and Nancy as “the Wheeler girl,” your exes being perpetually possessive over you and jealous of Steve. 

The list goes on and on.

It’s as if everyone was privy to knowledge that you didn’t have.

God. Had you really been so blind?

Curled up on the night before Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve-Eve as Robin insisted, sweater paws and blankets abound. Eddie and Robin were visiting their families, and Nancy had the usual Wheeler festivities. Leaving you and Steve alone at the loft, Steve’s parents opting to vacation somewhere warm while yours visit your brother in New Mexico. Cookies had been baked, flour and frosting still dusting the counters; a panoply of colors and sprinkles. 

It’s a Wonderful Life played softly in the background, black and white images flitting across the screen. Somewhat a secret tradition between the two of you, watching the holiday classic without the usual obnoxious running commentary.

Your hand finds his chest in excitement, “This parts my–” 

“Favorite,” he drawls, “I know, honey.”

Steve’s hand drops from your shoulder to nudge your face back to the screen, fingers caressing your jaw, the high point of your cheek, “If you don’t look now, you’re gonna miss it.”

His eyes flit back up to the film, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from him. 

Lips moving along and whispering George Bailey’s lines: “What is it that you want Mary? Whaddya want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

Your hand reaches up and presses against his stubble, scratching your palm. Its familiar scrape has rested upon your head countless times. You could cry as you push back the errant hair that’s fallen across his face, returning the gestures he’s always done for you.

And in that moment, it all falls into place.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good idea,” you rasp, picking up where he left off. “I’ll give you the moon, Stevie.”

Your bare legs peak out from underneath the blanket, one hand on your thigh, the sleeves of his stolen sweatshirt loose and engulfing your fingers. The hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath – it makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you. 

He’s sick. He’s dying. He is so, so fucked.

“What...” he trails off, thought gone before he’d even begun. 

He feels split open, like the sky after a storm. Torn up completely, unable to grasp anything in his own turbulence. All because you’re looking at him like you’ve realized something.

Fuck.

You’ve always been an oblivious idiot, too stubborn for your own good, a dumbass with no survival instincts, heart on your sleeve. He’s counted on that to conceal his big, fat, stupid crush on you. And it had worked, all throughout high school, college, and the devastating news of your engagement.

Worked like a charm, up until it didn’t. And now he’s caught out, your scope trained on him like he’s a lone stag in an open field. You’ve lined up the shot, all that’s left is to pull the trigger.

Steve doesn’t think he can bear it.

“Don’t,” he pleads into the silence, head tipped up to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut in pre-emptive heartbreak. “Don’t say it–”

“Then I won’t,” you say before miming locking your lips and throwing away the key. Calm and patient as you settle your way into his lap again.

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million different outcomes and failing each time. Relationships have never quite worked out for him; too stupid, too jealous, too little, too late. 

Steve had gotten better; dated a few girls, and liked them a lot too, but they never worked out how he’d planned. And this one–this one, he really can’t fuck up.

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The curve of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your chin and the way your hair shifts— wavy strands framing your face. 

Steve’s mind blessedly stills as your lips brush his — warm and eager, coaxing his own to move at your touch, “Stop thinking Steve,” your breath fans across his lips, “And just kiss me.”

It’s surreal. He’s there, in one sense, with you curled up in his lap, watching as you press against him—palms to his chest, hips slotting against his own. 

But Steve is also recalling nights at the cabin, back in November. You, idiot that you are, without pajamas and wearing one of his shirts instead, legs bare underneath the covers. He’d woken up every day of that god forsaken trip pressed against you, sleeping better than he had in months, and painfully aware of his hard on against the perfect curve of your ass.

And you, thankfully, had never said a thing about it. And he’d never brought it up; he was mindful to give you space and extricate himself as quietly as possible before an icy cold shower.

Steve feels like he’s in two places at once, the same inscrutable emotion suspended across space and time. 

“It’s just me.” You say, comfortable and lighthearted. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer, a familiar color and gaze calling him home. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do, honey.” 

He’s scared to death, terrified and dizzy. Because Steve’s known for a while now, this is it for him. You are it, alpha and omega, beginning and end, as above so below. And it’s not at all how he thought it would be.

It’s quiet and hesitant, the seconds stretching into horrible eons of passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes tracing his face.

The knowing is what gets him. He’s never been one for genre conventions, more comfortable with the reliability of indisputable fact. And he’s flummoxed to learn that two things can be true at the same time.

It’s everything and nothing like the writers, artists, and visionaries say. Steve is in love with you: fact. Some part of him has known this since you scaled his fence, mistaking it for yours, as you tried to sneak back in your house after missing your curfew all those summers ago: fact.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all. 

It’s fleeting glances across crowded hallways, laughs echoing from classrooms, waking up in a daze having dreamt of you, last minute road trips and running through terminals to catch flights; but it’s also the melancholy as you leave for yet another date, lingering touches when you round the desk of his classroom, soft smiles meant just for him.

He really can’t fuck this up. A chance with you and your chaos, your kindness, and quick wit. It’s overwhelming, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore during a storm. Insurmountable, the pressure dissipating in his chest as he realizes it.

Steve flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself, do it, you coward, just fucking do it— and, god help him, he does.

Then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorched trails everywhere they touch, and Steve thrums like a strike of lightning trying to catch his breath. 

Steve watches the way you pull him toward you, glowing and euphoric with kiss-swollen lips, and fucking Christ, he knows.

The next morning brings a swell of guilt rising in your chest, and you know that the events of last night cannot happen again. 

Kissing Steve, your best friend, like it wasn’t some cataclysmic thing– you were such a fucking idiot. It was too much and too soon, and you’d somehow already fucked it up before it could begin.

You’d never been so grateful for Robin’s shitty timing, but her drunkenly stumbling in the loft with Vickie in tow had been enough for you to disentangle yourself from Steve and hightail it to the opposite end of the couch. 

His eyes were wide, lips pink and cheeks fevered— he wouldn’t stop looking at you. 

And you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

You exchanged greetings with Robin and Vickie before excusing yourself and heading to bed. Nancy said you could use her room for the night, so you quietly shut the door and failed to will yourself to sleep.

Now, it’s the morning of Christams Eve and you’re cleaning up the kitchen. Steve wandered in earlier, and methodically gathered the glasses and plates from the haphazard dinner you’d shared last night, only to deposit them in the sink next to you.

His fingers trailed against your forearm, sleeve rucked up as you sprayed and wiped the countertops ridding them of flour and cookie dough. 

You fail to suppress your surprised gasp at the sensation, soft and warm, with enough latent promise to give you goosebumps allover.

He lingers, fingers grasped around your elbow now. Three successive taps to ask are you okay?

Robin and Vickie’s voices trail down the hall, letting you know they’re up even if the door hasn’t opened just yet.

You swallow, finding that you’re unable to respond verbally, throat dry and tight. Nor are you able to tap back, as per your code, hands busy with cleaning. Instead, you rock back into his frame with a sigh and allow his arm to wrap around your hips.

Content with a job well done, you leave the spray and cloth on the counter and turn to face him. And, confirming Nancy’s observation, Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at; his hazel eyes soft, the green giving way to flecks of gold around his pupil, but tinged with apprehension.

And damn, if it doesn’t make you want to kiss him again.

But you can’t and you need to stop this before it goes any further. 

While there are feelings there, for the both of you (you hope), you are nowhere near ready to have that discussion with Steve. Nor do you want to unnecessarily complicate matters. You’d only just began casually dating again, for fuck’s sake.

“Steve I–,” you croak out before he stops you with his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. He’s somehow backed you against the countertop, effectively caging you in.

And you know if you asked or signaled that you were uncomfortable in any way, he’d let you go. But you find that you aren’t, in fact, you feel the opposite, Steve’s weight against you is soothing in a way; as if he’s a perfect blend of a man too attractive for his own good and a weighted blanket. 

Odd metaphor, but your addled brain allows it.

He doesn’t try to kiss you again, though the weaker part of you wouldn’t be opposed, but simply takes you in, his eyes roving across your face and body. As if he could discern your emotion or anticipate what you’d been trying to say. 

His thumb settles along the notch of bone at your hip, tracing circles through the fabric of his your hoodie. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he swallows, your eyes following the movement of his throat and the constellation of freckles there.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says eventually, voice soft but resigned.

You stare up at him, eyes wide and can feel the heat creeping up your body in embarrassment. Your hand finds purchase against his shoulder, settling there while your thumb traces the line of his collarbone. 

“I mean, I’d like to,” he clears his throat, “Eventually. But I know you’re going through a lot and I’d hate to add to that, so.” His glances down at his feet, a lovely flush on his cheeks matching the ruddy tone of his lips. 

Shit, you really need to stop staring at his lips.

“Okay.”

He gives your hips a reassuring squeeze and pushes himself upright. Steve turns to check the clock on the microwave, eyes catching the time. 

“Ready for your present?”

He’s all smiles now, eyes glinting with mischief as you let out an exasperated pfft and roll your eyes. Steve treated gift-giving like it was a competition to be won, and Steve always won, without fail from year to year.

With a nod from you, he drags you over to the chaotically decorated Christmas tree in the living room and sits down in front of it while you plop down on the ottoman. Another thing he insists on, Steve always plays Santa and hands out gifts to everyone, the one’s he’d purchased them go first, without saying.

Neither of you can remember when it started, but the pair of you always exchanged one gift on Christmas Eve. And you worked for years to get the gifts down to a certain budget and number, but somehow Steve “forgot” that agreement more and more as each year passed on. 

Despite growing up in the Harrington household, which abided by strict holiday themes and color schemes under his mother’s guiding hand, Steve could not be fucked to 1) wrap a gift with any sense of order or presentation and 2) have thematic wrapping paper or accoutrements. 

Which is how an impossibly wrapped gift proclaiming ‘Merry Rexmas!’ from shiny green T-Rexes with far too much tape and not enough wrapping paper ended up in your hand. It was also, based on its lack of weight, something that definitely should have gone in a gift bag. 

He sets you with a smirk, “Go on then, open it,” your gift for him in his hand. The lights from the tree twinkle behind him, casting Steve in a warm glow and you look to the task at hand to avoid doing something stupid.

Again.

You peel back the paper and tape to reveal a soft gray leather stamped with your initials. “It’s beautiful,” you say, as you continue to unwrap it, thumb skimming over smooth surface. 

Steve watches as you do so. “There’s uh,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper, “More on the inside.”

You quirk a brow in interest and pull the zip to open it up. Inexplicably, he’s moved all the contents of your previous wallet to this new one, you can’t help but laugh. Fingers tripping along the contents, you pull the flap at the back of the wallet to reveal not cash, but plane tickets.

“What?”

He moves from his position in front of the tree closer to you, hand settling along the ottoman. “I figured you could use a break.”

“Steve, this is too much. I–,” you stop before you give away how overcome you are. You blink back the tears threatening to fall and swallow in an effort to soothe your rapidly closing throat.

He’s quiet, contemplating whether you’re really upset with him over the extravagance of his gift. When your hand finds his, he’s reassured. He watches as you pull the tickets from the wallet and eye them warily.

You clear your throat, thumb skimming across the back of his hand, and say far too calmly, “These are for this afternoon. And there’s a ticket here with your name on it, oddly enough.”

“Huh,” he smirks, “How about that.”

“What are you playing at Harrington?”

Steve stands up, stretching casually before making his way to the hallway. You trail after him with furtive whispers of his name, needling him for some semblance of a response. He disappears into his room for a moment and returns with a backpack slung over his shoulder and not one but two rolling bags, one in white and the other in black.

“That’s not my luggage,” you say when he stops in front of you. 

It’s decidedly not your luggage because you’ve been meaning to replace it for years since it’s falling apart at the seams. Too many excursions where it had taken a beating, whether thrown into the cargo hold of a plane or strapped to the top of a rickshaw or bus, clinging on for dear life. No tag or branding in sight, but you notice the two TSA locks and leather luggage tag and file it away for further investigation.

“It is now,” is his reply as he walks you back to the living room. He places your Christmas present to him in his backpack and zips it back up before turning to you. “As much as I love the look Trouble,” he smirks, eyes working you up and down, “I think the TSA are going to insist on pants, of some kind.”

Your face colors remembering your current state. Overheated as you baked cookies the night prior, you shucked your yoga leggings and threw them on a sofa somewhere before promptly forgetting about them as the night carried on.

Locating them, you pull them hastily back on. “But I’m not packed,” you point out. Rightfully so, since the majority of your wardrobe still resides in your former home with your ex-fiancé. “And I don’t even know where we’re going. Plus,” you continue walking toward him, “I haven’t even agreed to this ridiculous idea of yours.”

Steve grins at your petulance, he’d anticipated it in fact. “Nancy helped me out, no need to worry,” he taps the white suitcase at his feet. He steps closer to you, thumb landing at the center of your chin while his other fingers fall into place curled underneath your chin and prompts you to look up at him.

“Now,” he begins, voice soft and steady, “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. But you’d mentioned wanting to get away and it was either this or spring break.” His breath fans along your cheeks, and you can pick up the scent of his coffee from earlier. “The choice is yours.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

With a sigh, you grab your new wallet and check for your phone in your leggings. Determining that as sufficient, you run a hand through your hair and say, “Did you bring my—”

“Your ridiculous pillow that makes you look like a hostage when you sleep?” He smiles and does nothing to prevent his laughter at your extravagant sleep routine. “Why yes, in fact,” he takes your hand and leads you to the door to grab your coat, purse, and shoes, “I got you the travel size so you can horrify all the passengers on the plane.”

“Lucky me,” you grouse, toeing on your boots in a huff.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a smile, “Something like that.”

[roosterbox]

Hey.

Psst. Hey. Hey!

Guess what?

It’s a special day today. How special, you might ask?

Oh, only the birthday of a certain @a-forger-and-a-point-man ! Woohoo!

Happy birthday ❤️❤️❤️

Also I wrote you a thing. Sorry if it’s sloppy - I had to do very quick work on it before the writer’s block kicked back in, lol. I think it came out pretty alright.

Tags: fluff, schmoop, baked goods? More like baked bads, love is stored in the attempt not the end result, nonbinary Eames using they/them pronouns, light references to future sexytimes, a single line of a hint of Eames wearing lingerie

———

Arthur comes home to the dulcet tones of metal crashing and muffled cursing. In any other circumstance, such a thing would have him drawing his gun, but he decides to trust his instincts on this one. Said instincts are telling him to remain calm. That everything is fine. Not normal necessarily, but fine. So his gun remains holstered at his hip as he makes his way inside.

He finds the cause in relatively short order. His kitchen, very recently completely remodeled, has seen better days. Various bowls and mixers lie strewn about on the counter. Cabinets are seemingly opened hither and thither arbitrarily. As if someone hadn’t been quite sure what they were looking for, or where, and they couldn’t be bothered to close anything behind them. His nostrils flare at the faintly scorched aroma of something being baked for a bit too long.

It didn’t take much to figure out what it was.

In the center of this disaster area stood Eames. Lovely, flour-covered Eames, currently locked in intense concentration as they put the finishing frosting touches on a cake set on the kitchen’s cleanest counter. They’re focusing so hard on their task, tongue slightly poking out and everything, that they have yet to notice Arthur’s arrival. There’s a metal cooling rack on the floor at their feet, which was undoubtedly the clanging sound from earlier. Eames was even wearing the silly apron Arthur had gifted them a few years prior. (“I saw it and thought of you,” he had said, presenting his partner with the frilly, pink gingham monstrosity. “I love it,” Eames responded, in a way that was equal parts in on the joke and completely sincere.) Seeing them in it now, Arthur finds himself loving it too.

He clears his throat.

Eames startles, jumping back a little. An extra dollop of cool blue frosting drips out of their piping bag onto the cake.

“Darling! You’re uh-“ Eames looks a little nervous. “-home early.”

“And you’ve been busy.” He makes a show of looking at the clutter surrounding them. “What have you been doing?”

His partner blushed. “Oh you know. Things.” They say this, playing coy as if there isn’t a whole frosted cake sitting right there in the open.

“Things.” Arthur steps further into the kitchen. He toys with the idea of feigning ignorance a bit more, but it’s been a long day. So instead, he shifts his attention to the cake-shaped elephant in the room. “‘Things,’ I presume?”

“Oh, this?” Eames chuckles awkwardly. It fizzles out too quickly though. “… yeah.”

They’re so uncharacteristically nervous that it’s starting to worry him. Generally, Eames’ confidence knows absolutely no bounds, even when they’re doing something they’ve never attempted before. If Eames was nervous enough for it to be this obvious…

Arthur gestures at the cake. “For me?”

Eames meets his gaze, worrying their plush lower lip between their teeth. “For you,” they confirm. “Happy birthday, my love.”

All at once, Arthur’s heart feels warm. If it hadn’t been for Kyle and Sophie at work pitching in to buy him lunch, he might have forgotten what day it was himself. It was nothing special, he might have argued. No one cares much about turning 38, after all. It’s not a big milestone like 30 or 40.

Eames, however, never forgot anything. Especially anything about Arthur.

Eames also, interestingly enough, doesn’t bake much. The lingering smell of burning leads Arthur to the one obvious conclusion about the cake between them… and the source of Eames’ nerves.

He smiles. “You didn't need to-“

Eames shakes their head. “I wanted to. Needed an excuse to stretch my legs in here, after all.”

“Mmhmm. And did stretching your legs have to involve opening all these cabinets?” He tries to keep his tone light. He’s not actually mad or put out at all, not with the evidence of Eames’ love and care sitting right in front of him.

From the grin Eames flashes, he was successful. “I wasn’t sure where you moved things to since last time.”

A likely story. Arthur gently closes the cupboard nearest to him, moving closer to Eames and his cake. Now he’s near enough to observe (and try not to giggle over) the fact that apron Eames is wearing seems to have simultaneously done its job (it’s covered in flour and frosting) and not done its job (there are patches of floured handprints on Eames pants, and half-disappearing on their shirt underneath the covering). And there’s a big dusty splotch on their face. Arthur reaches over and runs a finger through it, the tip coming away white.

“Get a bit lost in your work, did you?”

Eames shrugs. “Only a bit.” They look down at the cake, and seem to remember something. “Oh! Hold on!”

They lean over to reach into the drawer beside them. Full of various knick-knacks, Arthur knows. After a moment, they pull back with a candle in their hand. It was a big, bulky 2, the sort one might use for a child’s birthday cake. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Eames shrugs again. “Best I could do.” They set the wax number into the frosting securely (it leans back a bit far, but seems steady) before lighting the wick.

They smile at Arthur, but do not sing. That’s another thing that Eames has always remembered - how much Arthur actually hates that damn birthday song. “Make a wish!”

Arthur considers only briefly before blowing out the flame.

“What did you- wait, don’t tell me,” Eames pulls him a little closer and gives his lips a quick peck. “You want it to come true, after all.”

Arthur, who as always had wished for many more years spent right here, just like this, with the love of his life, hums in agreement. They kiss again, this one a bit more heated, before Eames gestures behind Arthur. There are plates and cutlery sitting there, waiting to be used.

“Let’s dig into your cake,” they say, reaching back to untie their apron, though there is a slight reluctance in their eyes.

It turns out to be more than a little burnt. And dry. And the flavors of the sponge cake clashes a bit with the frosting. But even so, Arthur compliments Eames’ work. He tells them he loves it, and means it. “Better than any store bought cake,” he says.

“Don’t kid a kidder, love.” Eames looks away, biting their lip again. “We both know how shit I am at baking.”

“Maybe so,” Arthur wipes his mouth. “But I’m not kidding. I do love it - promise.” He covers Eames’ hand with his own.

Eames smirks. “Gonna give me a line about how it’s the thought that counts?”

“Nothing so obvious.” Arthur takes one last bite, leaving nothing but crumbs behind on his plate. “You made it. You tried. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today.” His eyes flit around briefly. “Even if you did leave a mess in your wake.”

“Eh, I’ll clean it up later.” Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Eames continues. “Right now, I’m more eager to let you open your present.”

Arthur perks up. “Present?” He looks around.

“Yep. Present.” Eames’ smile is bold, and more than a little lascivious. “But you’ll have to follow me to get that one.” They incline their head towards the bedroom.

This earns them another eyebrow raise. “Oh? And what is this mysterious gift?” Arthur lets himself be pulled up and towards the adjacent room. “Can I get a hint?”

“So impatient,” Eames rolls their eyes. “But…” they take Arthur’s hand and draw him closer, resting it against the small of their back. Slowly, they let his fingers drift below the waistband of their trousers, where they know he’ll feel the smooth silk hiding underneath.

Arthur’s eyes widen. And darken with the thinnest veil of lust. He dips forward for a kiss, but Eames pulls away.

“Come on,” they say, dragging him forward again. Forward and into their bedroom before kicking the door closed behind them.

Turns out, Eames enjoys Arthur’s birthday present almost as much as Arthur does.

[nimko]

Love at first flight

Rook x yuu scenario thats rotting my brain. I'm not even a writer I just- ugh- rook he's- 😔.

Yuu is athletic (parkour) , gen-z type of humor, and keeps knives on their person (not some deep or plot reason just loves collecting unique knives as a hobby) and for this to work the ceremony is held upstairs and the door was blocked after grims shenanigans 😭

tw: Rook Hunt

Yuu that goes to Twst panics after meeting grim cus what the hell is this. relaxing thinking they're dreaming during the whole magic mirror part cus magic doesn't exist whhaaaaat. panicking again when they feel pain (after grim makes a mess)

When it kicks in that "this is real" and that fight or flight activates Yuu does a 180 from laughing at Crowley's... just Crowley and the blue eared pokemon to carefully tossing up debris like a skateboard, throw it to break a window, running up the seats and using their jacket to get over the glass and slide down the wall and run into the forest, cus realistically speaking if I woke up in a eerie room full of floating coffins and people in creepy robes in the middle of some cult like initiation, idea number 1 is attempting murdered. Idea 2 is running as far as possible if the potential enemy is armed as well, and 3rd idea is suicide on the spot. 2 was the one that was hottest one that ended in success; for now Cus guess who just fell in love?

Rook did. That "who's that pokemon" thing you keep saying bewildered him but you seem to be teasing the monster. how laid back you were despite all that chaos and even calling riddles coller kinky out loud. My my, you were brave and intriguing but what's this? Suddenly your scanning the room almost like a hunter yourself scanning roi de loins teeth, watching roi de roses staff, anything and anyone he was wary of, you were wary of. the jacket you took back and you laid at your arm (you had lent it to Kalim earlier to put out the fire on his behind) and now you're calm looking at the floor, perhaps he'll observe the others. he lets his eyes off you for a few seconds and in those second he hears the glass shatter, and he looks at you to see you flying towards the window, he's surprised. you lay down the jacket so you don't get cut but you still get a small cut and the blood soaks your shirt, he's interested. You jump and hook your hoodie to a nearby ledge and make your way down carefully and run into the forest, he's infatuated.

He'll volunteer to hu- I mean bring you back safely. you put up a good fight with your blades even attempting to put one to his neck. You may be able to run through any terrain but he can tell you're not a fighter, (and that collar isn't helping) he has you pinned down in a flash it's exciting to see you try and fight him, he's a little bit disappointed when you become still but he leans down to get a better look at those eyes. so full of fire, were you upset he caught you? How cute; or so he thought.

He really wasn't expecting you to headbutt him, both of you let out a groan in pain (he found it amusing that you seem in more pain then him despite how you tricked him) but you make sure to use that moment he loosens his grip to make a run for it. You just kept surprising him, he knows you don't have magic and you're not particularly intimidating as compared to himself, but you're a quick thinker and fast on your feet and creative. coming up with ways to get what you want, he loves it and he won't underestimate you again. he was looking forward to the chase, to see more of your ingenuity, to see that beautiful fire again. Pity the head mage caught you first. you kept fighting in vain until one of the professors came over to calm you down.

He liked it better when you were running and fighting your breath bated, the smell of your blood underneath him... Oh, this encounter seemed to have quite the effect on him. he wishes he could watch you longer but he has some... vice house warden duties to attend to. until your next chase, his adorable little trickster.

I'm completely open to criticism but please be gentle, like I said I'm not a writer just a reader.

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

15, 17, and 18 for the ask game <3

15. How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

Well, apologies for the TMI but step one is to enjoy a LOT of alone time. Filthy daydreams are my source of inspiration; I think that a lot of the best kink comes from perverting real-life, non-kinky scenarios. There’s so many possibilities for teasing, instructing, humiliating… mmmm. I also think that fairy stories are amazing as inspiration for their weird, arcane rules and rituals. That's where I got the main inspiration for both "In Service of Magic" and "Fae Bindings".

I do try and visualise the scene, but I try not to be too “mechanical” about it. I have sometimes read smut and felt like it was overdoing it on the mechanical explanations of like, how they take their clothes off, which limb goes where, etc., that bogged down the story’s momentum. (This goes for bits of my own smut too, haha). Sometimes these are delicious details to have in - like trying to unbutton someone’s clothes so hastily that you fumble it - but I think they can often be excised. If I mention someone kicking off their boots and ripping off their shirt and oh Gods, now they’re naked before XYZ, then you can safely assume they took their socks off too.

Similarly, I’m not trying to achieve a cinematic level of detail - just an evocative one. Winding in bits of all five senses definitely makes smut more delicious and immediate, but I don’t need to deliver a running scent report - just connect with that sense when it’s particularly interesting. 

Finally, how realistic I make my smut depends on the fic. Sharp Teeth, In Service of Magic or my oneshots? I can roll with a bit less realism. (I mean, the magic definitely helps here). Planar Tears, I'm adding a little more, because the story generally considers realism more - injuries that last, washing clothes in camp, etc. - so I write Catrin awkwardly wriggling out of her skinny jeans, and the pair of them not coming in the same moment (although to be fair I do write that often in my other fics too!). There's also going to be more acknowledgement of the actual gnarliness of getting bitten by someone with sharp enough teeth to puncture skin, lol. (At first Catrin is not about it, being a doctor, and far more into giving pain than receiving - but after certain events it may end up happening!)

But generally, I use it when it's hot and makes sense from a story perspective. I like to have characters getting to know each others' likes, but it's gonna kill my vibe if they're out of sync in realistic-but-unsexy ways lol. Teeth clashing because they're just so feral and need each other RIGHT now? Now that I can get behind.

17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Stew. Stew, stew, stew and vent. Do sprints. Talk out what the characters want in this chapter, and where they need to be by the end of it. Write an alternate version. Do something else fun, and then come back and write. The thing is... I can always write something, even if I'm pissed with it, and that something will at the very least advance my understanding of what I don't want to do with the story. Basically: rest, analyse + then keep attempting the chapter until I've found a way through.

I'm not really a person to abandon things at a pain point, because it will just live fucking rent-free in my head until I rip that sucker out and figure out how to kill it. My unfinished WIPs tend to happen when I'm just like... enjoying a project a fun, casual amount and then simply get possessed by something else.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

I typically title the fic when I go to post - and my process is really just "reread what I've written until I come up with an idea". I like it to reflect the content of the story as well as the prose itself. If they're fun, that's a bonus! (I like Planar Tears because either way you read the homophone applies well to the story, and In Service of Magic tickles me because Rolan means it unironically, but he's also in service of Phaere. Maybe I could say that I love a double meaning in a title then - not that I go out of my way to force it!)

I'm not sure why, but lyric titles aren't for me at all. Probably because they don't feel very indicative of my style of writing?

[nightingalescalling]

Accountability: Writing Progress & Future Projects

Current Projects

1. Art of Nuance, Chapter 2: 2k/~5k

Future Projects

1. Mystery project with @saffronthread 😏

2. Closing the Gap (The Distance Between Us sequel)

Update (October 3, 2021): on indefinite hiatus. One of my dogs passed away last night after a seizure due to acute liver failure.

Update (October 26, 2021): still on hiatus. We are in the process of getting a restraining order against our neighbor who we believe poisoned our dog. My ball python has passed away from cancer and this month continues to be the fucking worst. I also ended up in the ER twice last week due to morning sickness and dehydration.

[zoros-bandana]

hi dove!!! Could I request nsfw Zoro x f reader?Reader has a devil fruit and falls into icy water. Zoro dives in and they get swept away from the ship (maybe the crew is mid battle or something) and wash up on a winter island. Zoro gets them to an inn and they have to get out of their clothes and warm up. Especially since the shower runs out of hot water. I know this was kind of long and specific I hope that’s okay. I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and ur my favorite writer on here <3

Hi honey, thank you so much for your kind words I hope you enjoy

One Night Inn

(NSFW)

Warning: mention of fight, mention of drowning, f oral, m oral, sixty-nine, f orgasm, swearing, praises, vaginal sex, m orgasm, cream pie

Summary: reader with electricity devil fruit powers falls overboard into water mid fight, when she wakes up she is somewhere very different to the ship and stuck trying to warm up with Zoro

Word Count: 2,300

________________________________________

You spun around, dodging the attack from the opposing pirates as they attacked your crew on the Thousand Sunny. The waters were harsh and dangerous, rocking the ship with urgency; ready to topple over. You struck the pirate in the chest; surging electricity through his body. He collapsed on the deck, sizzling from your touch; smoke fuming from his body. You ran towards a few members of your crew, helping them to fight off the pirates attack. A large wave hit the side of the ship, jolting the deck; a few opposing pirates soaring off the side. Luffy followed, crashing against the side of the ship, his top half sending him over the side of the deck. Your reflexes kicked in, grabbing Luffy by the shirt, tugging him back over; your body twisting to set him back onto the deck. Your foot caught as your twisted, letting go off Luffy; the unbalance sending your backwards over the side of the ship plummeting into the water below.

You landed into the ice water with a heavy crash; all of the air sucked from your lungs from the harsh impact. You felt winded, your lungs burning as you began sinking to the deep unknown of the water. The icy temperature struck your body hard; instantly burning every inch of your body, turning it numb. You thrashed against the water weakly, attempting to stop your sinking; your body slowly giving out and your vision going dark. A large figure appeared in your vision, blocking the strands of light that trickled into the deep abyss. More panic set in as your vision did not recognise the figure inching towards you; causing you to flap around in panic. Your vision finally collapsed, your body going limp as you passed out in the deep waters.

You awoke, shivering and stiff, looking up at the dark brown ceiling that seemed to drag on forever. A thin scratchy blanket covered your body, sticking to the wetness left from your dangerous endeavour with the sea. You weakly looked around, taking in the dark grey of the walls; warn splits covered them from age. A frail window sat sealed shut, a foggy haze blocking your view of the outside. Your teeth began to chatter as reality set in, your body frozen stiff as you lied there. A hand caressed your arm, alerting you that you were not alone; your head weakly turning to face them. Zoro sat next to you, stripped down to his boxers, his body shivering as he watched you; rubbing your arm. “Hey, you’re finally awake” his voice was worried like he had been waiting a while for you to wake up. “What happened?” You stuttered through chattering teeth. “You fell into the water saving Luffy so I jumped in to get you and the sea separated us from the ship. I found this old inn, and with a little help from persuasion…” he gestured over to his swords that leaned against the wall “I was able to get us a room and try and warm us up”. His face dropped at the realisation of the situation “there is also no hot water when we arrived” he watched your face sink, your eyes growing dull. “But” he attempted to change the subject “I remember Chopper saying that staying in wet clothes can make you sick so…” your eyes wondered to his bare chest “and that is why there is a lack of clothing?” He nodded “I didn’t think you would have appreciated me stripping you down while unconscious”. You nodded, realising you were still in your wet clothes. You attempted to sit up, your body struggling through the stiffness and chill that ran through your body. “Take it easy; you need to stay warm” Zoro argued, attempted to push you back down. “I’m trying” you shrugged him off, peeling the blanket off your body. Slowly you rose from the bed, attempting to stand on your weak legs. You stepped away from Zoro, each step creating an incredible ache in your bones, as you struggled to turn away from him.

Your hand gripped at the hem of your shirt, attempting to get the freezing clothes from your numb skin; easing the pressure of you weakened body. Your clothes were still and hard with ice, making the task almost impossible. “Oi hang on, woman. What are you doing?” he barked. “You said it’s warmer this way and I’m in no condition to sit here freezing while you get to be warmer than me”. He blushed, looking away “well, at least not in front of me” Zoro protested, turning his back to you. You rolled your eyes, lifting the shirt over your head, the frost sticking to your face causing the shirt to be stuck. You muffled a protest, stuck with your arms up, head stick in your shirt. “Zoro?” you called out, attempting to turn towards where he was “Zoro? Help? I'm stuck” You heard him sigh, his heavy footsteps approaching towards you. His hands grabbed your shirt, yanking it over your head in one swift move. He released the shirt from your body, holding it in a tight grip. You sighed in relief looking up at him; his face casted in a heated blush. He turned back around as you struggled to slip off your pants, slowly inching your legs out from their frozen casket. You sighed in relief, wiggling then around to warm them up as best you could; the movement causing a painful burn to corse through your legs. You turned around in the movements, noticing Zoro already looking at you, but noticed something more concerning. You noticed his eyes; large and hungry, sitting at your chest eyeing off your breasts sitting perked in your bra. Your body was still half frozen, allowing your breasts to sit higher up, overflowing your bra more than initially intended. He licked his lips slightly “I, uh, guess you have to remove that too, yeah?” You nodded in response. His eyes looked back up at your quickly, blinding a couple of times before looking away; shaking his head. You turned back away from him, your hands shaking as your undid the back of your bra slowly; struggling to find the clasp. You sighed in relief, feeling the loosening of the bra easing the chill off your chest; releasing your breasts with a jiggle, your nipples still hard from the chill over the rest of your aching body.

You suddenly felt Zoro approach you, his large frame radiating warmth behind you, his hand tracing up to your bra strap. His hard calloused fingers tucked into the strap, pulling it off your shoulder. “I think I can get this one off myself, Zoro” you mumbled, blushing, embarrassed by his bold behaviour. “I know” he whispered into your ear, his breath warm against you “but you’ll warm up quicker this way”. His lips met your shoulder, planting soft kisses against your skin; your body flushing with a radiant warmth. He felt good. You always wondered about how loving the swordsman would be to you; wondering how he would be as a lover. You imagined he would be rough and brute; just get the job done and move on. But this was something new. This was something you never imagined from him. But this was also something you wanted. You moaned, only encouraging him, his hand tightly gripping into your bra yanking it off your other shoulder and off your body. He chucked your shirt and bra to the ground, his hand quickly engulfing your breast pulling you flush up against him. You wiggled against him, a growing heat radiating through your legs as he tweaked at your nipple in his grasp. You shut your eyes, embracing his grasp on you; suddenly appreciate the lack of chill from your body. Your fingers reached your panties; fiddling at the waistband, struggling to lower them pressed up into Zoro. His hands moved from your breast as he lowered himself down behind you, slipping his fingers into your panties, yanking them down your legs swiftly.

He spread your legs apart, guiding his fingers along your slit from behind you; playing in your wetness. You groaned, moving yourself against his fingers, giving him an idea. He leaned back, pulling his fingers away from you; his back flat against the floor. “Sit on top of me” he ordered, pointing to his face “sit that pretty pussy of yours on my face”. You moaned at his command, lowering yourself onto him; facing towards his legs. His hands gripped into your thighs, pulling you down; his tongue making contact against your slit. The feeling was so heavenly, his tongue working a miracle between your legs, spreading a fast warmth to your bones. He groaned, loving how sweet you tasted on his tongue; wanting more of you, encouraging log steady licks. You attempted to wiggle against his grip, creating a sweet friction as you rode his face. You leaned forward, grasping at his boxers, springing free his hard cock, girthed with thick veins and leaking precum from his sensitive honey tip. You gave his tip a few licks, tasting him against your tongue, before gently sucking his tip inside your mouth. He moaned between your legs, sending out a wonderful vibration against your sensitive clit; edging you to go deeper. You inched him deeper inside your mouth, lewd wet sounds echoed the room as you bobbed your head around him. His legs started to thrust up, gagging him deeper into your throat, allowing him to control your rhythm. He gripped tighter into your thighs, his tongue edging into your hole, flicking against your entrance. Your moans vibrated around his cock; making his tongue hitch it movements, feeling so twitchy and sensitive he was getting around your lips. His tongue swirled around your sensitive clit, vibrating in a fast pattern, sending your legs into a shaking mess. He gripped into your thighs, holding you still, stopping you for squirming as your orgasm neared. He needed you to cum on him, smearing your juices on his face; warming you up in such a delicious way. Your sucking around his cock began to fault, your head coming up for air with a long whine, your whole body shaking “ugh, Zoro. I’m gonna cum”. His flicking against your bud went faster, finally sending you over the edge, your body spasming over his; your pussy dripping juices that be happily slurped at. You wrapped your hand around his cock, finally stable enough to realise your position, your body slowly coming down from your high. His cock twitched in your hand as you gave him a few pumps, slick from your spit.

Zoro mumbled something under you, lifting your pussy off him too be heard. “Get up on that bed I’m not done yet” he ordered, shoving you off his body. You rolled off him, struggling against your shaking body as you walked to the bed. Zoro beat you to it, gripping you and shoving you backwards onto the thin mattress. He pulled you to the end of the bed, your legs hooking over his arms as he stood at the edge, his cock lined up ready against your core. He entered you with a brave push; you walks sucking him in tightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Such good fuckin pussy” he groaned, inching his full length in. You whined against the stretch, shutting your eyes tight as he filled out your dripping hole. He pulled out against you, hissing at the tight pull against him that encouraged him to stay inside you. Eagerly, he trusted himself inside you, getting deeper and deeper with each thrust. He dug his nails into your legs, keeping him grounded as he felt drunk and numb against you. He didn’t want it to end. “Why did we wait so long for this” he mumbled to nobody in particular, his eyes rolling back into his head as he reached your cervix. The crew always pointed out how thick Zoro was, but even still, he knew the both of you wanted this; wanted each other. You two had a connection like no other on the ship, only adding a sexual tension to the already overflowing need you both shared for each other.

You could feel him getting close, his movements growing slow and voice soft with whines. He leaned forward, his hands resting either side of you on the bed; your legs wrapping around him. “God, I love how fuckin loyal you are to the crew; to our captain. How you saved him” he groaned, looking up at the sky “fuck, you’re so good to us. You’re so fuckin hot when you fight; electrocuting anyone that tries to hurt the crew. The look on your face, so determined and strong” he looked back down at you, his eyes lustful “nothing like it is now… so sexy and aroused all for me”. You nodded, whimpering as his cock continued to brush against your cervix; your back arching off the bed. He gave a stern grunt, finally spilling himself inside you; his body dripping sweat. He collapsed down next to you, panting, catching his breath; his eyes screwed shut. You adjusted yourself, your body less stiff than before; more pliable and determined to go find your ship.

"I suppose we need to find our way back to the crew" you suggested, sitting up. His hand came to your arm, stopping you from leaving “not yet”. His lips curled into a beautiful smirk “I’m not done keeping you warm yet”.

[chiwhorei]

habit

pairing: s. tendou x catholic fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 1.2k

warnings: drug use (pot), dubcon, sacrilege- this is a total fuck you to my catholic upbringing and i’m so sorry (no i’m not)

a/n: there’s no beta on this, also absolutely no explanation other than i’ve been stuck in a rut of writers block and am tying desperately to crawl back out. This is part of HQHQ’s monthly server collab, you can check out all of the other amazing pieces here! this is dedicated to the love of my life and fellow deeply repressed catholic @undermattsun

hymn: dirty little secret by: all american rejects

The weeks bleed by with practiced pattern, school work, bible study. Rinse and repeat. Sundays are for 10 AM mass at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, the church you have knelt in for two decades. You take communion and sing hymns squished in between your parents.

If it’s the first Sunday of the month, you have stale donuts after and make small talk with fellow congregants. Every other week you are shuffled to a stiff brunch where your parents fuss over Father’s homily. You always remember to listen just enough during mass to posit something vague so they know you had been paying attention.

Wednesday evenings are ear-marked for youth group with the other young, spritely Catholics of your university. Two hours of acoustic guitars and promises to your Lord and Savior ring in your battered ears as you bid goodbyes to your friends. While the rest of your youth group heads to the cafe a few blocks away, you head for the opposite direction. The designated laundromat parking lot comes in to view only a five minute walk from the church, and a beat up mustang is outlined in the retreating sunset.

As you climb into the passenger seat a long, bandaged set of fingers turn your face, Tendou does a once over, patting your cheek and pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, the mess of red hair gleaming in the low light still hanging on the horizon. He revs the car to life, rattling abjectly as he pulls out onto the street and towards his apartment.

“So, does your immortal soul feel all nice and clean again, princess?”

Sundays are for mass, Wednesday evenings are for youth group. Wednesday nights are for the heady fog of pot and choking back sobs whilst brutally pounded by Tendou Satori.

“Satori, s-slow down. If you give me a hickey my parents are going to kill me.” You huff from your position on his lap, both knees digging into the decades old shag on either side of his thighs, you feel a damp spot on your shin. Probably bong water.

His mouth was on you the second he unlocked his front door, pushing you inside unceremoniously and laughing as you stumbled. Always the gentleman.

You had made it to the living room floor in a trail of your own clothing, leaving you in only a pair of cotton panties, the apartment was dimly lit and dense with smoke. You always wonder how he can get away with his whole apartment covered inch deep in the skunky smell, but his complex doesn't really seem one to check up on the occupants anyway.

Tendou licks a long stripe over your collarbone, blowing back along the same path to watch you shiver, “C’mon princess, doesn’t having a stick up your ass all the time get exhausting?”

You roll your eyes at the comment, knowing he likes it when he can rile you up. Instead of gracing him with a retort, your fingers move to the blunt carded in between two fingers. Tendou lets out a disapproving tsk, bringing it to his own lips instead. His other hand comes to rest under your jaw as he pulls from the blunt. Tendou brings a calloused finger up to pop open your lips. You lean in dutifully, letting the smoke pass from his mouth to yours in an almost kiss. You cough slightly when you inhale, still not totally used to the burning feeling.

“Such a precious little thing you are, y/n. Your father must be so proud,” Tendou takes another drag, inhaling fulling and blowing the smoke into your scrunched up face, “I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now.”

You’re hot in the cheeks now, feeling every bit feather-light and obnoxiously weighed down.

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Your response is weak, blood turning to syrup in your veins as the minutes pass by. Sixty seconds come in the slowest intervals known to man but rush forward just the same.

Your back is flush against the nasty carpet in the next instant, dragging uncomfortably against the stains of God-knows-what. Tendou’s supply is always too strong for someone so inexperienced, it makes you much more compliant when he gets you under him. You try to push yourself up to regain any control you can, but your wrists are trapped in one large hand. He looks over your form, flushed and panting. The lines are blurring in your head, as they always seem to do when trapped within Tendou’s orbit.

“What he doesn’t know is sending you straight to hell.”

You’re both deftly aware of what this arrangement is. There’s no love in the closing space between your two bodies. This isn’t the beginning of a sacrament with a pretty white veil and the pointed roof of a cathedral. This is nothing more than a baptism of writhing, sweaty bodies coming together in only the way a husband and wife should. Tendou is your most perverse habit.

“Oh, this is new.” Your captor notices the shiny silver around your ring finger, the band still fresh against your skin. Your father had slid the velvet box across the dinner table on your birthday last week. His words fall heavy on your shoulder still.

A reminder to maintain virtuous. A promise to your future husband.

Any attempt to speak is quelled by the feeling of Tendou’s lips wrapped around your finger. You feel his teeth scraping against your skin, pulling off the gifted silver with a pop from his sinful lips. His eyes hold you down captive, scanning your reaction from where you lie dizzy below him.

The ring peeks out from its home in between Tendou’s teeth, a devious smile pulls on the corners of his lips. He hums softly, head dipping back down to the hot skin of your neck to trace patterns against the collecting sweat. You feel it against you, the cold metal a constant reminder of just how wrong this is. However wrong though, in your lust and drug clouded haze, it’s ten times hotter.

Tendou hears your soft mewls below him, begging for his next move. Hands find your hips, pushing into the skin with wandering hands. His mouth is trailing lower, tracing around the curve of your breast and flicking your nipple with a growl. The teasing is enough to make you crazy, you just want him to do something.

Tendou chuckles darkly above you, and you realize you had voiced your desires in a whine instead of where you thought they had died in your throat. His lips hover over your own, pressing the ring past your lips to sit in between your teeth. He draws back with a sickening smile.

“Good girl, now keep that there while I fuck your little pussy. You can save your prayers for church on Sunday.”

Tendou is a hard habit to kick, especially with the unceremonious removal of your slick-covered panties and the way he prods at your aching hole with little regard to wether you’re ready for him or not. You always squeeze down on him so well when you’re high, begging for him in strings of tears and muffled pleas around the sickening symbol of chastity. You squeal when he presses into you, cock hard and heavy. He’s never gentle. This isn’t the marital bed you’d always been taught to wait for, it’s the grimy, stained carpet of the worst man you’ve ever met.

If your parents ever found out about your little habit, you’d be dragged to the nearest convent and given a new one.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[megahwn]

Smitten

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: arranged marriage!au, strangers to lovers

Word Count: 16,902

Rating: 18+

Warnings: alcohol mentions/consumption; menstruation mention; description of a panic attack; explicit language; biting/marking; fondling over clothes; a sort-of handjob; a single piercing; vaginal fingering; finger sucking; unprotected vaginal intercourse; almost simultaneous orgasms; creampie

Summary: You live in a world where loving another is criminal. Partners are chosen by your elders to produce the best offspring and to help the economy thrive. Living in this world, you feel broken. You feel broken because you have accidentally fallen for your new husband, Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: Part of BTS Writers’ Corner’s Amor Fabula Project. Thank u to @joopiterjoon @kitsutaes @spicykoreantatertots @staerrylights​ for beta-reading parts of this fic for me, I appreciate you all!

The elders are relatively mysterious to you. You don’t know how many of them there are, what they do with their time, what they look like. All you really know about them is how powerful they are. They are the entity that decides which people will marry in order to produce the healthiest offspring and to keep the economy strong. Most people accept their pairing and then live their lives married to someone they don’t know. Others, however few there may be, reject their pairing and go out looking for true love on their own.

~~~

You and Jungkook tumble through the door of your new apartment, exhausted from the day’s events but giddy from the wine. Today had gone much more smoothly than you had anticipated it would. The kiss at the altar was far from awkward, your families seemed to get along well, and your conversation with Jungkook at your sweetheart table left nothing to be desired (thank you, white zinfandel). It was almost as if your wedding was based on something more than genetics and finances. Almost.

In all honesty, you want nothing more in this moment than to get out of this obnoxious outfit, get into some sweats and keep binging This Is Us. While today went as ideally as it could have, it won't hurt to get lost in the Pearsons' love story for a few hours instead of having to face your non-love story as soon as you arrive home from your own wedding.

It won't hurt. Not one bit.

You are already out of one shoe and hobbling down the hallway to your shared bedroom when you realize that it is, in fact, a shared bedroom, and you can't just throw all your clothes everywhere on your quest to get naked and comfortable. Your eyes immediately begin darting around the almost-familiar space for a spot to use to go through your nightly routine without Jungkook seeing... well, any of it. As capable as you are of being outgoing when the situation demands it, you are, by nature, a pretty shy person, and you don’t yet feel ready to let someone else be aware of your bedtime habits. Even if that someone is your new husband.

While you’re in the middle of scouring the room for a suitable place to hide, you hear the distinct sound of someone’s throat clearing a few feet behind you. You whip around with wide eyes, not realizing you had stopped in the doorway and blocked the only route into the bedroom. You take in the sight now before you and your eyes, if possible, grow even wider.

Jungkook looks good. His cheeks are still a little rosy from the alcohol, and his hair is swept off his forehead and parted on one side. His tie is loosened and the top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He managed to shed his suit jacket somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, and his shirt sleeves are now rolled up his forearms. There is an obvious vein running from his hand up his arm and under his sleeve. He is fiddling with the wedding band on his other hand. While he does look good, he also looks nervous.

Damn him.

Before you even have the chance to begin lusting after Jungkook, even for a moment, anxious thoughts begin flooding your brain in powerful waves. Why does he look nervous? Did you do something to upset him in the time it took to get from the apartment threshold to this spot? You probably did and now he hates you and you’re going to have to share an apartment and a bed with someone who can’t stand you and you’re going to –

“Is something wrong?” Jungkook asks. “Is it the Iron Man poster? The Cooky plushie? I can get rid of them if you want. Man, I knew I shouldn’t have brought them here with me. God, this is embarrassing.” You notice he sounds slightly panicked.

Wait, what? You manage to get out of your own head for a second to focus on what Jungkook is saying. He’s embarrassed. Why is he embarrassed?

You turn back around to look into the bedroom once more, and your eyes immediately find the poster and the plushie he mentioned. Instead of saying anything, you walk towards the bed as well as you can in your dress, and you pick up the plushie from Jungkook’s side of the mattress. You look at it closely and then you rotate once more to look at Jungkook, who looks positively terrified. You consider teasing him, but decide against it almost immediately, as you think it might actually kill him.

You choose to walk back over to the doorway instead, holding the plushie as you move. Jungkook looks like he wants to back away, but he seems rooted to the spot. You take a breath and hope that what you’re about to say doesn’t ruin the day you’ve had with him and make everything (even more) awkward between you.

“Do you have any of the others or just Cooky?”

Jungkook’s eyes go as wide as you felt yours did earlier. You immediately think you’ve said the wrong thing, but then he smiles, showing off his bunny-like teeth.

“You know about the others?” he says shyly, referring to the rest of the popular plushie brand. He is still turning his wedding ring around on his finger, but not as intensely as he had been before. You take that as a good sign.

“Yeah, of course I do,” you respond without missing a beat. A smile creeps up onto your face as well. “I actually have Koya packed away in one of these boxes somewhere.” You gesture to the boxes you have yet to unpack, laying in the living room unopened and sort of sad-looking compared to all of the stuff Jungkook has already placed around the apartment.

Jungkook’s smile grows at your words. He lets go of his wedding ring and flexes his hands at his sides in excitement. You try not to stare as he steps closer to you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looks like he’s trying to hold back how happy he really is to have learned this information about you. You barely register his emotions, though, as you’re now intently focused on his proximity to you. He smells mild, like soap. It’s nice.

“Do you really have Koya?” Jungkook practically whispers at you. You hold back a giggle and respond with a soft, “Yes. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” The truth is that you wouldn’t lie about anything, but you figure now isn’t really the time to be sharing such things. Now is the time for talking about plushies.

Jungkook seems to debate with himself for a moment, and you wait patiently for him to come to a decision, whatever it is. You take the moment to look at his face more closely while he’s looking away from you. His skin is beautiful, milky. His eyebrows fit his face nicely, with just the right amount of arch to them. His eyes are a deep brown, and he has a small scar underneath his left one. You have the urge to reach out and touch it, but you hold yourself back by holding tighter to the Cooky plushie in your hands. You don’t want to interrupt his thought process. Or worse, freak him out and end whatever moment you might be having.

You don’t get the chance to study the bottom half of his face because he begins speaking again, although he does so without making eye contact. He seems to be looking at your lips instead when he says, “Can I see him?”

You take a moment to recall what you had been talking about, and upon remembering you light up and respond with a nod. You begin walking into the living room before you remember that you are still in your wedding dress and it’s beginning to get uncomfortable. You stop moving and tilt your head back with a sigh before saying, “Can I actually get this dress off first? It’s starting to dig into my ribs.”

Jungkook looks like he doesn’t understand why you just asked him for permission to change your clothes. He responds with a confused-sounding “Yes?” and steps out of the way so you can make your way back to the bedroom once more. You make it inside, toss Cooky onto the bed, and begin rummaging through your dresser drawers before finding a suitable t-shirt and the most comfortable pair of sweatpants you own. You then head straight for the bathroom when you see Jungkook looking through his own dresser, presumably to do the same.

You make it into the bathroom, close the door behind you, and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You drop the clothes onto the floor next to you and turn to look at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup held up well throughout the day, and you realize you need to take it off. You search the countertop and the cabinet behind you for makeup remover but find none. You suppose it’s actually a good thing that Jungkook wants to see your Koya plushie after all, as it will motivate you to unpack the rest of your things. Maybe he’ll help you.

You push that thought aside as soon as you think it, and you kick off your remaining heel (how were you walking around with one shoe on for so long?). You flex your feet to get some feeling back in them, and then you begin to remove your dress.

Or, at least, you attempt to begin removing your dress.

The intricate ties in the back of the garment combined with the restricting bodice don’t allow you to move your arms very far behind you, and you soon realize that the dress is not going to come off without some help. You think about how the only person who can possibly assist you in this situation is just outside the door, but for some reason you are unwilling to remove that barrier and ask for his help.

You end up spending a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom alone, silently struggling to undo the knots you have managed to make behind you. It’s only when you hear an apprehensive knock on the door that you let out a little squeak, then clear your throat and respond, “Yeah?”

You hear Jungkook’s muffled voice behind the door. “Hey, I don’t want to rush you or anything, but I really have to pee.”

You would chuckle if you weren’t in such a predicament. You go over your options one more time before deciding that you really do need Jungkook’s help if you ever want to breathe properly again. You slowly turn toward the door and open it, revealing a concerned-looking Jungkook behind it. He is now wearing boxers and what is possibly the most form-fitting shirt you have ever seen another human wear in your entire life. You can see his biceps and his abs through the shirt, and his thick thighs are on full display. You remind yourself not to drool.

Jungkook breaks the silence by asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be changing?”

You sheepishly nod and then turn around to reveal the absolute mess you have made of your bodice ties. You hear a quiet chuckle behind you and then you feel hands at your back. They’re firm but gentle in their movements behind you. Jungkook is helping you get your bodice undone and you didn’t even have to ask him. Your heart hurts a little. You ignore it.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, so quietly you’re sure Jungkook didn’t hear you say it. But then you hear him mumble out a “No big deal,” and you remember that this is an arrangement that the elders chose for you, and that you didn’t have a say in. Jungkook’s just being nice because he’s a good person, not because he cares about you. He doesn’t even know you. Your heart hurts a little louder this time.

Jungkook gets the bodice ties undone and you practically rip the thing off of you and take in a huge breath. You sigh out and reach for the zipper on the back of the dress without thinking, but it turns out you can’t undo that by yourself either. You let your hands fall awkwardly to your sides before letting out another sigh and saying, “So, um... I still need help.”

This time, Jungkook’s hands reach your back much more slowly than they did before. You wonder why. It’s only when the zipper is down your back and all the random buttons are undone that you realize why he’s being so hesitant – you’re basically half-naked in front of this guy and you’ve never done anything more intimate than kiss each other in front of a bunch of people one time a couple hours ago. You hold the dress to your front and turn around to face Jungkook and thank him for his help, but something stops you.

His eyes are screwed shut.

This time you actually do laugh out loud. It startles him and he opens his eyes. Cute.

“What were you doing?” you ask jovially. You’re pretty sure you already know the answer, but you want to make him squirm.

“Uh...” Jungkook starts. His eyes then wander down the front of your body and snap back up just as quickly, as if he suddenly remembered you could see him now. “I was, uh, keeping my eyes closed in case you... you know...”

“In case I what?” you tease, taking half a step closer to him. He doesn’t back away.

“In case you didn’t want me to see you... like that.” Jungkook’s cheeks had been getting lighter since you arrived home, but now the redness has returned, maybe even intensified. You decide to put him out of his misery.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Even though we are married.” You’re not sure why you add that last part, seeing as you were just as nervous as Jungkook only moments ago. Maybe seeing him flustered makes you feel a little less alone, and a little more likely to joke around the way you would with someone you know well.

Jungkook opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then closes it again. He settles on saying, “Right,” and then he backs out of the bathroom to let you finish changing.

You eventually emerge from the bathroom feeling better than you have all day, and you see Jungkook sitting patiently at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, waiting for you. You smile at him while gesturing to the bathroom behind you and saying, “All yours. I’ll be out there waiting for you.”

Jungkook’s face lights up at your words, like he had been thinking you might change your mind about unpacking with him. Impossible. He gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom quickly.

You soon hear the telltale sounds of the toilet flushing and the faucet running, and then Jungkook is back in the living room, gingerly approaching you as if you were a wild animal or something fragile that he didn’t want to break. You both plop to the ground and you reach for the box nearest to you.

“You didn’t label them?” Jungkook asks incredulously. “How are you supposed to know what anything is?”

“I just kind of wing it,” you respond casually, to which Jungkook shrugs and says, “Okay, fair.”

Once you have the box in front of you, you open it and begin searching through it for your Koya. It turns out that Koya is not in the first box, or the second, or the third... or the fourth. By this point you’re getting distracted by all the things you’re unboxing and by telling Jungkook about all the things you’re unboxing.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. On the contrary, he seems to be just as invested in your unpacking as you are. He does end up helping you place things around the apartment like you hoped he would.

It feels like something real partners would do.

You try not to dwell on it, but the thought persists as you start opening the fifth box. Your Koya sits right on top of the mess of odds and ends you packed from your old bedroom. You smile and remove it from the box, lifting it up just enough for Jungkook to see it properly. You turn to him to see his reaction, but don’t expect the one you get.

Jungkook is smiling again, his bunny teeth poking through his lips cutely, but his eyes are shining. Instead of letting the panic overtake you once more and make you think you’ve somehow offended him, you simply say, “Hey. What is it?”

Jungkook looks up from the plushie to your eyes, then dabs at his own with the backs of his hands before responding. You wait for him like you did before.

When he finally speaks, he says a little shakily, “I’m sorry, I just... didn’t really expect this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t expect you to really have him. I kind of thought you were just being nice to me.”

You resist the urge to lean over and pull him into a tight hug. You settle for responding with, “I told you I wouldn’t lie.”

Jungkook is quick to shake his head and say, “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have believed you. It’s just... we don’t really know each other yet, you know?”

You stiffen a little at his words, but then force yourself to relax. Right. You had honestly forgotten about that. While you’re a little hurt, you suppose you have to allow him that skepticism. You would be skeptical, too, if the roles were reversed.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. Are you okay?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment. He seems to like to think before he speaks, as if he wants to make sure he says the right thing the first time. You can relate.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says slowly. “I’m just... happy.”

You beam at him and give him your Koya to hold while you unpack the rest of the box. The others can wait until tomorrow.

You both eventually head to bed, completely drained from the wedding and your respective emotions. Jungkook is still holding Koya when he climbs under the covers, so you pick up his Cooky and hold it to you as well. That’s how you fall asleep – silently, each holding a piece of the other.

~~~

“Would it be weird if our friends met each other?”

You look up from your bowl of Corn Pops, surprised by Jungkook’s sudden question. Would it be weird? You’ve been married for over a month already, but other than at your wedding reception, you haven’t ever really interacted with any of Jungkook’s friends. Maybe, you think, it’s time to blur the lines between you a bit more by having both sets of friends congregate in one place again. The prospect alone excites you a bit, as it will not only give you the opportunity to get to know Jungkook’s people a little bit better, but hopefully Jungkook himself, as well.

Within the last month or so of your marriage, your initial intrigue with Jungkook has developed into a full-blown crush. You hadn’t expected to develop feelings for Jungkook, but he’s so damn perfect that you can’t help it.

Besides the fact that he looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, he’s just about the most selfless and considerate person you’ve ever met. He always asks if he can join you on the couch while you’re watching television. (The first time he did it, you had told him he didn’t need to ask because it’s his apartment, too. He still does it.) He also knows you get hot when you sleep, so he turns the overhead fan on in your bedroom, even though he gets cold at night. (When you had asked him why he had been wearing layers to bed, he had just blushed a light pink and said it was no big deal.)

It might be a big deal to you. 

You go for nonchalance when you say, “Um… I mean, I guess not. Since we’re going to be together for the foreseeable future, I suppose it would happen eventually anyway.” You’re already completely sold on the idea and would probably be sad if it didn’t happen, so you give yourself a mental high-five for not sounding desperate at any point during your response.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too, “Jungkook says, apparently unaware of the mental marathon you just subjected yourself to. “What if we had a game night?”

You perk up even more at Jungkook’s mention of games. You’ve always been able to bond with others over a good board game and a glass of wine or two. You suppose a game night would be a good way to get to know Jungkook’s friends, and to have him get to know yours.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I like it,” you reply with a grin.

Jungkook’s bunny teeth make an appearance as he smiles back at you. “Okay, let’s do it.”

That weekend, you receive six separate knocks at your door.

Yoongi, your best friend from college, arrives first, a gummy smile on his face and a bottle of sweet red in hand. You pull him into a hug before he can even cross the threshold, and he practically trips through your entryway when you pull him across it.

“Hey,” you choke out, not realizing how close to tears you are just from having Yoongi near after a while. As you hug your friend, you realize you haven’t seen him since your wedding, what with his hectic work schedule and your new living situation. It used to be easy to meet up whenever you wanted back in college, but these days you have to make plans to see each other. It makes you sad whenever you think about it. You suppose you’re also emotional because he’s been a constant in your life for several years now, and knowing he’s still here for you even though your life has changed so dramatically is a big comfort for you.

“Hey,” he repeats back to you, bringing one hand up to pat the back of your head gently as you rest it in the crook of his neck. He’s not one for much physical affection but he knows that you are, so he always accepts your hugs. It makes you appreciate him all the more.

“Okay, I’m good,” you say after a bit, finally letting Yoongi go, snatching the bottle from his hands and moving to put it on ice just so you have something to do. He doesn’t even protest, just lets you take it from him. He really is a great best friend.

“Um,” you call out from your place in the living room, “Jungkook, you remember Yoongi, right?”

You turn around in time to see Jungkook and Yoongi shaking hands and exchanging greetings. Seeing two of your worlds coming together so visibly makes you feel warm inside.

Next to make an appearance is Jungkook’s best man, Namjoon. He’s taller than Jungkook, and he’s wearing round glasses and a black turtleneck sweater. He bows his head politely upon seeing you, and then he gives Jungkook one of those man hugs that you don’t understand. When they part, Jungkook continues looking up at Namjoon with something akin to stars in his eyes. He must really admire the guy.

“Good to see you again,” Namjoon says just as politely as he had nodded at you earlier. You try to hold back a giggle at his formality. Maybe he’ll loosen up with some wine like he seemed to at your wedding.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you reply similarly. One thing you know about Namjoon is that he tends to be polite when he’s nervous, so you mimic his greeting in an attempt to assuage any anxiety he might be experiencing. Based on the way he smiles at you, you think your efforts are successful.

You and Jungkook lead Namjoon to the living room, where Yoongi is already sitting comfortably with a full glass in hand. Namjoon sits down just as politely as he speaks, but before you have the chance to introduce the two, Yoongi suddenly asks him, “Do I know you from somewhere? I meant to ask you at the wedding but never got the chance.”

Namjoon pauses pouring himself a glass, seeming a little taken aback by Yoongi’s directness. Still, he says, “Um, I’m not sure. What do you do for work?”

Soon after Namjoon and Yoongi begin trying to figure out how they might know each other, your old neighbor Seokjin shows up with an entire roast chicken in hand, which you don’t remember asking him to bring but appreciate all the same. He gives you the best side hug he can with one arm full, and then you lead him to the kitchen so he can put the bird down.

“So,” he starts once you reach the kitchen, no tact in his voice whatsoever. “How are things going? Are they going? Are you two in love yet?" he asks outright, fluttering his eyelashes and drawing out the ‘o’ in ‘love’.

You hit his arm lightly while giving him your best expression of offense, and he seems to snap out of it. After sticking out his tongue at you, he begins looking around in your cabinets and drawers for the things he needs to serve the chicken.

He whips back around to face you, sharp knife in hand and unadulterated glee on his face, when you quietly say, “Nothing’s happened, but you already know I like him. I told you, like, last week.” You can feel your cheeks blazing at the admission you never thought you’d make out loud. Meanwhile, Seokjin has put the knife down on the counter (thankfully) and is now jumping up and down in place, flapping his hands, and making a noise similar to a squeal.

You want to hit him again, but you suppose he has a right to be excited for you. He sort of took you under his wing when you were neighbors, treating you to meals and babysitting your plants any time you were away. He’s also the only one who knows your deepest secret - that you want to fall in love and be loved in return.

It had just sort of slipped out one day, You both had had some wine and were talking about life when you suddenly confessed to wanting real, honest love rather than a lonely arranged partnership. You just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. Seokjin, in turn, had confessed that he liked spending time with you more than with his assigned wife. You both may have shed a few tears at your predicaments.

Instead of resorting to physical violence twice in the span of thirty seconds, you give Seokjin your best attempt at a withering stare. He stops jumping and puts his hands up in defeat, muttering out, “Fine, fine,” which appeases you greatly. Before you can leave the kitchen, however, he gives you a mischievous smile and tacks on, “Just so you know, though, I’m rooting for you two.”

You hit him again.

While Seokjin continues fiddling around in the kitchen and the other guys are mingling (it turns out that Yoongi and Namjoon both make music and know some of the same people), your favorite coworker Hoseok comes bounding through the door and almost knocks you over with the force of his hug. He’s still vibrating with energy when he lets go of you, and his soft, heart-shaped smile makes you feel more at ease than you have been so far tonight.

“I’ve missed you!” he practically shouts as he looks at you fondly, still holding onto your shoulders. “Work hasn’t been the same without you there.”

You know he’s referring to the sixty days that new couples are required to spend away from work ‘getting to know each other’ after first getting married, which is just a nice way to say you’re meant to spend that time making babies. While the thought of having children (and making children) with Jungkook is extremely appealing to you, that’s all it is right now. Just a thought. You’re not even sure Jungkook is totally comfortable sharing a bed with you yet.

“Just a few more weeks and I’ll be back!” you practically shout back at him. Hoseok’s energy has always been infectious to the point that you sometimes end up mirroring his seemingly limitless joy. It’s always made work much more bearable for you. Thinking about it and having Hoseok here in front of you now makes you realize how much you really do miss your job.

Just as Hoseok joins the others in the living room and begins picking chicken off of Seokjin’s plate, there is another knock at the door. Before you can move to answer it, however, Jungkook urges you to sit in the living room while he answers it instead. You wonder how Jungkook can possibly know that his best friend is behind the door, but sure enough, he opens it and there stands Taehyung. His entire outfit says ‘artist,’ from the beret sitting crookedly atop his head to the brown corduroy pants adorning his long legs. Jungkook gives Taehyung one of the most sincere hugs you’ve ever seen him give another person, and when they part they move toward each other once more to briefly touch foreheads. It’s a sweet gesture, one that you decide is fitting of someone like Jungkook.

Once the two men completely separate, Taehyung looks at you with shining eyes and immediately moves toward you for a hug. You’re surprised by the gesture, but you accept it anyway. Before he pulls away from you, Taehyung whispers into your ear, “Jungkook told me you like hugs, so I hope this is okay.”

Your eyes widen a bit at this information. Jungkook talks to his friends about the things you like? How did he even know that about you? Did you tell him and forget about it? Was he just able to figure that out about you by himself? Either way, you find yourself nodding at Taehyung as you two end your hug. He gives you a boxy smile in return, shoulders scrunched up to his ears. You decide then and there that you like Taehyung already.

The last to arrive is one of Jungkook’s childhood friends, Jimin. He looks a little frazzled, with wild eyes peeking out from behind his designer sunglasses and silvery-grey hair standing on end. (You soon realize his hair looks like that because he constantly runs his hands through it.) You try not to eavesdrop as Jimin greets Jungkook at the door, but you swear you hear Jimin say something about hoping Taehyung might not be here. Before you can wonder what he means, however, you hear Jungkook chuckle and respond with something that sounds like “It’s no big deal, you’ll be fine.”

Jungkook leads Jimin into the living room, where the rest of you are talking loudly amongst yourselves, various open bottles of wine and plates of roast chicken littering the coffee table. Taehyung looks up from his drink as the two enter the room, and he positively beams at Jimin. He pats the open space next to him on your big lounge chair, and after a moment of hesitation, Jimin smiles back and makes his way over to that spot. The two begin murmuring to each other, and finally your attention is pulled away from them when Jungkook plops down next to you on the couch and pats your knee gently. You bring your foot up under your other leg and rest your knee on Jungkook’s thigh. He keeps his hand on you.

It’s comforting to have him there, touching you. You didn’t realize it before this moment, but you were pretty nervous about having tonight go well. Having Jungkook next to you, wanting the same thing as you, makes you feel like you might not be alone in your other desires, either.

His touch comforts you to the point that you even miss the butterflies in your stomach.

Your curiosity about Jimin’s words gets the better of you, so you lean over and whisper to Jungkook, “What’s up with those two?” while gesturing across the room as subtly as you can.

Jungkook peers over at you with an unreadable face and whispers back, “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t push him, and you move your questions to the back of your mind for after everyone leaves.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and sit back against the couch, careful to not give Jungkook a reason to take his hand off of you just yet. You turn to Seokjin and Hoseok, only to find that they’re in the middle of a heated debate about whether barbeque or garlic fried chicken is better. (How could you do this to me? And after all the meals I’ve cooked for you!” Seokjin cried when you had sided with Hoseok in the barbeque camp. You clinked glasses with Hoseok in solidarity while Seokjin continued to grumble without any real malice behind it.)

You then find yourself distracted by Yoongi and Namjoon animatedly discussing digital audio workstations, which you only know anything about because Yoongi used to have you sit in his room in college and listen to him excitedly talk about the newest software he had bought with the money he earned from delivering pizzas. You personally think that MixPad is better than FocusRite, but you like watching them talk it out themselves rather than offering your own two cents. From what you can tell, Namjoon seems to be really knowledgeable about the subject as a whole. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Yoongi look at another person so intensely.

Once you lose track of what Yoongi and Namjoon are saying, you turn your head once again to find that Jimin and Taehyung are happily cuddling in your big chair, giant smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“How did you two meet?” you ask, hoping that’s not too invasive of a question.

Taehyung tears his eyes away from Jimin long enough to look at you, still looking giddy. “We met through Jungkook, actually. They were friends when they were kids and I met Jungkook when we were teenagers, and when it turned out that Jimin and I were going to be in the same year at the same college, Jungkook basically forced us to get to know each other so we could all be friends.”

You barely have time to say, “Aw, that’s sweet,” before Taehyung is back to looking at Jimin again. You don’t blame him. You turn to Jungkook instead.

“That was really cool of you to do,” you say to him while giving him a little nudge. “Bringing them together like that.”

You can tell that Jungkook is trying not to smile into his glass as he takes a sip. His ears are red, though, giving away how pleased he is with your compliment. “Thanks,” he mumbles into his wine. He gives your leg a little squeeze, and you both turn back to your guests.

After a little while of drinking, catching up with your old friends, and getting to know your new ones (you were right, Namjoon did loosen up after having some wine), you break out the board games. Soon enough, though, you discover that the majority of the people you’re playing with are a bunch of cheaters.

You catch Taehyung shoving Clue cards up his sleeve on more than one occasion, Hoseok doesn’t include all of the epidemic cards in the deck during your game of Pandemic, Seokjin keeps adding extra trains to his part of the board during Ticket to Ride, Namjoon and Jimin don’t call each other out for giving incorrect clues during Taboo, and Yoongi quits right in the middle of Secret Hitler because he’s ‘tired of being a liberal every time.’ The only one playing the games honestly with you is Jungkook, and that makes you happier than you think it should.

You eventually threaten the whole room, wine-tipsy as they are, with permanent exile from your apartment if they cheat at the next game, to which you receive grumbles of agreement that they will play correctly from now on. With a satisfied smile, you begin handing out the cards. A few riveting rounds of Sushi Go later, everyone seems to have paired off.

Yoongi and Namjoon are back to talking about music, and have even exchanged numbers with the promise that they’ll meet up sometime to work on something together. Hoseok and Seokjin have engaged each other in a pun war of sorts, trying to one-up the other with their best jokes about chickens. Taehyung and Jimin are giggling quietly at each other, still sitting together in your big chair. Their legs are tangled up, and they haven’t taken their eyes off each other since the last game ended. It’s sweet.

While you are looking around happily at your friends, you feel the same hand on your knee that comforted you earlier. This time, though, with your nervousness having dissipated, you focus on his hand more than you did before. This time, you easily recognize the butterflies that always seem to accompany Jungkook’s touch on your skin. Just for today, you decide to bask in his warmth and allow the butterflies to flourish inside you.

Just for today.

~~~

It’s past midnight when everyone eventually leaves. You can feel the exhaustion in your bones, but you’re happier than you’ve been in a while. Everyone seemed to have a good time together, you were able to see some of your closest friends, and you were paired up with Jungkook for most of the games. Additionally, you were able to see Jungkook interact with his friends in a way that you had never seen before tonight. You feel like you’ve gotten to know him more just from witnessing him be with the people he cares about. It makes you want to have even more game nights.

You’re bringing dishes from the living room to the kitchen for Jungkook to wash when you remember you had wanted to ask him about his two friends. You place the few wine glasses you’re holding down gently on the countertop next to the sink, then you bring it up.

“Are you okay talking about Jimin and Taehyung?” you ask tentatively from behind Jungkook. “You seemed kind of concerned about them earlier.”

Jungkook stops washing the dish he’s holding and sighs audibly, letting his shoulders drop and his head fall back. “Yeah,” he says anyway, and waves you toward the sink so he can see you while he talks. You hop up onto the counter next to him and swing your legs out in front of you absentmindedly while he continues to clean the plate in front of him.

“So,” Jungkook starts, “Jimin is going to get his pairing from the elders soon.”

You hum to yourself in thought. Even though you had only really just met Jimin officially, you could tell that he and Taehyung had something between them. From the way they smiled shyly at each other on their shared seat to the way they played the games together throughout the evening, it was clear that there were feelings other than ones of friendship present there. How would Jimin’s pairing affect the dynamic between them?

“But he and Taehyung…” you voice your thoughts about the two out loud, but trail off.

Jungkook has a sort of grave look on his face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look like that. The corners of his mouth are downturned and his eyes have little life in them when he says, “Yeah, I know. Jimin is going to get his pairing but he doesn’t know if he’ll accept it or not. Because the thing is that Taehyung rejected his own pairing.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head at that, but you don’t say anything. You want Jungkook to keep talking. This is the most interesting story you’ve heard in weeks.

“Yeah, that’s what I did, too,” Jungkook says, referring to your wide eyes. “I’d never met anyone who had rejected their pairing before Taehyung did it. He seemed so sure about it, too. Then, get this, he told me the reason he rejected his pairing was because he’s in love with Jimin. So, naturally, I ask him if Jimin feels the same way, and he just goes, ‘I have no idea.’ No idea! He rebelled against the entire system and yet he had no idea how Jimin felt about him.”

Realization hits you in that moment, so you ask, “Was that why Jimin said he was hoping Taehyung wouldn’t be here tonight? Because he feels pressured to reject his pairing for Taehyung?”

Jungkook is nodding before you even finish your question. “Yeah, that’s why. It turned out that Jimin does also have feelings for Taehyung, but Jimin is way less fearless than Taehyung is. He doesn’t know what will happen if he rejects his pairing. He doesn’t want to lose his family or the life he has right now. That’s why he was nervous about Taehyung being here tonight, because he wants to make that decision on his own, and not with any outside influence. But at the same time, Taehyung already did all that, and Jimin doesn’t want it to be for nothing.”

You wait for Jungkook to finish his speech before making so much as a sound. It seems like he really needed to get this out, like it had been weighing on him heavily. He’s never really confided in you about… well, anything. You just know this is a step in the right direction. (You might not be sure what the direction is, exactly, but you still feel good about it.) 

What you want to say in response to Jungkook’s words is, “If they’re in love, there shouldn’t be a decision to make.” But you know it’s more complicated than that. You have no idea what it’s like for people who rebel against the elders’ decisions. While Taehyung seemed happy and carefree all throughout the evening, you don’t know anything about what his life is like when he leaves the safe space of your apartment. With that in mind, all you can bring yourself to say is, “That’s a big decision to make.”

Jungkook nods again, then goes back to washing the dish in his hands. You continue sitting on the counter, thinking. Though your own greatest dream is to be in love, you didn’t even reject your pairing to try to find it. You figure the two must be quite different, wishing for love and actually experiencing it. If love is strong enough to make people go against the elders, what else are people in love capable of doing?

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Jungkook calls your name.

“Huh?” you say distractedly.

Jungkook moves away from the sink and comes to stand in front of you, coming to a stop between your legs, still dangling from the counter. As soon as he stops moving, your heart stops beating from his proximity. He still smells like soap, the way he did when he helped you out of your wedding dress. You never knew the smell of soap could be so intoxicating. He’s so close, you can even see flecks of gold in his chocolate eyes that you’ve never noticed before, like pieces of treasure just waiting to be found.

You’re not sure why he’s so close to you, but you remind yourself to be logical. He’s just concerned about how quiet you’ve become. Or you have something on your face that he’s going to remove. Yeah, that’s it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, confirming your suspicions about his concern for you. You nod at him, smiling as he rests his hands on the counter beside your thighs. He’s so close to you, and you briefly hope that he can’t hear how wildly your heart is beating in your chest. You could kiss him right now without a problem. You’re barely able to focus on your conversation with him when the only things in your field of vision are his soft, wine-stained lips and the adorable mole underneath them.

Yeah. You definitely want to kiss him.

“You sure?” he presses. You nod again, worried about your ability to speak properly in this moment. You then yawn without warning.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” you say, as if your yawn needed explaining.

“Okay,” he says through his own yawn. “Want to go to bed?”

There are a lot of things you want, most of which involve having Jungkook’s mouth on yours right this very second. Thoughts of the elders, marriage, pairings, love and rebellion still fly around in your head, but none of them outweigh your desire to kiss your husband.

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, however, you just sigh and say, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

~~~

Nothing could have prepared you for the onslaught of pain and discomfort you are currently experiencing. You are presently lying on the bathroom floor after heaving over the toilet for about the twelfth time. Your body is burning from the inside out with fever, your chills have you shivering uncontrollably, and to top it all off you’ve just started your period as well. So, in addition to the regular aches and pains that come with being sick, you have cramps that you know will only get worse, your mood is going to take a dive, and you’re more than likely going to ruin at least one pair of underwear this week. Fantastic.

You had gone to bed the night before already feeling under the weather, and you had just called out of work before you told Jungkook about it, in case he didn’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with a potentially sick person. You certainly hadn’t expected him to give up the entire bed for you so you could sleep comfortably. When you had protested, he had said he wanted you to be able to sleep for as long as you needed, and he didn’t want to accidentally wake you up while he was getting ready for work the next morning. He even took all his necessities out of the bedroom and said he could just get ready at the gym instead of using your ensuite bathroom. How thoughtful.

Now that you think about it, as you lean away from the toilet and try to breathe normally for longer than two minutes at a time, you missed getting to see Jungkook before he went to work today. While it is true that he always wakes you up when he’s getting ready, you’ve come to find that you might like that part of your day with him the most.

Each morning, you get to stay in bed and be sleepy while you watch Jungkook move deftly around your bedroom, trying to slick his hair back properly or button the buttons on his shirt cuffs. (You love when he wears dress shirts because you usually have to help him with those exact buttons. He always smiles at you fondly while you do it, appreciative of your willingness to assist him. You, in turn, think it’s sweet that he looks to you for help when he struggles, even though it is with something small like shirt buttons. It makes you smile back at him every time.)

Additionally, you always end up talking about what your respective days will look like at work or the new episode of Survivor you watched together the night before. You discuss what you want to have for dinner, talk about whether or not you’ll see any friends this weekend, or play a game of Would You Rather?

Last week you had a pretty intense debate about which fictional characters you thought would survive a zombie apocalypse. (While you went into it thinking the cast of The Walking Dead would stand the best chance, you ended up agreeing with Jungkook’s choice of the Archer cast in the end, seeing as the title character had literally died and been brought back to life over the course of one episode.)

Through these mornings spent together, you’ve been able to see each other at your groggiest and crankiest, and it feels so domestic. It feels natural.

You imagine a couple in love would do the same.

It’s a thought you’ve been having about a lot of seemingly mundane things lately - the way you and Jungkook share a blanket while you watch badly reviewed horror movies, the way he always gives you some of his dessert because he knows you have a serious sweet tooth, the way you both end up using each other’s shampoo when you run out of your own.

You used to try to shove the thoughts down to where even you couldn’t reach them, but recently your growing feelings for Jungkook have been making those same thoughts of happy couples bubble up to the surface of your consciousness. The thoughts make you happy, and if you’re honest, so does Jungkook. You’ve developed a kind of friendship with him that you cherish, even if it came about in an unorthodox way. While your marriage isn’t based on love like you think marriages should be, you still make a good pair.

After downing some DayQuil and ibuprofen, you miraculously make it to the living room somehow and you lay down gingerly on the couch. You decide to turn on some Jeopardy! reruns to distract yourself from your abundant pain. You text Jungkook to let him know how you feel and to ask him to bring home some more pain meds when he gets off of work tonight. You then snuggle deeper into your blanket burrito and try to rest your tired eyes while you listen to Alex Trebek calmly reading clues to his contestants. Full of medication and practically swathed in your blanket like a baby, you eventually fall asleep.

You wake up some time later to a throbbing headache and the sounds of Alex Trebek on your television replaced with the sounds of someone cooking in your kitchen. You check your phone to find that it is only 12:03pm and you immediately shoot up from your place on the couch, only to fall right back down when a new wave of nausea hits you. You choke it back enough to weakly say, “Hello?” and hope that there isn’t a murderer making something delicious in your kitchen before killing you.

You hear a noncommittal noise from over the back of the couch, and you open your eyes (when had you closed them?) to find Jungkook towering over you, chewing something thoughtfully. Before you can scold him for almost making you have a panic attack while you’re already sick, he walks around to your side of the couch and sits down carefully, then lifts a spoon from somewhere and brings it to your mouth, making you go cross-eyed to see it and asking you very seriously, “Does this taste okay?”

You can’t believe your ears. He didn’t even say hello, he just shoved a spoonful of something in your face and asked you to taste it. Why did he do that? Why does he look so... contemplative while he eats? Does he always have his brows knit together and his mouth turned into a serious-looking frown like that while he chews? Why haven’t you ever noticed before? You think you might vomit again.

Your disbelief and hesitance to try whatever is in that spoon must show on your face, because Jungkook removes the utensil from your personal space and follows his original question up with a much more timid, “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh...” you start. Is everything okay? There isn’t a murderer in your house after all, which is a huge plus, but it’s only noon and Jungkook is here instead of at work, and he’s cooking. What is he doing here? Did something happen at work? Did he get fired? Why can’t you ever turn off your brain? The thoughts of Jungkook’s employment status swim through your head and make you dizzier than you already are from the fever.

“What are you making? It smells really good,” you finish, voice hoarse. You haven’t spoken a single word yet today, partly because you’ve been sleeping and partly because the effort it takes for you to speak in your sickened state is simply too much for you to handle. You figure it’ll be worth it this one time, though, just to make Jungkook look less nervous. You don’t understand why he still looks so nervous around you sometimes.

A look of relief washes over Jungkook’s face and he visibly relaxes. He hops off the couch to go back into the kitchen and continue stirring the pot of whatever he’s making. It smells like... chicken noodle soup? You’re not quite sure, but it smells delicious. Your stomach growls without warning.

“I’m making you soup!” Jungkook says cheerily from his place at the stove. He doesn’t elaborate, so you use up most of the strength you have left to get off the couch and waddle gracelessly to the kitchen in your blanket burrito. You slowly take your place at the kitchen table and lay your head down on it to try to ease some of your lightheadedness.

“But –“ you stop to take in a breath and let your stomach settle. “But why are you here? Why aren’t you at work?”

Jungkook stops stirring the pot of soup (it’s definitely chicken noodle) and stands up a bit straighter. He has his back to you, and you can see a faint blush creeping up from under his collar. He puts his free hand behind him and scratches at his neck, a habit you’ve come to learn he turns to when he doesn’t know what to say. It’s cute. Your heart might flutter a little whenever he does it.

He mumbles something you can’t discern, so you say, “Huh? Sorry, I can’t hear well when I’m sick like this.”

Jungkook quickly turns around to face you, his cheeks and ears just as red as his neck. He’s looking anywhere but at you, and he’s fiddling with his wedding band.

“They said in sickness and in health, right? The vows, I mean. They said in sickness and in health, and you’re sick, so... I’m here.”

Your heart is definitely fluttering now, and you don’t try to stop it. Where did this come from? He’s been sweet to you since you first met him, but he’s never directly referenced your wedding vows before as a reason for his demeanor towards you. You didn’t think your vows meant that much to him.

Oh, wait.

Maybe they don’t.

The butterflies inside you die just as soon as they had come to life. You keep forgetting that this marriage only exists on paper. Jungkook may care about you, but not in the way you hope he does. He was forced into this just as much as you were. He must feel a sense of duty and obligation toward you because you’re married and because you’re friends now.

But still... he didn’t have to come home in the middle of the day. That was his choice. And why did he turn so red before he mentioned your vows? If this was about duty and obligation, you’re sure he would be able to keep his cool around you and not get so flustered.

You smile despite yourself, and you lift your head off the table just as Jungkook brings two steaming bowls of soup over and sits down next to you. Before you dig in, though, Jungkook suddenly perks up and moves to stand.

“Where are you going?” you ask as you take your first bite. You were right, it is chicken noodle soup, and it’s delicious. There are carrots and celery in it (just the way you like it), the noodles are cooked perfectly, and the chicken practically melts in your mouth. The soup tastes like your mom’s. When did you ever tell Jungkook about your mom’s recipe?

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, just walks out of sight toward the front door. You hear the crinkling sound of a plastic bag, and then he reappears at the table as fast as he had left.

“I didn’t know what meds you wanted, so I just got… a bunch of them,” he says, pouring an obscene amount of pill bottles onto the table. There are blue bottles, pink bottles, tiny bottles, bottles so wide you’re sure you couldn’t wrap your hand around them if you tried. You almost spit out your soup with a laugh, and a sheepish grin makes its way onto Jungkook’s face.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Why are you getting these out all of a sudden?” You honestly can’t believe he bought you so many different kinds of pills. You must have not specified which pills you needed when you texted him earlier this morning. The fact that he didn’t want to disturb you to ask you which ones you wanted almost makes you cry with affection.

“Well, you were sleeping for a while, and I figured you woke up because the ones you took before wore off. Was I right?” Jungkook’s embarrassed smile has been replaced by a look that is much more self-assured. You can’t decide which look you like more on him.

You smile cheekily back at him and reply, “Yeah, you’re right.” You sift through the pill bottles until you find the right ones, you knock them back with your water (“You need fluids!” Jungkook practically yelled at you in concern when you complained that you wanted a soda instead), and you finish off your soup with vigor, not realizing how hungry you had actually been before eating.

Before you can move to get up and bring your bowl to the sink, Jungkook beats you to it, swiftly gathering your dishes together and carrying them over to the opposite side of the kitchen. His shirt sleeves are rolled up in the same way they were on your wedding night, and you can’t help but stare at the ever-present vein that runs up his arm. You think about how painfully shy he was when you first met, and how he still is sometimes. You also think about how he has slowly come out of his protective shell since you’ve been living together, even if he does still act skittish around you sometimes. From every angle, inside and out, Jungkook is beautiful.

“I could have done that,” you say, just to get your mind off of how much Jungkook has come to mean to you in the past months. You might even venture to say he’s become one of your best friends.

Jungkook turns around and leans against the countertop, brows knit together and mouth turned downward slightly. He’s thinking.

“You haven’t stood up in a little while,” he says finally. “Are you sure you could have?”

You immediately scoot your chair away from the table to prove it to him, only to realize that, no, you probably could not have brought your own dishes to the sink. You whine at your current state and Jungkook comes over to help you out of your chair and back to what, by now, is surely a germ-infested couch. However, instead of moving away from you as soon as you’re laying down again, Jungkook sits down right next to your feet, making himself at home on top of the part of your blanket that doesn’t cover you. His closeness electrifies you, even when you feel nothing but pain. You think he might be made of magic.

He reaches for the remote on the coffee table and says, as he turns on the television, “So we’re watching Jeopardy! reruns, right? Or do you want something different now?”

His tone is so gentle when he speaks to you, even more so than it usually is. You barely register what he says because you’re so focused on his lips when he speaks. You think that maybe this relationship is more than married people who are friends, more than duty and obligation. Maybe there is something else there after all.

You feel yourself blushing at the thought, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy looking through the options on Netflix to perceive your inner turmoil for himself. You choose to simply watch him as he browses and finally makes a selection. You spend the next two hours immersed in the newest season of Big Mouth, but every now and then you steal a glance across the couch at Jungkook.

Most of the time, he’s looking back at you.

~~~

Six months into your marriage, you realize you are in a predicament.

You’ve tried to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything, but it’s all been in vain. With some effort, you’ve finally come to the conclusion that nothing makes you happier than Jungkook.

Jungkook, who was so painfully shy and insecure on your wedding day that he almost cried when you showed him your Koya plushie.

Jungkook, who wanted your friends to get closer to his and organized a game night to make it happen.

Jungkook, who brought home an entire pharmacy and made your mom’s chicken noodle soup for you when you were sick.

Jungkook, who is perfect for you.

You are in a predicament, and your predicament is this: you have fallen, absolutely and irreversibly, in love with your husband.

And you know it’s only going to get worse.

You’re currently on your way back home from seeing a movie with Jungkook, running at full speed toward your apartment building to avoid being soaked by the rain that’s suddenly coming down in buckets. After slipping once or twice on the blacktop, you make it inside your building and head immediately for the elevator, excited to change out of your newly wet clothes and get in bed for the night.

You make it into the elevator and, with some effort, push the button for the seventh floor. You don’t realize how much you actually ran until you’ve stopped moving completely and are waiting for the elevator to arrive at your floor. You’re slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, and you look over to see that Jungkook is similarly affected by your sprint.

With a small chuckle, you stand up straight once more and quip, “For someone who goes to the gym so often, you sure look tired from that little run.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you but can’t hide his smile when he says, “One, that was a run with no warm-up! I always warm up first because I hate cardio. And two, you don’t look so g--”

His surely witty response is cut off by the elevator suddenly going dark and ceasing its upward movement. The unexpected stoppage causes you to lurch forward, crashing into Jungkook with a yelp and causing you both to tumble to the floor with a loud thud. You don’t even have time to freak out about basically laying on top of Jungkook on the floor of this elevator because you’re too busy freaking out about the possibility that the elevator itself will fall to the basement and kill you both.

You wait for a few moments, straining your ears to see if you can pick up any sound, any indication that the elevator is going to drop. When you hear nothing but silence, you turn your attention to the body underneath you, which is starting to squirm slightly. You quickly scramble off of Jungkook with a mumbled apology and get back to your feet, then begin to search your pockets for your phone so you can use its flashlight. Once you find your phone and turn on the flashlight, you begin looking around the elevator for the panel of buttons so you can hopefully get to your destination and leave your tiny prison.

While Jungkook is struggling to his feet with a groan, you find the panel and push the button for the seventh floor, but nothing happens. You try again. Nothing. You try the button to open the doors. Nothing. You try the button for the lobby. Nothing. You try all the remaining buttons, including the panic button. Nothing.

You’re trapped in the elevator.

Panic begins to overtake you as you realize what’s happening. Your breath starts coming in short, quick pants that you can’t control. Your entire body feels rigid, like you could break in half if someone so much as touched you. Your vision is blurry and unfocused; you might be seeing double. You’re unsure. It doesn’t help that your only light source is a phone flashlight. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, the sound trying to claw its way out of you and into the small space the elevator provides. The same thought keeps cycling through your mind, leaving room for nothing else. I can’t get out.

Panic attacks used to be a daily occurrence for you years ago (for reasons you would rather not discuss), but these days you only have one every few months, which is a great improvement if you do say so yourself. You’ve learned how to avoid them when possible and, when you do have one, how to get through them.

This is one of those times when you need to get through it.

You know one of the only ways for you to overcome a panic attack is for you to talk it out with someone, but the only person in this space with you is Jungkook, and until now you have avoided letting him be aware of this part of you, since being vulnerable around him is still difficult for you. You don’t want him to think any less of you or to think you’re being dramatic. You’re not sure how you would cope if Jungkook thought those things about you, so you haven’t ever given him the chance.

You consider trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling inside you, but you know that will only make it worse for you and will likely send you into a full-on meltdown, which you desperately want to avoid having in front of your husband. With that in mind, you take in a shaky breath to try to calm your nerves a bit before you speak. Even so, you can’t help how small you sound when you say, “Um, hey, Jungkook?”

Jungkook, who is looking at the elevator buttons exasperatedly with his own flashlight, mutters out a “Hm?”

“Um, would you mind turning your flashlight off for a second?” you ask while turning your own off.

Jungkook is still looking at the buttons. “Huh? Why?” he says distractedly.

A tear slips from your eye and down your cheek as you turn away from him, crouching to the floor to hold yourself. Your hands feel slightly numb, and your brain is screaming a million different things at you. You understand none of them.

“Because, um, I don’t want you to see me, um, cry right now.”

Not even a full second goes by before the elevator is once again cloaked in darkness. While you’re thankful and relieved that he listened to you, you’re unable to stop the tiny sob that escapes your lips. You can hear Jungkook take in a breath as he opens his mouth to speak. You’re prepared for the worst when he says, “What do you need from me?”

You cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your cries. You didn’t think it was possible for Jungkook to be any more perfect than you already thought he was. He’s good at proving you wrong about that.

Jungkook must hear your weeping anyway, though, because he continues, tentatively asking, “Wait, did I say the wrong thing?” He keeps speaking after that, seemingly more to himself than to you, saying, “Dammit, I really suck at this.”

You stop your quiet bawling long enough to emphatically say, “No! No, you didn’t say the wrong thing at all. You said exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you.”

“I did? I mean, okay, so what should I do?” Jungkook asks, still sounding unsure.

“This. Keep doing this. Talking to me, I mean. I need to get my mind off of what’s happening. Talk about anything, and get me to answer you,” you say through your tears. Your voice is already steadier when you speak, and the million thoughts in your brain seem to have silenced themselves. You feel clearer.

Jungkook makes a sound of realization at your words, then does exactly as you asked.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“What time do you usually wake up in the morning?”

“Um, around 8:00.”

“Okay, uh… oh, since you can’t see, what are three things that you can feel right now?”

You’re taken aback for a moment, as that’s a question that people who know you well have asked you during panic attacks. After a beat of silence, you answer, “Um, I can feel my phone in my hand. I can feel my hair getting the back of my shirt wet. And I can feel you.”

“Cool. Wait, what?” Jungkook says, sounding confused. “What do you mean, me?”

For just a moment, you’re glad you’re in the dark, because you’re surely blushing right now. “I mean that I can feel your presence next to me, your warmth. Like, even when you’re not speaking, I can tell that you’re there. Does that make sense?”

You hear feet shuffling on the carpeted floor, and then Jungkook speaks. “I, uh… I think so, yeah. I can feel, um… I can feel you too,” he finishes, sounding more certain than he did when he started speaking. You wonder if he’s just saying that for your benefit, or if he really can feel you. You hope it’s the latter.

Still feeling shaky, you ask Jungkook, “Can you tell me a story? Any story, I don’t care. I just like listening to you talk.” You close your eyes, even though you can’t see Jungkook at the moment. You feel like you need an extra layer of protection from the confession you just made to him. If he picks up on the confession, though, he doesn’t mention it. You’re thankful.

“Oh, okay, um… do you want to hear the stolen underwear story or the drunk karaoke story?” He asks the question quickly, as if those are the two stories he whips out at parties without a problem.

Both of those options sound extremely ridiculous to you, but you find yourself smiling slightly when you answer, “The underwear one.”

You hear a small snicker in the darkness. That alone is somehow enough to help you feel a little less panicked. Then Jungkook starts speaking.

“So basically, I went to this summer camp when I was like thirteen, and I had to share a bunk with maybe six or seven other guys. The camp itself was great. It lasted most of the summer, and it’s how I met Taehyung. Anyway, somehow I had managed to lose about half of the underwear I had brought with me over the course of the summer, and I honestly thought it was just me being an idiot. So we got to the end of our time there and, since we all knew each other so well, we had like a roast session slash complain-about-your-campmates session.”

The story itself is pretty amusing, but what’s hilarious is how Jungkook is devolving into a fit of giggles while telling it. His voice is coming from somewhere at your level, telling you that he sat down at some point in the middle of his story. You’re glad that he came down to the floor to be near you, but you don’t say anything about it. You just listen as he continues, voice soothing your frazzled nerves.

“So I get up there and I’m like, ‘Yo, guys, whoever stole all my underwear better watch out,’ even though I thought I had just lost them myself. So after I go up there, Taehyung gets on the stage and he looks really apologetic. I’m wondering why, because he had told me what he was going to say before we got up there. So he gets up there, and he looks right at me, and he just goes, ‘Jungkook, I’m sorry for stealing your underwear.’”

Now it’s your turn to giggle. You never would have pegged Taehyung for an underwear thief. Just listening to Jungkook’s story and his laughter is calming you down further from your panic. Even though you may not be out of the woods yet, you appreciate Jungkook’s efforts to help you more than you can say.

Jungkook’s laughter dies down after a bit, and a comfortable silence falls over the tiny space you’re occupying. Soon enough, though, you hear the sound of a throat clearing, and then his voice asks, “How are you doing now?”

You sniff slightly before answering, “A little better. I really appreciate that you listened to me instead of just trying to fix the problem. Most people would have just tried to call maintenance first instead of helping me. So thank you.”

You hear the telltale sign of Jungkook scratching at the back of his neck. He doesn't know what to say. You're too panicked out to worry about whether you've made him uncomfortable, and even if you had the energy to wonder about it, you wouldn't need to do so for long anyway, because he does end up speaking.

"Um, you're welcome. But to be honest, I don't feel like I did much. This was all you."

At his statement, you find yourself groping through the dark to find him where he sits. You're not sure why he thinks he didn’t have a hand in you calming down, but you’re suddenly very determined to set him straight. It matters to you that he put in work to help you feel better, and he should know that.

Once you manage to touch his shoulder, he yelps in surprise and you chuckle. You feel your way down his arms until you reach his hands, warm despite the icy rain outside, and you squeeze them tightly.

"Please believe me when I say this," you state as assertively as you can. "The reason I can talk to you normally right now has nothing to do with me. I owe that to you. You were everything I needed to get through that. Thank you."

You can't believe you're being so up-front with Jungkook right now. Perhaps it's the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Regardless of the reason, though, you find that you don't regret anything you've said to him in this elevator. If you had the option to take back your words about how to calm you down or about how you like listening to Jungkook speak, you wouldn’t. It all felt right.

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook says after a pause. “And thank you, too. You know, for… letting me help you. Thank you for trusting me.”

You let out a breath and squeeze his hands again. “Is it okay if I hug you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. While you would consider the two of you to be close at this point, you’ve never hugged each other before. Now feels like the opportune time for it to finally happen and for you to become closer physically, just as you did metaphorically through the words you shared while trapped here together.

Jungkook seems to give his answer the same amount of thought that you gave your question, because he immediately says, “Yes. Yes, definitely.” He sounds slightly breathless when he says it.

You let go of his hands and feel for his shoulders again. Once you find them, you pull Jungkook into a gentle hug, made only slightly awkward by your sitting positions. Your head rests in the crook of Jungkook’s neck, and you breathe out a sigh. His hands settle on the small of your back, thumbs moving up and down the material of your shirt reassuringly.

You can’t believe you’ve never hugged this man before now. You fit together perfectly, even when you’re both sitting. You wonder what it would be like to hug while standing, or to cuddle while laying down. You hope this is the first of many hugs with Jungkook.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jungkook’s voice, quiet and calm in your ear. “Not to be an ass, but would this be an okay time to call maintenance?”

You huff out a laugh into his neck and mumble an agreement, then begin to disentangle yourself from him. 

You watch Jungkook as he looks up and calls the apartment complex’s maintenance number. You then slowly get back to your feet, turn your flashlight back on, and make your way back to the button panel. You press each button again, one by one. No luck. With a sigh, you turn back to Jungkook, who has just finished his call.

“What did they say?” you ask, sounding tired to your own ears. You feel tired, too.

Jungkook looks at you with a kind of grimace on his face. “The guy can come reset the breaker or whatever, but he’s already dealing with a flooded bathtub in another building, so he doesn’t think he’ll be able to come over here for a while.”

“Oh,” you say, “okay. What should we do?” You have to tell yourself that there is no use panicking a second time. Luckily, your rational side wins this battle with your emotions.

“Wait, you’re not upset?” Jungkook asks, sounding a bit disbelieving.

“Not really,” you reply. “I already kind of tired myself out. And besides, you’re here. So I’ll be okay.”

You swear you can see Jungkook blush.

~~~

“Never have I ever…” You chew on your lip as you try to think of something else that you have never done. “Oh! Never have I ever broken a bone.”

Jungkook lets out a chuckle and puts a finger down. He only has one out of five left up.

It’s been over two hours since you first entered the elevator. Over two hours since the thing stopped functioning properly, leaving you and Jungkook stuck together in its tiny space. Maintenance still hasn’t shown up to fix it, meaning that the two of you have had to find ways to occupy yourselves. You’ve turned your flashlights back on and settled your phones against the elevator walls for some visibility, and you’ve been playing games since then.

“Okay, my go,” Jungkook says, bouncing a little where he sits. He scrunches his face up in thought, looking to the ceiling. He’s so cute like this, you think. You want to reach out and hug him again, just to feel his strong arms around you. But you don’t. For right now, just looking at him is enough.

He suddenly looks down from the ceiling and right at you, a glint in his eyes. You wonder what he’s going to say that has him giving you that look. It’s like he wants to know all your secrets. After today, you’d be more than willing to give them to him.

“Never have I ever been in love.”

Just as your heart promptly begins to break at his words, you notice movement from the corner of your eye. You look to his hand and find that he put his last finger down.

Just as soon as you begin to register that, yes, Jungkook has indeed been in love with at least one person in his life, you hear a chuckle that sounds almost forlorn. You move your eyes back to Jungkook’s face to find that he’s practically grimacing, and you give him a questioning look.

“Just me, huh?” Jungkook asks quietly, sadly.

“What do you mean?” you breathe out.

“You didn’t put a finger down,” he says as he points in your general direction. You peer down at your hand and realize that he’s right. Without looking up to see how he’ll react, you put one of your fingers down. You hear a small gasp and you glance up, meeting Jungkook’s wide eyes.

“Not just you,” you say softly, a sad smile on your face.

Jungkook seems to perk up a little at your words, but you can tell that he’s nervous now. He’s fiddling with his wedding band like he always does when he’s nervous. What does he have to be nervous about?

“Wait,” you say when Jungkook doesn’t speak up. “Why did you say something that you have done?”

In the dim lighting of your dying phones, it looks like Jungkook is blushing again. He scratches the back of his neck and then, without looking directly at you, says, “I wanted to know if you had.”

You can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Is he trying to say what you think he is? You search Jungkook’s face until he focuses back on you, somewhat wistfully.

“Why does it matter if I have?” You can’t help but let hope bloom inside you as you await his next words. 

Jungkook lets out a sigh, closes his eyes, opens them again. He regards you with a determined look, then he finally speaks.

“Because then there might be a chance that you love me back.”

There is absolutely a chance, you think to yourself. You want to scream it from the rooftops, but instead you remain still in stunned silence. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, finally coming true. You’ve never desired anything as much as you desire to be loved, and now it’s finally happening. You know you need to speak soon, or you’ll risk making Jungkook think that you do not return his affections. Oh, how wrong he would be.

But, how will you tell him?

You glance down at your lap and see that you are still holding a finger up, even though you’ve already won the game. It gives you an idea. You hold up your last remaining finger and briefly look at Jungkook, who appears as though he might pass out from your silence. You would usually be amused by his expression of nervousness, but right now you’re too nervous about what you’re going to do next.

“Never have I ever kissed Jeon Jungkook,” you say quietly, putting your finger down. Before Jungkook even has the time to react to your statement, you’re crawling forward to where he sits, taking his face gently in both of your hands, and slotting your lips together.

You feel Jungkook sigh into your mouth and wrap his hands around your waist, just as he did when he hugged you earlier. You’ve never experienced a kiss like this one. It electrifies your very being from the inside out, while also being soft, gentle, sweet. Jungkook’s lips are like velvet, and he tastes like the Skittles you shared in the movie theater earlier tonight.

Wanting to be closer to him, you move to straddle Jungkook where he sits, pressing your chests together and moving your hands around to the back of his head. He responds eagerly, tightening his hold around your back without ever removing his mouth from yours. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivers slightly, so you continue your ministrations as his hands begin to fall lower.

Just when you think Jungkook is going to grab at your ass, the elevator’s lights come on and the thing roars to life, beginning to ascend once more. You take your lips off of Jungkook’s and he follows you with a whine, not wanting to stop despite the current circumstances. You giggle and place one final peck to his already kiss-bitten lips before climbing off of him and standing up. You help Jungkook to his feet, grab both of your phones from the floor, and turn off their flashlights before turning towards the elevator door, feeling lighter than air.

As the elevator continues to move, you see Jungkook out of the corner of your eye and you stifle a laugh. He’s pouting. Feeling brave after his confession and your kiss, you turn to him with a coy smile and say, “You can keep kissing me, you know.”

Jungkook’s face morphs from sullen into elated in an instant, and just like that he’s crowding into your space to kiss you again. He puts his hands on the sides of your head this time, moving his thumbs gently across your cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

As the elevator finally comes to a halt on your floor and the door opens, Jungkook doesn’t let up, continuing to kiss you fervently. He simply moves backwards out of the elevator and takes you with him. You smile into the kiss, euphoric over the fact that he wants you so much that he can’t stop kissing you while you walk the few feet from the elevator to your own door.

You delicately push Jungkook away from you so you can see the door behind him, but he is undeterred. He moves so that he stands behind you instead, pressing kisses to the back of your head, the part of your jaw that he can reach, the top of your neck. Now it’s your turn to shiver, as he has found your weak spot. You love few things more than neck kisses.

It takes most of the strength you possess to not let your knees buckle while Jungkook’s mouth is on your neck, but you manage to get your key into the lock and open the door to your apartment. You’ve barely gotten past the threshold and kicked off your shoes when Jungkook spins you around and kisses you hungrily, as if he’ll die if he doesn’t. You think you might die yourself.

You begin to back up until you find yourself against the wall of your entryway, Jungkook pinning you to the spot with his kisses. You put your hands back into his hair and he lets out a quiet moan into your mouth, bringing his hands down and around you to squeeze your ass. You never thought a sound could be so sexy. You decide you want to hear it every day.

Jungkook lets his mouth wander back over your jaw and down your neck. He finds your pulse point with ease and begins to suck, making you moan out loud. Jungkook freezes for a moment, as if surprised by what you’ve done. You notice quickly and use your hand to push Jungkook’s head back into your neck, whispering out a breathless, “Please don’t stop.”

You can feel Jungkook smile into your neck and then he gets back to work, littering your neck and collarbone with tiny purple marks. You can also feel a hardness at your belly, straining against Jungkook’s pants. You snake one of your hands down his chest and hook a couple of fingers underneath his waistband. You can feel Jungkook’s stomach tense up at your actions, so you pause, lick your lips and throatily ask, “Is this okay?”

Jungkook takes his mouth off of you just long enough to say, “God, yes.”

You don’t hesitate to move your hand further into Jungkook’s pants, past his coarse hair and right around the base of his cock. He hisses at the contact, moving one of his hands off of your ass to the front of your joggers. He begins massaging your aching center through your clothes and you sigh, your legs widening of their own accord.

You continue to move your hand over Jungkook’s cock as best you can while he’s still dressed. You don’t expect either of you to get off like this, but it’s still hot knowing that you couldn’t even get to a bed before you had each other.

Speaking of a bed, though...

“Jungkook. Bed. Now,” you practically choke out.

At your plea, Jungkook backs away from you just to pick you up and wrap your legs around his waist, carrying you easily to your bedroom. Once there, he proceeds to climb onto the bed with you still in his hold and lean forward slowly, laying you down as if in reverence. Once you’re splayed out beneath him, he takes a moment to gaze at you from above. He must like what he sees, because he gives you one of his big, bunny-like smiles before he’s back to kissing you.

You soon become impatient, however, wanting to close the distance between you both and rid your bodies of their clothes. You tap Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, and he backs away from your face to look at you. You’ve never seen someone look so beautiful.

Jungkook’s hair is in complete disarray from you putting your hands through it, his eyes are absolutely blown out, and his lips are raw and red from your kissing. He’s panting heavily and gazing at you with a look that you can’t describe as anything other than adoration.

You forget how to talk for a moment, so you just pout and tug at the hem of his shirt. He gets the picture, sitting back on his heels and peeling the offending article off of himself. You watch him from between the pillows, eyes darkening as you take in his toned form. You decide that Jungkook really was sculpted by the gods.

Despite Jungkook having an intensely hot body, he puts his arms in front of his chest. He sounds extremely shy when he says, “You too?”

You nod happily and sit up on the bed, urging Jungkook to rid you of your shirt himself. Once he does, you can feel his eyes roaming across the expanse of skin that he has already covered in love bites, then downward to the rest of your newly exposed flesh. He licks his lips.

You don’t bother trying to get him to undo your bra for you. Wanting to avoid the hassle, you reach behind you and unclasp it with one hand, letting it fall from your shoulders. Jungkook drinks you in, from the birthmark on your left breast to your pierced right nipple. If his gaze were capable of getting darker, you think it just did.

“Can I see the rest of you?” Jungkook asks, only sounding a little less shy than he did a moment ago. He’s toying with the cuff of your joggers when he says it.

“Yes,” you say unhesitatingly, lifting your hips from the bed to begin taking your pants off. Jungkook helps you along, pulling at the legs until he has the garment bunched in his hands along with your lace underwear. He practically swoons at the sight of you laid bare on your bed. You thought you might be self-conscious under his stare, but you’re not. All you can feel is wanted.

“Your turn,” you say, toeing at Jungkook’s jeans. He kneels up to begin unbuttoning them, but you scoot forward and place your hand over his before he can.

“I want to do it,” you say, peering up at him with soft eyes. He gulps, then moves his hands to give you access. You take the button into your hands and pop it open, then slowly, tortuously pull down his zipper. You manage to accidentally torture yourself during the process, so you waste no time tugging the jeans down over Jungkook’s firm ass along with his boxer briefs, letting his cock free from its confines. You didn’t think it was possible for a cock to be beautiful before this moment, but you do now.

He’s longer than you expected him to be, and not exactly thick, but there is a prominent vein running up the underside of him, and it reminds you of the vein on his hand and arm. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him being inside you. You want him inside you right now.

Jungkook manages to rid himself of his jeans and underwear completely before he’s hovering back over you, looking like he can’t decide what to do next. The thought of him being overwhelmed by you turns you on immensely, and you pull him down into a bruising kiss. He reciprocates with something that you can’t describe as anything but pure zeal, as he immediately takes your tongue into his mouth and meets it with his own. The taste of him is intoxicating, fruity and dulcet, the only thing you want to taste for the rest of your life.

Jungkook comes down to the bed and lays next to you, tangling your legs together and letting his free hand wander over your body exploratively. He tentatively cups your breast in his hand and squeezes, then rubs at your pierced nipple until it becomes a stiff peak. He then continues downward, palming at your soft stomach and your fleshy hip, until he reaches your mound. He moves his hand through curls damp with arousal, making you sigh wantonly into his kiss and squeeze at his bicep. You want him to hurry, but he’s taking his time with you.

He begins to rut against you lightly as his hand dips down between your soaked folds. You’re positive he’s going so slowly on purpose, because he chuckles when you begin to whine and circle your hips to try to get him to speed up.

“You’re so impatient,” he teases lightly, dancing his fingers along your inner lips, so close to your entrance you can practically taste it.

“Uh huh,” you manage to get out. You’re hot, sweaty and trembling under his touch, and he’s barely done anything to you yet. You’d let him do anything he wanted.

Jungkook smiles down at you, then nuzzles your cheek with his nose before planting a chaste kiss there. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just that I’ve… kind of dreamt about this, and I want it to be perfect. Like you.”

You turn to face him, tears suddenly pricking your eyes, and he’s gazing down at you, cheeks aflame and eyes swimming with affection. You think this might be the best moment of your life.

You swallow and whisper, “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to cry.”

He nuzzles into you again, still smiling. “I love you so much,” he whispers back. Then he sinks two fingers into you.

The intrusion has you sighing loudly, closing your eyes, and arching your back from the bed, hands attempting to find purchase in the flannel sheets underneath you. You do your best not to squirm as Jungkook deftly moves his fingers inside your wet walls, all while beginning to leave open-mouthed kisses down the unbitten side of your neck. The combined sensations have you whimpering, already too fucked out to speak. Jungkook seems to be similarly affected, as he continues to rut against your hip, though more quickly now. You try to wriggle your hand in between your bodies to touch him, but he suddenly halts his movement against your side when he realizes what you’re attempting to do.

“What is it?” you ask, amazed that you’re even able to talk with how well he’s finger-fucking you. Jungkook doesn’t speak right away, so you bring your hand to the back of his head and pull on the hairs at his nape. It seems to ground him.

“I, uh… I don’t want you to touch me.” Jungkook says like it pains him. He’s out of breath from moving inside you. Or maybe just from getting to be with you.

“Why not?” you say, curious but nonjudgmental.

Jungkook sighs, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck, where he mumbles, “If you touch me now I think I’ll come too fast.”

You can’t help but coo at how cute he is, and you continue to pull at the hairs at his nape. He doesn’t move from that spot for a few moments, but he continues to fuck you open tenderly with his fingers. You take his silence as an opportunity.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you ask sweetly, putting as much emotion as possible into every word. You want Jungkook to know you mean it.

You hear him suck in a breath, and then you feel him nod against your neck. You push his hand away from your center only to bring it to your mouth, where you gently suck your arousal from his digits. You feel his head turn towards your face, so you can only assume that he’s watching you do it. You move your tongue over his fingers as you continue, feeling powerful and just as desired as when he had you pinned against the wall earlier.

When you finish licking Jungkook clean of your wetness, you let go of his hand. You expect him to start moving around so he can fuck you, but instead he brings his hand back to your face, where he thumbs at your cheek like he did in the elevator. He’s just looking at you longingly, lovingly. You can’t get enough of that look.

“Jungkook,” you say, your breath coming back to you. “I love you. Please fuck me.”

Jungkook pauses the movement of his thumb. “That’s the first time you’ve said it back.” He sounds choked up when he speaks.

You realize that he’s right. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You punctuate each admission with a kiss to the crown of his head.

You hear a small sniffle before Jungkook moves his head out of your space and ducks it so you can’t see him clearly. You lift your hand to his chin and bring it forward so you can see his face. He’s wearing a small smile, lip trembling a bit. His eyes are shining.

“How do you want me?” you say softly, overwhelmed with love.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Um… can we do it like this? I want to, um, see you. I want to see you.”

You smile brightly up at him and nod, moving your hand away from his face so you can situate yourself underneath your husband. You bring him down to you for a passionate kiss while opening your legs to fit his hips between yours.

Jungkook reaches down between you, positioning his cock at your entrance. He continues to kiss you slowly, purposefully, as he inches himself inside. Your hands find purchase on his strong shoulders, and he swallows your moan with his lips as he bottoms out within your quivering walls.

He doesn’t move right away, allowing you a moment to adjust. Another thing to love about this man. When you’re ready, you squeeze his shoulders and he takes the cue to pull back. Then he snaps his hips forward, and you see nothing but stars.

As Jungkook thrusts into you, he drops his head back down into the crook of your neck and bites down on your pulse point again. You can’t help but cry out, your body thrumming with pleasure and a bit of pain. Jungkook only moves faster, cupping your breast with the hand not holding him up.

“I think I might come,” he confesses into your neck. You clench at the thought of him painting your walls white.

“Come whenever you want to,” you sigh back at him. You were already getting there just from being fingered, but you’re dangerously close to the precipice right now.

Jungkook lets out a huff. “You first,” he says petulantly, then moves his hand from your breast down to the apex of your thighs, where he begins rubbing your clit mercilessly.

His attention to your clit, his cock pounding into you, and his obvious desire to put you before himself all combine together to send you careening off the edge. You feel the pressure that had been building in your lower belly finally release, causing something white-hot to move outward from your very core to the tips of your fingers and toes. You call out his name as he follows you closely behind, shuddering as he comes inside you and continuing to fuck you through both of your orgasms.

After you both begin to come down and Jungkook pulls out of you, he immediately snuggles back into your side, placing his head in the crook of your neck once more and throwing his free hand over your waist, tugging you in close.

“This is my new favorite spot,” he expresses quietly, voice already thick with sleep.

You yawn, bringing your hand back to his nape and absentmindedly beginning to pull at the hair there. After all your daydreaming, you can safely say that this is your new favorite spot as well.

“I love you,” you manage to get out before you and your husband both drift off - silently, each holding a piece of the other.

[creativeashproductions]

Banjo Riff // Platonic!Reggie Peters

IN WHICH: Luke rejects Reggie’s ideas for country music one too many times leading to the friendship fracturing and putting the bands future in question. Luke, with the help of his girlfriend the reader and his friends scramble to make it up to the bassist.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt!Reggie, Luke being an ass, fighting, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.2k

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS now. Song referenced is Lay Here With Me by Maddie & Tae (featuring Dierks Bentley)

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

If there was one thing Sunset Curve, then later Julie and the Phantoms would rely on, it was the battle between Luke and Reggie. Since the conception of a band between the friends, Reggie had always wanted to play a country song. He had learned how to play the banjo in preparation, but Luke rejected both the idea and songs as always.

"You said our sound was vintage '80s and '90s rock music Luke. The band evolved into a pop-rock sound-"

"Because our band changed from Sunset Curve to Julie and the Phantoms. I love you, man, but there's no way we're going country." Luke finally snapped with a heated glare on his face. Luke didn't mean to snap so severely, but it happened.

Luke watched as Reggie's face completely dropped into the kicked puppy expression that tore everyone apart. Instead of making light of the conversation, Reggie mutely nodded in response before turning to grab his bass for the band practice. Luke's stomach dropped at the rather odd behaviour, but Luke blamed his response on his current writers' block.

"Let's start with Flying Solo." Luke proclaimed, hoping Reggie's favourite song would cheer him up. Alex's curious gaze bounced between the two other males in the band just as Julie wandered into the garage.

Before Julie could even question the tension, Reggie had started the beat on the pad stationed on the keyboard. The young female immediately jumped into the first rehearsal song with ease. Every attempt Julie was about to question Reggie's uncharacteristic quiet, the bassist started a different song.

"What's his problem?" Julie questioned as Reggie packed up his stuff and practically sprinted out of the studio. He'd rejected the offer of a pizza movie night.

"Luke here decided to be an asshole again." Alex's tone of voice was sugary sweet in comparison to the glare he sent his guitarist. 

Luke flinched at the furious expression on his bandmate's face. It wasn't a secret Julie and Reggie gravitated to each other in sibling bond. The two had been friends since infancy through their parents; Julie was there when the Peters started fighting. Reggie was there when Julie's mom passed away.

"Don't kill me!" Luke pleaded, scrambling around the piano from the intimidating Puerto Rican who had a solid punch. Julie's anger faltered at the guilt on the boy's face, "I was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on him!"

"What did Reggie do to deserve it?" Julie asked from the other side of the piano, acting as a barrier between the teenagers.

"He asked about the band doing a country song," Luke admitted with a grimace. His hazel eyes dimmed once more.

"What is your issue with country music? Your girlfriend is literally a country singer Luke!" Alex cried, stepping in between the two feuding bandmates.

Rock n' Roll Luke Patterson had been dating a well-known country singer for close to two years now. Luke had always been adamant that country wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but if you looked in the false bottom of the console in his car, you'd see a different story. Beneath the Eagles, Nirvana, AC/DC, and Gun N' Roses CDs, you'd find countless CDs of his girlfriend. He even had a playlist with a name that concealed the music in it.

Luke was a secret country fan, but he'd take that to his grave before he let anyone other than you know that.

"I don't have an issue! I don't think our band would benefit from branching into that music genre!" Luke argued with his bare arms crossing over his chest. Both Julie and Alex were about to respond when the studio gained another inhabitant.

"Would anyone like to explain why Reggie stormed into my house holding his songbook? He literally dropped it in my garage and tried to light it on fire?" You asked from the double doors with said book in your hand.

All three out of four members of Julie and the Phantoms recognized the book with a country landscape. The sight caused all their stomachs to drop at the obvious symbol of Reggie's hurt feelings.

"Funny story-"

"Luke Patterson...did you hurt his feelings about his love of country?" You asked through clenched teeth. Your response was Luke wincing at the anger blistering in your tone, "Did you ever think that country music is his comfort music? Fix this, Luke. Reggie, of all people, doesn't deserve your frustration."

You turned on your heel with Julie following in the attempt to find the forlorn bassist, most likely being hard on himself. You checked the beach house Reggie's dad had gotten in the divorce to no success. The school auditorium was empty, and so was the stable where Reggie worked part-time for the horses. You had returned back to Julie's house to sit on the porch to brainstorm.

"Isn't this the week he's with his mom?" Julie questioned with a furrowed brow. You could only shrug as Julie pulled up the calendar she shared with Flynn.

Reggie's parents had somewhat amicably divorced two years ago after attempts of reconciliation through therapy. Reggie had sat down with them to tell them how he felt with them fighting, if you recalled. They decided to do a trial separation for a few months and, in the end, had mutually agreed to divorce.

"I think Mr. Peters is taking care of his mother in a different state. She broke her hip, and now she's being moved into a retirement home." You offered the girl the encapsulated sunshine in just her smile.

"I suppose we'll try the Carter-Peters home." Julie breathed, bouncing on her feet to your car parked in front of her house. Julie's fingers tapped the screen in a chat thread she hadn't touched for months.

Your keen eyes easily read Carrie Wilson's name at the top of the thread that had been dormant since the end of their friendship. Apparently, Julie received little help in the frustrated sigh she released and the increasingly violent tapping of her screen.

"As usual, Carrie is no help," Julie announced with disgust in her voice. She squeezed the hand you placed on her knee before your hand returned to the wheel.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

"Old news. Happened just before you moved back from Nashville." Julie once more avoided talking about the issues. 

It was the same response every time you questioned the friendship that had fractured in the few years you'd been in Nashville. Before you left, Carrie and Julie had been attached at the hip, and when you came back, they were at each other's throats. Well, mostly Carrie was because Julie had too big of a heart to stand up to her former friend.

"Well, the beat-up van is still there." Julie caught the van, more of an eyesore, to be honest, sitting in the three-car driveway. The van was shared between Reggie and Flynn as a joint gift from their parents when Reggie's mom moved in with Flynn and her father.

"We both know Reggie-"

"Would walk to work through his problems. The number of times I've found in walking downtown…" Julie trailed with a shake of her half up half down hairstyle she left uncovered by a hat. Another symbol of her finding herself outside the grief that had concealed her.

"Oh, thank god." Flynn moaned from the front porch with her headphones resting on her shoulders instead of her ears, "He's been playing his old bass that makes that odd high pitch squeak noise. I couldn't take it. Get him out!"

You opened and closed your mouth with the inability to find the words, but Flynn knew already, "Doors unlocked. He's in his room."

"Thanks." You informed the fashionable teenager before brushing passed into the house. Not much had changed since Reggie had moved part-time into the house; his parents shared custody.

Flynn was right; the sound of that screech was like a bread trail to the last bedroom in the hallway to the left. The door opened a smidge to reveal Reggie sitting in the dim room with just his bedside lamp on. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Reggie." You breathed from leaning against the door jam, "I'm not sure what Luke said but don't give up on writing. Your songs mean something, Reginald."

"Then why doesn't Luke even read my lyrics? He barely read the title of my last one before tossing it aside!" Reggie whined before taking on a caricature of Luke's voice, "'Home is Where my Horse Is'? Reggie, stop putting your songs in my book!"

You couldn't help the snort at his interpretation of Luke, "That's a...uh...an accurate voice?"

Reggie didn't even crack a smile.

"Okay, maybe don't push Luke's buttons but imagine turning this hurt into songs!"

"Okay. Can I be left alone?"

"Sure." You sighed, turning to leave the room again, "But first. Don't get rid of this Reg. You have good songs." 

You left Reggie's songbook on the dresser by his door on your way through the Carter-Peters household. Flynn sighed in relief when Reggie didn't continue using his old bass and even waved as you and Julie pulled away from the curb.

Reggie's eyes had stayed on the songbook you left on his second-hand dresser as if it would get up and bite him. All he could see was Luke rolling his eyes when Reggie had opened the book to show him a new song he'd written. Reggie was tired of only being known for playing bass.

"I brought you some leftover pizza." Reggie wasn't aware he'd been staring at the songbook for hours by then. He was only aware of Luke when he offered a peace offering in the form of Reggie's favourite food.

"I-"

"I'll go grab a soda from the fridge." Luke retreated just as quick as he had entered the bedroom. Seeing Luke was like rubbing salt in the open wound, and once more, Reggie's emotions flared.

Reggie was already at the fire pit in the backyard when Luke had argued with Flynn overtaking one of her sodas. The soda that had dropped on the back porch as Luke saw Reggie's fingers about to drop the songbook in the crackling fire.

"Reggie!" Luke shouted, ignoring the cold spray of soda on his bare arms. The hazel-eyed guitarist shoved Reggie away from the fire.

"What the hell, dude?" Reggie groaned, rolling onto his stomach to push himself to his sit on his knees. His blue eyes seeing Luke stomping the ignited corner of the songbook that had caused them issues.

"What the hell were you doing, Reggie?" Luke demanded with the songbook held tight in his grip. The glare on the messy-haired teenager directly pinned on his best friend, "Why would you try to destroy the book?"

"What's the point of having something our band won't branch into?" Reggie shrugged, moving to sit with his knees pulled to chest, "I've tried to keep the peace but Luke. I'm starting to understand why Bobby left the band."

Luke's heart clenched at the honesty Reggie was revealing, "What do you mean?"

"Screw the blood pact." Reggie grumbled, recalling the oath Alex, Bobby, and he had done to keep the truth from Luke, "Bobby didn't leave because he got an early acceptance into Juilliard."

Luke's eyebrows furrowed together, "What?"

"Luke...you tend to get possessive over the music we make. You brushed off Bobby's opinions, and we all didn't want to hurt your feelings. You've had a shitty time with your parents, but like Bobby, I feel like you don't appreciate our talents."

"What? Dude, you're killer on the bass! Alex's insane on the drums!"

"We know that. Maybe Bobby should have told you the truth on why he was leaving. I don't think you noticed but 

"Luke. The songs we perform are all written by you. It was fine, but then when Julie joined, all of a sudden, you were okay with someone else writing with you. But you've never even looked at the songs I've written."

Luke silently listened as Reggie rambled on about how he, along with Bobby, felt underappreciated by the guitarist. 

"And now you've been bit by the writers' block bug, but I think the band should take a break. Get our heads back on straight. Before we destroy the band, destroy our friendships." Reggie told his best friend with tears rolling down his face, "Just a week or two."

Luke's mouth hung open as Reggie circled around him to enter the household, but the telltale sound of the lock engaging broke the teenager. But Luke wasn't one to give up, so he created a group chat with Alex, Julie, Flynn and you. A single text that had all of them meeting at the studio.

"He quit the band?" Alex demanded, taking the songbook from Luke's hand, "What the hell?"

"One second he's in his room, and the next he's about to burn that! I may not like-"

"Luke, have you even read a single song he wrote?" You asked your boyfriend with your arms resting down on your knees. The boy in question half-heartedly shrugged with his eyes on his battered shoes.

"How are we gonna fix this?" Julie asked with a frown marring her pretty face usually lit up with sunshine. Her question was left to waft in the forlorn atmosphere in her family's studio.

"Give me that." You demanded towards the band's drummer with determination lit up in your eyes. Alex hesitantly handed over the songbook to your grabby hands.

The other individuals in the room watched as you settled into a chair with a stray acoustic guitar you'd left. Your eyes focused on the notes Reggie had placed around one of the unfinished songs. The soft melody was played a few times before you noticed Alex creating a beat with his drums.

"If I just tweak the song to make this piece the verse instead of a chorus." You mumbled under your breath with a pen scratching the paper. In a different colour, you jotted down the lyrics of a song you'd been working on previously. It was a song you'd struggled with the ending.

Alex huddled around you to add his own notes for the drums, "Definitely a song with a soft backing beat."

"Perfect. I just joined what he has with a song I'd given up a while back. The two songs are the last two pieces of a puzzle." You informed the drummer. Both of you unaware as Julie, Luke, and Flynn watched your brainstorming.

Luke felt out of sorts not being included in writing a song, but he thought it was suitable to not work on it. It gave Luke insight into how Reggie felt not being included in songwriting.

"I have an idea." Luke interjected with a grin, "Reggie's always wanted to see a real ranch. Do you think your uncle would be okay with us staying at the ranch?"

Your eyes flitted up to the mischievous hazel of your boyfriend's scheming gaze, "My uncle adores having people on the ranch. He'd enjoy teaching Reggie the ways of ranch life out of a city."

"How are you gonna get Reggie out to Nashville without it being band business?" Flynn questioned from her position on the couch, "He did just ask for a break from the band."

"Uh...I could pretend to enter a music competition." You offered hesitantly as you'd never actually performed on a stage for the group. You'd kept your personal life separate from your successful career as a country musician.

So you conspired with your friends to make amends with the bassist.

One Month Later, Nashville

The beat-up van pulled into a parking spot in front of a building. The band had seen the building in pictures on your Instagram. Alex, Luke and Julie all shared a look Reggie couldn't catch with his mouth wide open at the city.

"So, where's this competition?" Reggie inquired with his steps in line with Julie. The distance between Reggie and Luke is still noticeable.

True to Reggie's word, the band had come back together after two weeks of a break, but the bassist and guitarist's friendship was still fractured. A particular cloud of awkwardness followed each attempt; Luke tried to branch it together.

"Uh, not here. Y/N invited me to tour the recording studio she uses through her label." Luke offered to the confused bassist. As usual, Reggie barely cast a glance at the guitarist.

"C'mon!" Alex called out from the open doorway with the new addition of you by his side.

Luke was quick to nearly tackle you in a hug and a lingering kiss on your lips. The band all made sounds of feigned disgust. Even Reggie joined in the usual banter within the group.

"Hey, Reggie, do you want to see how us country artists do it?" You quipped with your arm interlocking with his. The cold leather of his jacket raising goosebumps on your arm as you dragged him to the recording booth.

As soon as he was comfortable on one of the spinney chairs by the producer's side, he watched like a hawk. The band had never been in a real professional recording studio owned by a label. It was interesting to everyone, but mostly they all watched Reggie's reactions.

"I was working on this song." You spoke from inside the booth. With a nod, your producer began playing a portion of the song.

"Is...is that-" Reggie was cut off by as Luke interrupted him.

"Your song? Yeah." 

Reggie stared at his best friend, "What?"

"You were right, Reggie. I didn't appreciate what you could bring to the band, and I'm so fucking sorry about that. You have excellent songs even if I'm not a fan of country music." Luke genuinely informed his best friend with his hands clasping his, "I want you. Both you and Alex to have a bigger role because we started this band together. We all share responsibility."

"So for now. Alex and I finished one of the songs you had written. I was wondering if you'd like to make it a duet? Release it as a single with a full writing credit."

Reggie absolutely beamed in response to your question. He was in the recording booth beside you in mere seconds.

For the week the band stayed on your uncle's ranch, Reggie was in the studio with you going over the song. It is a song you released as the leading single for your upcoming studio album with Reggie and cemented his career. It wasn't the last time you did a song with Reggie. In fact, he set himself up as a sought after country songwriter.

"Holy shit!" Luke shouted as soon as Reggie told him the success of one of the songs had brought interest to Julie and the Phantoms, "I could kiss you! I'll never doubt your skills!"

Reggie and Luke's fractured friendship healed with the promise of a yearly visit to the ranch in Nashville. Plus, Reggie impressed Luke and Alex with the banjo riff in a country song the band released on their third studio album featured by you. Reggie would always be thankful he had the chance to record ‘Lay Here With Me’ with you.

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[itsthemoofacewriting]

Just for a while

So I actually used this to get through my writer’s block and take a break from my other WIPs. Before I knew it, it was complete, so I figured I’d share it. It’s a bit drabble-ish and incredibly self-indulgent.

I tried to watch the film to get some of the scenes right, but then I kept getting swept away in the film, so there’s going to be to be differences. Then again, they weren’t a couple in the film, and I’ve added some scenes, so does it really matter?

Summary: Zoro was weak with children, Chopper was a prime example of that, and Nami was no exception. Film Z. Rating: T. Some suggestiveness. 

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN. 

Enjoy!

Zoro’s ears were ringing, screeching in protest at the loud noise from the blast, and his back hurt from being hurled across the ship. It was dull but it was there. But it reminded him that they weren’t in the clear yet and his reflexes were kicking in, grabbing for his swords, or at least trying to. His body was bound in thick green ropes that didn’t given an inch no matter how much he protested.

Smoke filled his nose, and he gave up on escaping for the time being to take in the view. It was hard to believe he’d managed to ignore it for this long. The ship was on fire, black smoke billowing from what seemed like every surface. The galley was gone, completely blown open and surrounded by flames licking their way further across the ship.

The scene was horrific. Sunny was in trouble.

It was hard to decide what to focus on first in all the chaos, but he quickly found something that made his stomach drop.

Luffy being crushed in a Z’s hand.

He looked weak and defeated, it was an awful look on him. Something that had Zoro wanting to grab for his swords to rectify the scene immediately.

Goddamn it. He needed out.

Like a dirty tissue, Luffy was thrown to the floor, apparently not worthy of being killed in a fight. Something Zoro knew would grate him, but at least there wasn’t an immediate threat of a dead Captain.

His gaze flitted quickly around to check everyone else was accounted for and somewhat okay. It stopped on what he presumed was Nami only a few feet in front of him. It looked like her, the orange hair a dead giveaway… but smaller. Much, much smaller. What the hell had been happening out here before? Frowning, he stored that thought away for later.

Shit. He needed to move. Now. He had to do something, they were in trouble and there he was just sitting around. Movement caught his eye and he saw the Cook also bound, struggling to be freed.

Shit, shit, shit.

Now it was really bad, all three of them were down.

Nami caught his struggling and ran over to him before he could call over to her. Her small hands were trying to pry the green vines away from him.

“Do I want to know why you’re a child?” His eyebrows were furrowed as he got a proper look at her. It was Nami alright.

“Not the time. Later,” she huffed, small hands gripping the vines and yanking on them, but they wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t strong enough right now.

And it wasn’t the time it seemed. Because the ship exploded around them as cannon balls relentlessly fired at them and it didn’t help Nami who was still attempting to free him. She was almost knocked off her feet when the ship was hit again and if she went overboard, no one would be there the dive after her. He was getting more and more frustrated by the second.

When he looked to his left, Chopper wasn’t getting much further with the cook.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Usopp, Franky and Brook were just as trapped as him.

And Luffy was furious. It was rare to see his Captain like that. He was back on his feet, quickly recovering, and hanging off the side of the ship, snarling at them to come back. Robin was doing her best to talk him down, but he wasn’t listening and Zoro could feel his already thin temper about to snap. At everything. It had all gone so wrong so quickly.

Him and the cook were useless.

Luffy couldn’t see past his own anger.

Nami was a child.

They’d lost.

But not everything.

Just as he was about to bark at Luffy to get his head on straight, Robin finally got through to him after another cannonball hit their ship and almost capsized them.

Luffy was in action then, freeing Franky, as Robin worked on securing herself and the others.

“Hold on,” Zoro commanded, now looking back down at Nami, who in all the chaos still hadn’t given up. Franky was just about to fire up a coupe de burst and the last thing he needed was her falling off the ship. Especially when he couldn’t go after her.

It didn’t take long for her to understand before she was nodding back and clinging to him as they sailed through the air away from the attack. He was too tied up to properly hold onto her, no matter how much he wanted to.

.

.

.

The mood was off when they landed on the first island available. Luffy’s face solemn as he stood with Franky assessing the damage to the ship. The rest of the crew left them, gathering instead across the water from the ship to discuss what had happened and what their next move was going to be.

He hadn’t been incredibly involved in the discussion; he’d been too focused on Nami. It was unsettling. She was still exactly the same, bold and bossy, but instead it was all packaged into a miniature body.

There was no way around it, she was cute, and it left him in a strange position. Normally he’d snark her, draw her into an argument, especially when she was somewhat upset, to take her mind off of it, but now he didn’t feel like he could. It was almost as bad as picking on Chopper.

Nami said something about being returned to normal, standing up outraged and he should have known that the moment the cook opened his mouth he would be annoyed.

Gritting his teeth, Zoro could feel his patience dangerously thinning. He was used to the idiot cook spouting off nonsense to Nami and that hadn’t changed when they had got together. Normally he’d just ignore it, it was hardly like he was a threat, and she could handle herself. But today already hadn’t been a good day and when the pervert started talking about her body, he was ready to fight.

Unable to resist, he uttered out an irritated, “Creep,” and that seemed to do it. The focus was on him then and Nami started to look comfortable again. As soon as the shoving starting, she was breaking them apart, just before a full-on brawl could start.

Disgruntled, Zoro looked across the waters to see Luffy peeling away from Franky with the old man and when they saw each other, Luffy nodded at him. That was his cue. Zoro stood and motioned with his head for them to start walking.

He slowed for a second, waiting for Nami to catch up before continuing forward. He was only a few strides in when he noticed she was struggling to keep up, stuck in a weird running walk pace. He laughed to himself, she was tiny now, her previously long legs were now replaced with stumps and she was too proud to say anything.  

He had the urge to take her hand and the sudden thought surprised him. They’d never held hands before this, unless it was crowded or she was guiding him somewhere, they were fairly low key with their relationship unless alone. Yet the urge to do it was strong, and really, he knew why.  

When she stumbled, he was bending down without a second thought to pick her up and her legs sitting around his waist on the side of his body. She weighed almost nothing, and, to his surprise, she didn’t resist. Which was fine, great even, because then he didn’t have to think about scrapped knees, but the cooing that started from behind them made the back of his neck feel hot. Zoro wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or Nami… or both of them. But that didn’t stop the red from spreading to his ears.

He had no idea what possessed him to do that, they weren’t very big on public displays of affection normally but Nami didn’t complain as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and determinedly looked everywhere but at his face.

Cute.

He was loath to admit it, lest he be compared to the pervert, but like this she was. He tried to shrug it off, ignoring the loud whispers from behind and act casual.

The next couple of days were going to be hard.

.

.

.

Zoro didn’t like it.

The older man that had been talking to Luffy and Franky had told them all about Z whilst giving them food and drinks. But that wasn’t the problem. They needed to gather more information about Z’s whereabouts, which again, wasn’t a problem but it had led to Nami announcing it would be down to her, Robin, Usopp and Chopper.

Apparently Zoro and the others were too obvious. Liabilities she’d called them. He wasn’t sure how that logic worked out, when they were going with a walking, talking reindeer that could changed forms at whim.

“I should go with you,” Zoro said, watching as Nami tied her sandal.

The group going out to get information already had their change of clothes and were getting changed in a secluded alleyway away from any nosey passers-by’s. She’d already changed into her dress and sandals, all that was left was her hair. They’d be going their separate ways after that.

Nami sighed, eyebrows furrowing as she looked up at him. “We’ve been over this, you’re too obvious.”

“And a talking reindeer and long nose isn’t?” It was a good point.

“Usopp’s great at sneaking and Chopper’s barely noticeable with how tiny he is now.”

“And if things go wrong?” He didn’t want to entertain that thought, but he still did. The island was swarming with marines.

“We have Robin and Usopp, it’s fine,” Nami assured. “Also, it won’t go wrong, I’m great at this.” She was trying to tie her hair into a ponytail but with how much hair she had and her little arms, she struggled.

He knew she was right; she was great at this. She did it long before he came around to back her up. Except she wasn’t herself right now, she was a miniature version of herself.

Zoro held his hand out, silently asking for the hair tie. “You’re not yourself right now.” He gathered her hair, his hands smoothed over her hair a few times to ensure no bumps, he didn’t need her nagging him, and looped the band around a few times.

She checked his work, hands roaming over her hair, searching for bumps that weren’t there before giving the ponytail a tug to tighten it. She didn’t praise him for his efforts, instead she dropped two golden bands in hands and turned to face him. That was his praise, he figured as he picked the bands to start working on the front.

Nami stood patiently in the gap between his legs as he worked. “And that’s exactly why we don’t need you and the others attracting attention.”

She had him there. Brook drew attention because, well, skeleton, that didn’t need to be explained. Zoro and Luffy were too well known, even without his swords and Luffy’s hat, but not so much Sanji…

“Take the cook then.” He was an idiot and had especially got on his nerves today, but he was strong and somewhat reliable.

“And at the first sight of a woman? We don’t have time to find him or reign him in.”

Screw that, he was good for nothing right now.

There was nothing more he could say. He didn’t mean to sound like he doubted his own crewmates, they were strong, and time and time again they’d proved that. But they weren’t their selves right now, they weren’t a whole. They had two much younger members than normal with an island full of marines.

Nami was a magnet for trouble at the best of times and the love cook was the least of his problems. It was common knowledge what could happen to children out in the new world. All it would take was one skilled person, or a moment of distraction and she’d be gone without a word.

The thought of that happening had a knot forming in his stomach and he was about to say that he was going whether they liked it or not, until Nami rested a small hand on his forearm and smiled up at him reassuringly. And like the sap that he was, he melted instantly, all the fight bleeding out of him.

He wasn’t sure if she knew of his weakness yet, but something told him she’d realise soon enough.

.

.

.

“Do you know how close we were to leaving you behind?” Nami berated, arms angrily crossed in front of her as she stood before him, not caring that the train was moving. Except her anger didn’t have the same effect as it usually did in her childlike form.

“You’ve said about five times already,” Zoro replied tiredly.  

Their day had not improved at all. From the information group coming back with a hoard of marines on their tail, to Z shooting Luffy and the four of them almost being engulfed by lava whilst Nami and the others waited anxiously at the train station. Despite her anger now, when she’d seen them running towards the train, lava steadily overtaking the island just behind them, she’d looked relived.

He suspected Luffy still being passed out was to blame for her particularly sour mood, all the crew were worried in the packed train.

“Because you still don’t look like you get it.”

Naturally an angry child telling off an adult attracted attention, although Zoro didn’t really care about that, he just shrugged off the looks and focused on Nami. But when a man opposite from them gave her an appraising look that lingered far longer than acceptable, it put his back up. Zoro sent the man a scathing look that had him shrinking away as he scooped Nami onto his lap.

“I do. We made you worry,” he said, matter-of-factly, not taking his eye off the man until he got up to find somewhere else to sit.

The anger dispersed then, her frame relaxing on his lap as she got comfortable. “I’m going to go grey early; I swear.” She shook her head, but her tone was fonder than anything else.

They lulled into silence, swaying with the movements of the train, and letting the murmur from other passengers fill the quiet. Nami’s gaze slowly took in everyone, from strangers to the crew, one by one until it landed back on Zoro.

“It’s a shame you don’t dress like this more often,” Nami sighed, small hands playing with the collar of his neckline.

“Tch, not worth it. Too many layers.” He was already itching to take off the shirt. “Besides, I had a jacket on this morning.”

“Which is ruined now, do you know how hard it is to find a nice jacket that you’ll wear?”

“Because you insist that I wear a top underneath, pick either a top or a jacket, I’ll only wear one,” he told her, but the likelihood was he’d end up removing that too.

Whilst she was fussing over his jacket, trying to wipe some dirt off the fabric, her arm caught his attention. There were faint marks starting to bloom on her upper arm. He gently caught her arm and turned it to get a better look.

It was finger marks, four clustered together and a single one opposite.

Someone had grabbed her.

He’d guessed something had gone wrong earlier, based on the hoard of marines that had chased them all the way back to the rest of the crew, but he’d just thought a marine had finally recognised one of them. Not that she’d been grabbed and almost hauled way. It was exactly what he’d been worried about.

He looked at her sharply and she looked back at him warily.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He’d focus on her first, he couldn’t exactly do anything with his anger when the person that’d hurt her was long gone.

“Don’t worry about it, I made it worse by resisting.” And Nami must have sensed it was the wrong thing to say because she quickly added, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

That didn’t help his anger, but she was right. She told him Robin came after her as soon as she’d seen, and it soothed him at least. Another example of how dependable his crewmates were.

He rubbed gently along her arm, smoothing over the marks and he wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or his.

“You’ve been very affectionate,” she said observationally.

And there it was. His hand stuttered on her arm for a second before he caught himself and continued, trying not to react to what she’d said. It’d taken far longer than he’d thought for someone to say something, but there was nothing he could say in his defence and the last thing he was going to do was agree, so he stayed silent instead. Not that that would help him.

Nami smirked up at him as he refused to make eye contact or speak, but that didn’t stop her from continuing, “Who’d have believed the fearsome pirate hunter was soft around all children. I thought it was just Chopper.”

“I’m not, we’re together, it makes sense.” That probably didn’t sound appropriate to anyone eavesdropping, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You don’t normally hold my hand or pick me up… And you’ve been much more obliging.”

“It was convenient. You’ve got stumpy legs and I’ve got places to be,” he easily lied.

She didn’t look convinced. “And now?”

He had nothing to say to that. He was the one that had dragged her onto his lap, his arms still firmly wrapped around her to ensure she didn’t fall if there was a sudden movement… and to let people know she wouldn’t be an easy grab. He tried not to think about what a sap he’d looked like since she’d been turned into a child, but his mind still unhelpfully played it on a reel. How he’d caved whenever she so much as looked at him, offered to do things for her without her having to nag him, didn’t argue with her.

How embarrassing. His ears burned.

“It’s cute that you tried to hide it.”

It was the glint in her eye that gave her away that made him realise.

“You knew?” He asked, but he already knew the answer.

“I had a hunch, I knew from the moment you first picked me up,” she smiled up at him evilly, all innocence gone from her face.

She was the devil. Mislabelled into an adorable, tiny package.

“It’s almost worth staying like this, you’re as easy as Sanji-kun,” she looked downright smug and there was no doubt in his mind that she was imagining having the both of them wrapped around her finger.

That had him gritting his teeth in disgust, to be compared to him. He was about to say something caustic, just to wipe that smug grin off her face, until her eyes turned large, and she looked up at him remorsefully, lip quivering.

She wasn’t sorry at all, he knew that, but those glossy eyes stopped the foul words in their tracks. He huffed, annoyed, and looked the other way as Nami laughed at him. But he didn’t remove her from his lap.

Robin gave him an amused look.

.

.

.

She found him in the crow’s nest late in the day, head popping up through the entrance and pulling herself up when she saw him.

“How’s Luffy?” He asked, as she walked towards him.

“Quiet, but he’ll be alright.”

The mood on board had been weird since they’d left Piriodo, everyone subdued, and it was mainly due to Luffy’s lack of cheerful energy. Everyone had pretty much kept to themselves since they set off. It’d be back to normal tomorrow, after everyone had slept it off.

She stood in front of him from where he was sat on the bench and he braced himself when he caught the look on her face. He didn’t like it.

“Am I still allowed to sit in your lap? Or was that offer only there when I was a child?” She teased, eyes dancing in amusement.

Yup. He knew it. He rolled his eye; he’d be putting up with those jabs for a while.

She took his silence and sour expression as affirmation to her first question, but instead of sitting on his lap like she had back on the train, she straddled his lap, a leg going either side.

It was a fitting example really, of the difference between her as a child and being back to her usual age. The occasional glimpses of innocence on her face as a child were long gone, along with the soft rounded features of youth that had turned him into a fool. In its place were sharper angles and cunning eyes that displayed a coquettish expression that had a very different effect on him- one that made his blood heat for her.

As adorable as she was as a child, he’d missed her. He’d missed this version. No matter how infuriating she could be.

“Happy to have me back?” She questioned, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

His arms settled dangerously low on her hips and his smirk was challenging as he replied, “Now I can argue with you and not feel bad.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said and laid on her best doe-eyed look. Her eyes shifted in an instant, from seductive to innocent, all glossy and defenceless, something that didn’t fit the current position they were currently in.  

He’d never let her know that even as an adult, that look still had him. Perhaps in a different way now, but he’d keep it hidden through grimaces and sharp words, otherwise he’d never know peace again.  

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he snorted, hands pulling her body tighter against his and the time for bickering had come to an end.

Their kiss was easy, almost leisurely, as they basked in the feeling of each other’s lips, of being back to normal. Although it wasn’t something that stayed that way for long. Gradual pecks started to linger, searching for something more as lips slid against the others and closed mouths parted as hands moved with intent, to places far from innocent.

There was no rush, they had all evening without disruptions, so that was why he pulled away to say:

“Besides, I prefer this angry, nagging version.”

What he hadn’t missed was how strong her punches were.

-------------------------------------

I mean, jokes on Zoro, he’s always been wrapped around her finger. He just put up less of a fight when she’s small.

In case I go quiet again, I’ll leave you with this- I’ve been writing something that I’m very excited about and can’t wait for you all to see, but until then, enjoy this ZoNami crumb.

As always, forgive any errors.

Thanks for reading.