#or a friend that gets their brains blown out because they exhaled on screen like holy shit

[missmitchieg]

I hate how the writers introduce people only to forget about them immediately (Joy, Austin the bartender, that girl from 10x18 whose name escapes me atm but Spence asked her out for coffee in Russian, Penelope's brother Carlos that we met like twice, bunch of others like, I doubt if Reid comes back in s17 we'll ever see/hear about Max again tbh)

“None of which we had access to for security.” Oh really? Then how the fuck was JJ able to play Scrabble with her then?????

[ppersonna]

who’s your daddy? - jhs | thirteen

➸ in order to get over your hopeless crush, you sign up for DADDI, a daddy-dom dating site.  you can’t tell your friends, especially your best friend hoseok.  but as weeks go on, you’re desperate to meet the man behind the screen.

masterlist

thirteen- all yours.

warnings- oral sex (m,f), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, spanking, dirty talk, slightly degrading dirty talk, D/s, possessive dirty talk, fingering, cum eating, creampie, teasing, vibrators, praise

rating- explicit/nsfw/18+

a/n-Oh my god. it’s here.  it’s done. we made it.  we did it. pls let me know your thots. special thanks to @wwilloww​ for beta reading and @kookiesjoonies​ @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ for the hype. ily all.

With a few finishing touches, the room is set.

You’ve dimmed the lights, closed the blinds, iced the champagne and prepped the bed.

Your body is smooth, exfoliated, ready.  You’ve never scrubbed and shaved and plucked more thoroughly in your life.

You can’t help it. You’re excited and nervous and scared and hopeful.

You want things to work out with Daddy.  You want to see if there’s a possibility of a future with him.  You want to meet the man who set your entire being on fire.

And yet, 

There’s a longing.  A deep-seated need for one singular man.

Jung Hoseok.

He’s all you can think about lately.  While Daddy always lingers—is always there in the back of your mind, Hoseok is omnipresent.   You think of his smile, the way he held you so close when he kissed you, the jokes, the years of friendship that built into something so romantic and easy.   

Your heart thumps heavily in your chest as you think of him.  As you think of him sitting at home after you turned him down for the date this weekend, as you think of him wanting you and you’re… preparing to sleep with another man.

But you couldn’t think of that.  Not now, not here.

It’s now or never with Daddy.  You have to know.  Or you’d live the rest of your life wondering.  

Your phone pings with an alert.

I’m here.

Your heart rate increases and you nearly pace the floor of the expensive hotel room.

How should you wait for him? Standing at the door?  Hiding in the bathroom?

You settle on the bed, lying as comfortably, yet as sexily as possible, ensuring your cleavage is visible in the baby blue robe you’re wearing.

You suck in a breath.

It’s happening.

It’s really fucking happening.

Over the pounding of your heart, you can hear the keycard click in the lock, allowing access to the cardholder.  You can’t see the door, it’s down a short hallway, but you can hear everything.

The door opens, footsteps, then it closes.

Then, it’s silent.

Your lungs burn—you haven’t taken a breath in for what feels like years.

“Babygirl?” 

You exhale loudly, hands nearly trembling with nerves.

“Daddy?”

The footsteps move closer, closer, even closer to the end of the hallway where you will both become visible to one another.

And then,

He’s there, and you’re gasping out loud. Your world slows, your brain short-circuits.   Every vein in your body is screaming out, begging for the man that sets your world on fire.

Jung Hoseok stands at the end of the hallway in his finest slacks and button up, Gucci belt tying the look together—black leather bag in hand.  His eyes are wide as he drinks you in—as reality settles in his mind.

“W-what are you doing here?” You ask through shaky breathing.

“I-,” he begins, then clears his throat. “I’m Daddy.”

You can’t move for too long.  You’re stunned to silence and frozen to the spot on the bed.  

You don’t have to choose anymore.

You don’t have to decide who to choose.

The choice was always Hoseok—it was always him.

As quickly as you froze, you’re leaping off the bed and throwing yourself onto Hoseok’s body, hugging him as tightly as you can.  He wraps his arms around you as you bury your face into his neck, tears springing up at your eyes.  

He smells like heaven; you realize.  He smells like your home, your future.

You pull back to press your forehead to his, smiling through watery tears.

“It’s you,” you murmur.

He nods, swallowing a lump in his throat as he does so. “It’s me.”

You kiss him with all the passion, all the pent up desire, all the need you’ve held onto in your body for both men.  For Daddy, for Hoseok.  For the man who made you feel so sexy, and the man who made you feel so loved.  

And lucky for you, he is both.

He pulls away from your lips, his bright smile mirroring your own.

“We really thought we missed out on a date with each other at coffee,” he laughs. “And we were on the date the whole time.”

You pull him tighter and press your face to his shoulder to laugh, amused at how fucking clueless you had been.

“I thought you stood me up, but I ended up having the best time of my life with you.  I can’t believe how stupid we are.”

Hoseok nods, and as you lift your head back, he cups your cheek.

“I am so fucking crazy about you,” he admits. “And I’m fucking wild for baby girl.  And you’re both.”

“I really like Daddy, but I fell for Hoseok.”

His hands tighten around your waist, and he presses soft, gentle kisses to your lips.

“That’s brilliant news,” he speaks through kisses roving your face. “Because I’m both.”

He guides your body towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the soft surface and you’re sinking down onto the plush mattress. 

Hoseok kisses you so deeply, like you’re the only person left on earth, and your body feels like it’s been set on fire.  Every part of you is singing in rapture from the man’s touch. 

His eyes are black—pupils blown wide when he pulls away from you.  It makes you shiver to see the sunshine in his eyes turn into sin. 

“Lay down on the pillows, baby,” he whispers as he stands up straight at the foot of the bed.  

You obey him without question, without falter. You slide back until your head rests on the plush, expensive pillows. Your body vibrates with excitement, trembling with need.  Hoseok’s eyes observe you, dark and lustful gaze as he undies the cuff buttons on his shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. 

“Untie that robe, angel.  Show me what’s mine.” 

His words imprint in your mind. His.  

You are his, fully and without question. 

Shaking fingers pull the belt that ties your robe together. The silk slides apart and you open it slowly like a gift until you’re exposed completely to the sharp-dressed man fixated on your every move. 

His lungs feel tight as your perky breasts come into view. 

He’s seen them on his phone, jerked off to them nearly a hundred times, but now he knows that it’s you and his cock pulses in his slacks. 

Your nipples prickle and peak in the chilly hotel air, and his lips are itching to wrap and suck and pull on them until you’re quaking. 

You work the robe completely off of you, and throw the expensive garment to the floor as if it’s nothing, as if you wanted nothing more in life than to be naked for him at all times. 

His eyes trace up your long legs, soaking in each curve of your slender calves and thick thighs.  They trail to the apex of those luscious legs, and he nearly salivates. 

“Spread your legs, baby girl,” he chokes. “Show me your pretty cunt.” 

Your face flushes, heat blooming in your cheeks—and yet you comply.  You’re unable to refuse. 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

Hoseok’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, affected by hearing your voice use the honorific.  It’s something he never thought he could have in his wildest dreams—you and baby girl existing within the same body.  He can be himself, fully, both parts of him—with you. 

Your legs part instantly, slowly opening up your most intimate parts to the man who makes your heart burn with need. 

He can’t stop staring as your pussy opens up to him. Your legs spread wantonly, knees up to the sky and hips open wide.  Even from the end of the bed, he can see the way you drip with arousal.  

“Look at you.”  His voice is reverent, speaking a prayer to your cunt as he descends onto the bed and crawls towards your open legs. 

“Look at this sweet little pussy—so wet for Daddy.” 

You nibble at your lip, watching him with growing anticipation that makes your cunt seep out even more. 

“All for y-you,” you agree, nervousness making your words shaky. 

He begins his journey to your body by holding each calf and ravaging them with kisses. He presses his lips up to your knees—before peppering gentle adorations to your thighs. 

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he intones. “I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long.” 

Your eyes slip closed as you feel his adoration linger up and down your legs. It’s like Hoseok’s finished his pilgrimage to the altar of your body, and he’s here to offer his piety to you and you alone. 

He moves in further, allowing his fingers to trail closer to your cunt, tracing the moisture that has gathered up and down your slit with one finger 

“I’m gonna make you mine, baby doll.  All mine.”  He whispers the words like a prayer. 

“Yours, Daddy.”

He smiles. 

“And what’s your Daddy’s name?”

You gulp and shiver as his finger continues its teasing trace. It’s so light that it makes your needy core throb. 

“H-Hoseok,” you swallow. “Jung Hoseok.” 

His smile splits to a grin, and he rewards you with one fat lick of his tongue on your clit that makes you keen. 

“All fucking mine.” 

Your legs shake as you groan at his mouth that leaves you as soon as it comes. You need more, need all of him. You feel as if your core is burning, screaming with life. 

“P-please! Daddy!” You whine. “I need you!” 

Hoseok chuckles darkly, kissing the smooth skin of your mound and hips. 

“I know you do, angel,” he says. “And I intend to make you need me more before I give it to you.” 

Your back arches off the bed in a mixture of frustration and aching need.  Hoseok is determined to drive you to the ends of your wits tonight, make sure you’re literally putty in his hands by the time he fucks your desperate hole. 

He travels up to your breasts, licking and suckling marks on the full globes before he pulls your taut nipples into his warm mouth.  You’re whining his name, singing his praises as he nibbles and pulls on each bud. 

He spends enough time on each nipple they’re turning a crimson shade from his ministrations, and the skin of your breasts will bruise and be marked with love bites for days after. 

“My sweet baby girl,” he coos as he finally reaches your lips, kissing you sweetly as if he isn’t teasing your body within an inch of its life.

“I have so much planned for you,” he says as he kisses your face. “I can’t promise I will be this gentle all night.  Is that okay with you?”

His words stoke the flames in your tummy. You know Daddy can be hard, dominant, sadistic.  Knowing he’s Hoseok makes it even more thrilling, more intoxicating. 

“I want you—all of you,” you agree. “I want Daddy as much as I want Hoseok.  You’re one and the same.” 

He cups your cheek with a hand and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear, eyes softening for a moment as he gazes down at you. 

“Then, you can have all of me.” 

One last sweet kiss is all he gives you, kissing you like you’re his one and only, his final. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are dark like an incoming storm you refuse to take shelter from. Hoseok and Daddy become one, and your body is screaming for the attention of the one who dominates you combined with the one who loves you in one singular body. 

“I think you still need a punishment for the way you spoke to me this week,” he tuts as he pulls away from your body to stand at the edge of the bed.  He remembers the bratty attitude you had as you messaged him, the way he had to put you in your place in your phone call.  He still remembers the way he could hear your soppy pussy squelch with the force of your fingers, and it makes him yearn.

Your doe's eyes simper at him apologetically, making his cock strain harder in its confines.  You’re the prettiest little submissive doll he’s ever laid eyes on, ever spoken to. Online, he fell for your sexual energy and passion. In person, for your character and your humor.  Both parts of you culminate into being precisely what Jung Hoseok no longer simply wants, but needs. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you speak gently. 

He retreats to the corner of the room where an elegant and plush armchair sits. He takes a seat and smiles at you, but the smile holds no sweetness in its meaning. 

“Come here, baby,” he beckons. 

As you’re rising from the bed and standing to walk towards him, he shakes his head and tsks. Your eyes focus on him in confusion. 

“Crawl.” 

You inhale shakily, head cloudy with lust as you comply and sink to the floor on your hands and knees. 

Hoseok crosses a leg over the other and watches you interestedly, a finger propping up his face in a laid back and casual sort of attitude that has your cunt dripping. 

He thrills as he watches you make your way towards him, crawling on your hands and knees for him.  He watches the way your perky breasts bounce and swing, and he is sure if he could see it, your pussy is dripping with arousal.  He can see it in the look in your eyes—the desperate need to be dominated swirling behind your seductress gaze. 

You stop at his feet and kneel in front of him, waiting for his word on what to do next. 

He’s silent for a moment and watches you.  So obedient. So good. His cock is begging for him to take it out and stuff it into you, but he’s patient. He has to be.  He doesn't want this to be a quick and rowdy fuck. That will come later in the evening.  He knows now if he drags this out, makes you cry enough times from orgasm denial, the one you’ll have when he’s finally cervix deep inside you, will ruin you for any other cock, any other man, for life. 

He sits upright, feet flat on the floor, and pats his lap.

“Lay over my knee,” he demands gently. “Put your ass in the air for me.”  

You shiver as you realize what’s coming.  Your body keens for the feel of his warm, firm hands delivering blows to each cheek of your ass. 

With delicate hands, you crawl up his legs and drape yourself over, bare tits pressed against the soft fabric of the chair, tummy on his expensive slacks. You lift your hips to extend your ass higher and Hoseok groans out loud.  

“God,” he sighs. “Such an obedient girl.” 

He spreads your legs apart so he can see the lips of your cunt peek through, so he can watch as your arousal growls with each blow like he expects it to. 

He lowers a hand down gently to rub at the smooth skin of your ass, tracing the globe gently. 

“Good girls who take their punishments get rewarded,” he reminds you. “... eventually.” 

He laughs gently and you shiver, knowing you’re in for a long night of delicious, pleasurable torture. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you agree and wiggle your ass slightly. “I want to be a good girl for you.” 

He rubs your ass for a moment longer, then lifts it away. 

“Then, tell me what you did to deserve my hand.”  

You swallow hard and close your eyes. 

“I back talked you,” you say. “And I was being a brat.” 

He hums in approval and nods, although you can’t see it. 

Instantly, his hand comes down hard on the skin of your ass, leaving a stinging strike on one cheek that makes you gasp. 

“You were,” he agrees as he soothes the red skin for a moment.  “And, what else?” 

You take a moment to catch your breath and gasp your response. 

“I didn’t believe you! I thought you stood me up.” 

He smiles as he remembers the coffee date with you, how cute you were as you sipped on shared drinks with him. 

Another smack to the opposite cheek now, just as hard and stinging as the first. 

The pleasure transcends the pain and the sizzle of the skin directs itself straight to your core. You can tell your cunt is juicing, perhaps even leaking onto the luxe fabric of Hoseok’s slacks.   You can’t help but moan and arch in his grasp. 

“Mm,” he sighs. “Do you like that, baby?  Does your pussy get nice and sloppy wet from getting spanked?” 

You can feel tears building up in your eyes as he brings his hand down again and again, the slaps echoing around the room.  

“I need you, Daddy!” You beg. Your core is burning with desire, aching for a touch. 

“I know you do, angel,” he says as he slaps your ass again, grunting with exertion. “I can see your greedy wet cunt, so needy for my cock.” 

He rubs another teasing finger down your slit and it feels like bliss, like torturous heaven. 

“P-please,” you cry. “I need you.” 

His fingers plunge into your wet heat, fucking into your tight channel.  Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the feeling of his thick fingers and your grip on the chair tightens. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He asks breathlessly. “You like Daddy’s fingers fucking your slutty cunt?”

Tears are pouring down your face, the pleasure so overwhelming that you can’t hold it back anymore. The remaining stinging pain on your ass combines with the stretch and thrusts of his fingers. 

“Answer me!” His voice raises slightly and you whimper in reply. 

“Yes! Yes, Daddy!” 

He uses his free hand to spank your ass again, hardest of all this time, while he continues to fuck into your desperate cunt. It’s overwhelming and your moans escalate in volume. 

“That’s right, slut,” he murmurs as he scissors his fingers inside of you, stretching out your hole for what he expects to be an endless night. “I’m the only one who can make this little cunt so juicy.” 

Your stomach tightens as you feel your orgasm building, feeling the sizzling heat of it swell from the tips of your toes and envelop you. 

“G-gonna c-cum, Daddy!” 

Hoseok becomes even more relentless, thrusting harder. 

“I don’t recall you asking for permission.” 

Instantly, he removes his fingers from you and gently encourages you to slip back to the floor.  You let out a sob as you crawl off his legs and down to the floor, kneeling in submission at his feet. 

“I’m s-sorry, Daddy!”  Your voice is shaky from having your oncoming orgasm ripped away from you.  

“Show me how sorry you are,” he speaks as he presses a thumb against your lips until they yield to him and open. “Show me you’re sorry by sucking my dick like the cock-hungry slut you are.”

You’re undoing his slacks before the words even leave his lips, trembling hands gripping the button and zipper to tug them down as far as you can. 

Your eyes widen as you see his expensive underwear bulge with what he’s packing. You know from photos that Daddy is impressive—thick and long. It flexes and slaps at his stomach in the videos he sent you of him jerking off to selfies of your tits. 

But now that it’s connected that it’s Hoseok, it’s almost like unwrapping a surprise as you pull the boxers down to reveal his hard length. 

He hisses as he feels the cool air, and his cock feels relieved at the freedom from confinement. It nearly pulses in excitement as he watches you stare it down, tiny hand coming to grip it firmly. 

“Shit,” he whines as your hand moves up and down the shaft. “Dreamt of this for so long.” 

Your lips curl into a smile and you rub the moisture beaded at the tip. 

“Dreamt of me or of baby girl?” You ask, coyly. 

“Both.” 

You nibble at your lip and return to stroking him carefully.  Your heart feels swollen with love, adoration, excitement at finally having the man of your dreams and your secret crush here, cock in hand.  You’re determined to show him just how glad you are to be the object of his desires. 

Your tongue darts out and licks gently at the mushroom tip, making Hoseok breathe harshly through his nose at the touch. You lick at the spot just underneath, where the tip meets the shaft, and Hoseok is gasping out loud. 

“Christ,” he whines. “Don’t be a tease, please.” 

Hoseok’s gentle nature shines through his dominance at your touch, his bravado momentarily slipping away from the pleasure.  You can’t refuse him—you don’t think you ever could. 

Effortlessly, your mouth opens wide and you suck in his length, moistening and swirling your tongue around him as you descend further and further down, all the way until his tip is forced at the back of your throat and your nose is buried in his abs. 

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he watches you—feels you take all of him in one descent. He can feel the back of your throat and knows you’re stuffed as far as you can take—perhaps even further—and yet you remain. His cock warms up in your hot mouth, tongue still anxiously working up and down whatever parts it can wrap and reach. His hand grips your hair at the back of your head gently, cooing praises as he lifts you back up with a gentle pull. 

“That’s my good little baby girl, taking Daddy’s cock so well.”  

You preen under his praise and as you resurface to the tip, your energy quickens as you bob your head and set a sloppy, slobbery pace. 

Hoseok watches you proudly, helps your head bounce on his cock with a firm hand on your skull. His cock has never been so hard in his life, and your hot little mouth is hitting spots that make him see stars. 

“Ahhh, fuck yes,” he whispers. “You suck my dick like you were made for it. My personal little cocksleeve.” 

His words flame like an inferno inside of you. 

“God, I can’t wait to fuck your sweet pussy, baby.  Bet your cunt was made for me too, meant for my cock only.”  

As if it knows, your core tightens and pulses around nothing.  

Hoseok watches you adoringly, eyes steady on you as your head bobs expertly. He maintains a steady stream of praise, dirty degrading comments about how good of a whore you are for him—comments that go straight to your cunt. 

He can feel his orgasm building and he knows he doesn’t want to yet, doesn’t want to cum anywhere but inside your hot, tight hole. 

He pulls up on your head, chuckling at your desperate eyes boring into his with confusion on why you’ve been stopped. 

“Go lie on the bed, baby. I need to get something for you.” 

You rise on weak and useless legs, doing as he asks and moving towards the bed and lie back on the pillows, watching as he digs through the black leather bag he arrived with.  He pulls out an impressive Hitachi wand that has you squirming on the bed from the sheer sight of it. 

He stalks towards you, predator towards prey, and lets the wand rest on the bed.  He slowly begins unbuttoning his shirt, slowly and purposefully dragging it out to watch your eyes widen and body shake with anticipation. 

His body is toned and perfect, just like you thought—just like you knew.  You’re nearly salivating as he pulls his slacks and underwear completely off and his cock stands proudly against a background of defined muscles. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe.  

He loves this, is thriving off the fact that you’re just as enamored as he is. 

Before you can register, he’s crawled on to the bed and is hovering over you.  Your lips are a breath apart and you’re sure you’ve stopped breathing—stopped thinking about anything that isn’t Hoseok. 

The wand lays heavy in his hand as he flicks the switch on.  The powerful vibrations are near thunderous in the otherwise quiet room and your pussy reacts with no stimulation.  You can feel your slick drip out of you, down to soak the blankets below.  

“Eager,” he muses as your legs spread wantonly with no instruction.  “Look at your soaked pussy.  You’re making a mess of the bed.”

Your cheeks flame, embarrassed by just how desperate you are for Hoseok, but your embarrassment doesn’t linger.  Hoseok doesn’t mention it to shame you. He revels in it, euphoric at the idea that he alone can turn you into a cock-hungry whore.

He lowers the toy and scoots towards you, kneeling in front of your open cunt.   The toy is centimeters away, you can nearly feel the air between it and you vibrating.  It stills your breath, seizes your lungs.  

“Are you going to be a good girl?” He asks, holding the device from your folds purposefully.  

You nod quickly, too quick.  Your brain is effectively shutting down, only working with the parts that scream of need for his cock. 

He chuckles his amusement at your anticipation.  Your fingers are working their way up your body, dancing on your skin and closing in on your nipples.  Hoseok notices and smirks. 

“Play with your pretty nipples, baby.  Pinch ‘em tight until it hurts.”

To show your obedience, your finger snags a bud in its grasp, pulling up and twisting slightly.  The pain is more than satisfying.  It wrenches a groan from your lips, as you ache for him to close the distance of the vibrating toy to your pussy.

“Good girl.”

He leaves you no room to reply, simply uses one hand to spread your cunt open with his fingers, while the other presses the ball-head of the toy directly to your clit.  

Your body spasms in reaction, a litany of screams falling from your lips as your back arches off the bed and your legs convulse.  The vibrations on your anguished clit makes your entire body feel electrified—like he’s attached a live-wire directly to your veins.

“H-Hoseok!!” You scream.  Your cunt drips more, pools below you and Hoseok thrills in watching the theater performance you’re putting on for him.

“Yeah, you like this, baby?” He asks, voice gaining a hard edge.  “You like it when Daddy plays with your clit?”

Your eyes are lolling back in your head, the indulgence of the act on your needy slit turning you brain-dead.  

“I asked you a question, baby girl.  Don’t make me punish you.”

Your lips quiver.  You’re not even sure how words work, not sure how to form what you’re thinking with any language you can convey.  Your moans come out blabbering, gasping a mixture of his name and ‘yes’ and ‘please’.  

The licking flames of your climax expands, reaches up and strangles you with intensity.  Your legs shake even further and your cunt is nearly pouring out your slick arousal.

Hoseok can tell you’re close now; he can tell by your increasing volume, your shuddering body that your orgasm is mere minutes—no, seconds away.

And, he can’t let that happen.

He takes the toy away and turns it off just as your mouth opens in a frenzy to scream your bliss.

Your eyes fly open.  Your body screams in agony, in desperation to cum, and cum hard, at that.  Hoseok has brought you to the brink so many times and never lets it stay.  He wrenches you back down to earth, and you’re gasping for more, body clenching and quivering.

“P-please, Hoseok,” you whisper.  Your ability to speak is still pitiful, still nearly impossible.  Tears of frustration pool in your eyes and slip down your face.  You’ve never been so turned on, so on edge, so absolutely frantic for someone in your life.

Hoseok wipes a tear away from your eyes with his thumb, shushing your needy whines.

“You’re going to cum on my cock,” he tells you.  “You’re going to cum so hard around me, and no one else—nothing else.  Only me, forever.”

Hoseok has you—hook, line and sinker.  He’s captured you completely in every aspect.  He has your heart, your soul, your cunt.  You knew you’d fall fast when you met the right one, and now he sits in front of your weeping pussy and promises you you’ll never need another cock, another man, in your life.  And you believe him.   You’ll never want another again—you’re sure of it.

He crawls up your body and kisses at your tears, kisses your lips sweetly and waits until your breathing settles.  He knows the edging is too much, nearly agonizing to take, and he’s desperate to reward you for your tolerance.

His hand grips his cock, lines it up and rubs it teasingly at your soaked slit. The action alone makes him grit his teeth, loving the way your soppy cunt leaks your arousal for him and coats the tip of him. 

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight, baby,” he whispers. “Gonna show you who’s cunt this is.” 

You don’t speak—you couldn’t if you tried.  You’re absolutely spellbound by him, and lost in the way his cock teases you and rubs at your engorged, needy clit. It throbs with desire for release, for his touch.  He’s dragging it out, teasing you as much as he can. He knows you’re on the edge—that you’ve been near an orgasm the whole night and he’s yet to allow you one. 

“I need to hear you,” he states. “Need to hear you beg for me.” 

You swallow hard, trying your best to activate your mind to formulate the words you need.

“Hoseok,” you gasp, eyes widening as he continues to tease your hole.  “Hobi, please.”

He nearly loses it at the sound of your nickname for him, nearly gives in to you completely—but holds back.  Just a bit longer, just a few moments more.

“I need you so bad,” you weep as a fat tear rolls down your cheek—tears forming from how desperate you are and how captivated you are that it’s him, that he’s the one above you giving you the world.  “Please fuck me, Daddy.”

There’s no need to whisper a reply.  Instead, he finally, finally, sinks his cock into your drenched heat, groaning as your slick walls stretch to accommodate him.

Your back arches up and you press your body up into his, prickled nipples pressing into his bare chest that makes him shiver as he bottoms out.  

He’s still, only for a moment, giving your body a moment to adjust.  He knows you’re so wet you won’t need long—your cunt is primed to accept his thickness.  

He grabs your legs and opens them, throwing them over his shoulders so he pushes in even deeper.

He leans forward, makes your body bend, and kisses you deeply.  He kisses you with passion, with sincerity and longing.  He wants you to know you’re the girl he’s insane for—you’re the one.  

After he pulls away, he lingers close to your lips and smiles.  

“You’re mine, baby girl.”  

He slowly drags his cock back until it’s nearly completely out of your channel, before his hips snap and he fucks into you—hard.  

The pace he sets is punishing.  He fucks into you like he’s wanted to for years now, thrusts into you so deep that your body bounces with each push forward.  He watches you, watches as your mouth opens to gasp out screams and pleas.  He relishes in the way your hands grip at his biceps, hold on to him like a lifeline.  Hoseok is absolutely basking in the way your body blooms and accepts him, only him.  Your cunt feels like heaven.  It’s hot and tight and gripping him so tightly he’s sure he’ll cum without nearly any work.

His pace picks up, burying his cock into you hard and fast as he pushes your legs until your knees are up to your head.  He wants to watch the way your dripping cunt takes his cock.

“God,” he whines as he watches himself slide in and out of you, covered in your creamy slick.  “You take this cock so well.  You were made to be my whore, baby.”

You babble a positive response, try to tell him that your body was designed for him to use, to take and please as he sees fit.  

He continues. 

“This tight little cunt is all mine, only mine.  I’m gonna make sure I stuff you full of my cock every fucking night, baby girl.  Gonna be nice and fucked out every day of the week.”

The tears of frustration turn into tears of bliss, crying in rapture as they streak down your cheeks.  You’ve never felt so good from a fuck, from any hook up or relationship in your life.  Hoseok has taken you to another world, another universe where the only thing that matters is his dick filling you up to the brim, and how close his body is to yours.

“Fuck,” he grunts as he feels his orgasm work itself up.  “Can’t wait to cum inside this fucking pussy every fucking night.”

He grabs the Hitachi wand that’s lying on the bed and flicks it back to life.  He grins as he sets the head back onto your clit and watches as you jolt even higher in response. 

He can feel the vibrations against his cock as he fucks you and his mind spins.  The sensation, tied with your sticky, slick channel sends him reeling towards the edge.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” he demands.  “Show me I own this fucking pussy!”

Your mouth opens in a silent scream as it washes over you.  All sound leaves as your back arches off the bed one final time and your cunt clenches down impossibly hard around his length and convulses wildly.  Your orgasm hits you like a hurricane, battering down your body with its intense waves.

Hoseok watches in wonder, eyes wide as you cum harder than you have in your entire life.  He’s mystified by you, by how responsive you are to him.  It only takes a few more hypnotic pulses of your fiery pussy around his cock to send him skyrocketing towards his own climax.

His cock pulses with the intensity of his ropes of cum.  Your walls accept him, coax and milk him to spill more and more and more, until he’s filled you up past your breaking point.  It paints and coats your walls, pools in your womb, and he’s desperately crying your name as he grips your thighs.

The return to earth from a combined, world-shattering orgasm takes a few minutes.  You struggle to catch your breath and focus your blurry vision.  Hoseok struggles to keep himself upright and falls to rest on top of you, only holding himself up slightly to keep from crushing you.

“Oh, my god,” you whisper meekly.  “I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

Hoseok chuckles a weak laugh and presses a kiss to your ear, too lazy to lift his head.  

“All for me.”

You smile and let a hand rest on his back, grazing the toned muscle gently with your fingertips.  He finally lifts his head and stares down at you.

He looks so beautiful there above you. The remaining light from the night sky sparkles in his eye and he stares at you like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.

And to him, you are.  You’re everything and more.

“It’s you,” he sighs, still unbelieving that the girl of his dreams is the girl of his fantasies too.

“It’s you,” you echo.  

There’s time for speaking later, time for adding everything up and confessing and planning.  

For now, as Hoseok catches his breath, he crawls his way down your body to your spent cunt.  His tongue peeks out of his mouth and kitten-licks at the drizzling cum that seeps out of you.  You squeak in overstimulation, but spread your legs further open to encourage him.

“You’re all mine.”  

He’s not sure if he’s telling you, or reminding himself.  

Hoseok laps into your hole, licking and suckling at the combined juices.

“Yours,” you moan.  “All yours.”

And Hoseok intends to make sure you never forget it.

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home - part five

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting. 

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***

In Which the World “Date” is Used Lightly

“This was a stupid idea—I’m not going.” 

Ryan is staring at her complexion in the vanity mirror as she swipes another layer of mascara over her dark lashes. Her mobile is balancing between a glass bottle of foundation and an eyeshadow palette, with Fiona’s wide-eyed expression staring back at her. When she gasps, Ryan’s dark eyes dart down to the grainy image of her best mate who looks as if she’s about to reach through the screen and shake Ryan repeatedly until she gets her head on straight.

“You’re absolutely barking,” Fiona scoffs. Ryan places the wand back into the mascara bottle, running a shaky hand through her freshly-dried hair as she tries to remember why she even said yes to Harry in the first place.

When she thinks back on it now, she’ll blame it all on a rare moment of bravery. Or quite possibly, amnesia. Because for some strange reason, her brain momentarily short-circuited, completely forgetting about every other time she’s been in Harry’s presence and how she rarely can get through a few sentences around him. Now that she’s agreed to spend an entire evening with him, on his own turf, under the watchful eyes of his observant toddler? 

Ryan can already feel the bile rising in her throat.

“Fiona, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even sure I was thinking!” She’s panicking now, pacing back and forth on the navy blue tiled floors of her bathroom to try and quell the thumping of her heart. “He definitely doesn’t think it’s a date. I’m just making a fuss, because he didn’t even use those words! He only invited me over because he feels bad that I had to watch his kid for a few hours. That’s it. Nothing else.” 

She isn’t even sure who she’s trying to convince at this point, but she is sure that her pacing is causing her breath to come out in uneven spurts, her chest rising and falling as she slowly pushes herself to the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

“Ry, will you please stop moving? You’re giving me a bloody migraine,” Fiona calls out. Ryan acquiesces, coming to a stop once again and leaning forward on the countertop of her vanity so that Fiona can see the redness tinge her cheeks and her mouth fall open as she tries to catch her breath.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice sounds shaky and fragile, the same way Jackson’s did whenever he mentioned his mother in the past tense a few hours earlier. 

Suddenly, Ryan wishes she was somebody like Fiona. Somebody who didn’t overthink every situation she fell into. Somebody who didn’t have a near panic attack at the trivial notion of making pizzas at her attractive next-door neighbor’s flat. Somebody who could just be normal, without the added pretense of anxiety and social awkwardness that sometimes felt all too crippling.

“Will you stop with that? You can do this. You will do this, even if I have to drive all the way to Hampstead during a lockdown and drag you five meters to his fucking door.” Ryan frowns at Fiona through the screen, wishing for the first time since moving out that she was in the room across the hall from her, close enough so that she can hear her friend’s words of encouragement in person instead of through the tinny speakers of her mobile.

“Okay,” Ryan says quietly, reaching for her mascara and beginning to unscrew the wand before she stops abruptly, an afterthought on the tip of her tongue. “He probably doesn’t even think it’s a date anyway.”

Fiona groans loudly, frustration etched on her freckled face. “He wouldn’t have invited you over if he didn’t want to spend time with you, Ry.”

“But Jackson will be there, too. And he even called it ‘a proper thank you,’ so there’s really no need for me to be freaking out, right? I’m not even sure why I’m putting makeup on in the first place,” Ryan huffs, dropping the mascara on the countertop before releasing her forehead into her hands, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Ryan lifts her head slowly, wondering if Fiona hung up. When she sees her friend leaning closer towards the screen, her big, blue eyes wide and full of patience (an emotion that rarely crossed Fiona Kitchen’s face), Ryan cocks her head to the side in surprise.

“Ry,” Fiona says through an exhale, “I know you’re nervous. I know you’re scared. And I know this makes you feel uncomfortable and awkward, but Ryan—” the added stress on her name causes her to stare back at her blue-eyed friend unblinkingly, wondering how Fiona could be so understanding, “You said you felt something, yeah? This afternoon?”

Ryan nods, remembering the way Harry looked with a blush covering the apples of his cheeks, the way his body shifted in his trainers when he fumbled over his words, the way his eyes looked at everything else besides the brown of her own or the glasses on her face. The way she somehow made him nervous for the first time, and the way her brain seemingly shuts off whenever she’s in his presence.

The way she blinked and he was practically inches away from her face, his green eyes swirling with fascination and desire and all the other feelings that caused Ryan’s stomach to flutter—and she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she’s sure it had to mean something.

“See!” Fiona squeals, as if it were supposed to bring clarification. When Ryan stays silent, Fiona groans again in frustration. “He wants you to come! He’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

Ryan considers this for a moment, wondering if Fiona was on to something. “Stop harping on the word date, Ry, it’ll only drive you mad. He wants you there. You want to be there. Finish getting ready and have fun for once in your life!”

The proverbial kick in the arse from Fiona is exactly what Ryan needed, and in an uncharacteristic wave of confidence, she unscrews the mascara wand and finishes applying it to her other eye, brushes up her eyebrows so that they look somewhat even, and adds a bit of tinted lip balm to her pouty lips. 

She settles on her trusted pair of light wash, straight-legged denim, a white thinly strapped vest paired with a chunky, cropped camel woolen cardigan overtop that hangs off one shoulder, and finishes off her comfortable look with an old pair of Reebok Club C trainers. 

“Can’t you wear the brown booties I bought you last Christmas instead?” Fiona whines from her position propped up on Ryan’s dresser.

Ryan laughs, turning from the mirror to her friend. “It’s pizzas in his flat, Fee.”

Fiona scoffs and Ryan nervously pulls at the edges of her cardigan, obsessing over her outfit for the hundredth time, debating if she should have curled her hair instead of left it to air-dry into unkempt waves, or if she should add more makeup to her face, or if she should just strip it all off and wear leggings and an oversized jumper instead. 

“Ry,” Fiona says through her mobile, and the urgency in her voice causes Ryan to spin on her heel, her back against the mirror and her eyes falling onto Fiona’s. “You look great.”

Those three words cause Ryan to finally breathe clearly for the first time since she started getting ready, and the relief that courses through her veins unfurl the tension-filled knots on her shoulders, releasing the rigidity of her neck. She feels pretty and she feels like she’s going to be okay, and when Ryan smiles brightly at Fiona, her friend imitates it, and suddenly she feels ready for her almost-maybe-sort-of date with Harry.

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting. 

Ryan leaves the hallway light on and slips her mobile into her back pocket, opening the heavy oak of her door and closing it softly without turning the lock. She’ll only be next door, anyway.

With the last stretches of her confidence still flushing through her system, Ryan takes the short trek to Harry’s front door and knocks three times for good measure, leaning a bit forward when she hears the faint sounds of a record spinning on the slipmat, the needle creating that scratchy sound that only comes from choosing a turntable over a regular speaker. She can hear the indistinct echoes of Jackson’s giggles, and before she can hear anything else, the front door whips open and Ryan springs backward, standing upright as to not give away the fact that she was spying on her neighbors.

But the smirk on Harry’s lips and the upward arch of his eyebrows proves that she was caught red-handed.

So much for confidence.

“Hi, Ryan,” Harry says in that soft, slow voice of his that causes Ryan’s stomach to bottom out. When she finally lifts her eyes to fall onto his frame, she’s suddenly at a loss for words when she takes in his appearance.

His hair that was a disheveled mess earlier in the day with strands pulled upwards in every direction was now tamed, the ringlets forming perfect coils with the ends still a bit damp, as if he had rushed to take a shower before Ryan appeared. His torso was covered with another threadbare graphic shirt, the white sleeves falling just around the midpoint of his protruding biceps, with a blue tea towel hanging around his shoulder that had tiny flour fingerprints on the edge. Along his waist and down his legs were a pair of comfortable, camel-colored dress pants that Ryan would never think to match with a shirt that mentioned something about eating honey. And when Ryan’s eyes fall towards Harry’s feet, she sucks in a small breath when she realizes that he wasn’t wearing anything below—just the sight of his toes and what seemed to be lettering tattooed on his ankles.

Ryan was suddenly glad she chose not to add another layer of blush, because the way she was just so obviously checking him out made the colors of her cheeks flush a notable, deep pink. 

“Hi, Harry,” she finally manages to say. And when her brown eyes finally creep up towards Harry’s face, she can see that his eyes are blown-out a bit, the greenness of the irises a bit harder to detect. His gaze seems to fall on the area of skin uncovered by the neckline of her cardigan, where a few layers of gold necklaces are stacked, practically tangling together. 

Before they can redirect their gazes and gather their breaths, a loud “Ryan!” shouts out from behind Harry’s frame, where a messy-haired and bright-eyed Jackson can be found. He’s wearing pajamas and wielding a child-sized plastic rolling pin covered with flour, and the sight instantly brings a smile to Ryan’s face.

“Hey, champ,” she calls out, feeling herself regaining her composure.

“You and daddy match,” he says simply, his chubby finger floating between Harry’s trousers and Ryan’s chunky cardigan, the matching shades of brown distinguishable to the four-year-old standing in the entranceway. 

Ryan offers a shy giggle and Harry looks at the articles of clothing, smiling when he notices that they are, in fact, matching in an off-handed sort of way. The trite realization brings a wide grin to his lips, and he begins to wonder what else he and Ryan have in common.

“Have you finished planning your toppings, Bubs?” Harry asks, opening the door wider so that Ryan can enter his flat, shutting it behind her once she’s infiltrated the entranceway. 

Jackson goes off on a tangent, listing all of the possible toppings he could add to his personalized pizza. Ryan listens as she steps out of her trainers and leaves them near the shoe rack, trying her hardest to be polite. And when the trio enters the kitchen, she stops and watches Harry and Jackson fall into place behind the granite island, Harry lifting Jackson effortlessly on the barstool so that he can kneel on the leather cushion while spreading out red sauce over his much smaller dough, with Harry beside him beginning to roll out his own. Ryan averts her eyes to the floor when she notices Harry’s muscles constricting under his shirt when he pushes the rolling pin away from his body, stretching his long arms out just so that he can pull them back in. 

When the spot near Harry remains vacant, he lifts his head up to see Ryan standing under the archway, wringing her hands in front of her body nervously. “C’mere, Ryan. We’ve got you a nice little setup.”

She notices the pre-floured area on the other side of Harry and slowly enters it, noticing how close she is to his body. The area isn’t as large as she once assumed, and when Harry continues to roll out his dough, she can feel his elbows brush against her arms and suddenly she feels a bit warm in his kitchen.

Ryan unbuttons the top button of the three on her cardigan so that the sleeves fall a bit lower on her shoulder, exposing her sweltering skin to the cooler air. The last thing she needs is to be a sweaty, awkward mess in front of Harry.

Harry notices her fidgeting in his periphery and stalls his movements when the olive skin of her shoulder closest to his body is uncovered. When she lifts her arms and begins formulating the dough, more inches of her skin begin to show from the looseness of the fabric, and when she reaches for her own rolling pin, he can make out the etchings of a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder blade. 

He stays silent, gulping deeply when he realizes that he’s been staring for far too long.

“Ryan, can you help me with the pepperoni please?” Jackson asks from the other side of the countertop, and she stops spreading the sauce on her own pizza so that she can pop over and assist him. Harry’s a bit jaded, considering he’s usually the one to help his son make his pizza, but when he catches Jackson pointing at specific spots on the dough and Ryan placing the slices there expertly, sneaking a smaller piece into his hand so that he can munch on it quietly, Harry can’t help but sense that red-hot feeling of longing rush through his skin. 

When Ryan goes back to her pizza, Harry finishes adding the mushrooms to his own before grabbing her attention. “Want a drink?”

“Please,” she responds, suddenly noticing how dry her throat had been.

“I’ve got wine, beer…” Harry sticks his head further into the fridge, “Juice?” 

He smiles when he coaxes a pretty giggle from her mouth. “Beer works,” she calls over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’s a better combination than beer and pizza?”

Harry chuckles, grabbing two bottles of Carlsberg and opening them easily before handing one over to Ryan as she sprinkles cheese in a swirl over the red sauce of her pizza. He’s watching her as she brings the neck of the bottle to her lips and takes a generous sip, before reaching for the spinach and adding that to the dough.

“I lived off of this when I was at uni,” Ryan offers as she’s spreading her toppings generously, and Harry’s wondering if the distraction is allowing her to speak to him freely.

“Yeah?” he asks, coaxing.

She hums and takes another swig, and Harry finds that he can’t look anywhere else. “Every Thursday night during my final year. My best mate Fiona and I somehow got away with having no lectures on Friday, so every Thursday we’d order pizza and drink beer and watch The Only Way is Essex.”

“Sounds like my old flatmate, Niall,” Harry says between drinks. “Used to live above a kebab shack so we’d eat that almost every other night and whatever liquor was discounted at the shops.” Ryan sprinkles chopped up pieces of bell peppers over her unmade pizza. “Watched Great British Bake Off instead, obviously we were far more cultured.”

Ryan’s brown eyes lift to meet Harry’s, and she quirks her eyebrows in response to his obvious teasing. “Clearly you’re a far more sophisticated drunk than I gathered.”

“You gathered, huh? What were your predictions, then?” Ryan can’t tell if he’s flirting with her or not, because she’s never really found herself in this situation with Harry before. But when she takes in his direct eye contact and the half-smirk covering his face, and the way his attention only seems to fall on hers, she’s almost certain that he is. 

“Sloppy, for starters.”

“Hey!” Harry interjects, facing her completely so that his back is towards Jackson, which in any other circumstance, would probably be a very bad decision.

Ryan giggles before continuing. “I mean, you take up far too much space as it is, I can only imagine a drunk Harry Styles flopping all over the place.”

“Aren’t you the clumsy one in this friendship of ours, Ryan?” Harry says with a small chuckle, flitting his finger back and forth between the pair of them. It’s only when he catches Ryan’s smile faltering, her body turning back towards her pizza and her eyes focusing on adding more vegetables, when Harry realizes that he’s said the wrong thing.

Before he can right himself, Jackson’s captured her attention, and suddenly she’s left him again—floating to the other side of the countertop and away from his body, and he tries his hardest not to frown when he no longer feels the warmth against his left side.

“Daddy, can I show Ryan my room, please? I want to show her the fort we made last night!” Jackson asks, and Harry looks up blankly, somehow forgetting that his son was even in the same room as them.

When two pairs of eyes fall on his frame, he blinks quickly before responding. “Right, uh, go ahead, Bubs. I’ll just pop these in the oven.”

Ryan feels a bit bad leaving Harry alone with their mess, but suddenly Jackson’s asking her to lift him off the barstool and onto the floor, placing his smaller hand in hers once his bare feet have touched the hardwood, dragging her through the living space and down the hallway into his bedroom at the end. 

She takes in his room with childlike wonder, observing the deep blue walls and light wood flooring with a circular rug in the middle near all of Jackson’s toys. A twin-sized loft bed is nestled into the corner with a ladder leading up to the mattress. Underneath are two massive beanbag chairs surrounded by shorter bookshelves, and the hand-constructed fort put together by different items in the flat along with multi-colored quilts and stuffed animals.

When she cranes her neck up, Ryan can make out a cluster of stick-on neon yellow stars on his ceiling, and she smiles to herself, remembering how she had the same thing in her childhood bedroom.

Her neck swivels around the room as she takes in the little pieces of Jackson he’s left scattered around—Crayola-filled artwork hanging along the walls, small trainers and wellies falling out of the closet, a Paw Patrol juice cup on his nightstand. When Ryan takes a step towards it, she notices a picture frame behind the cup, an outline of three bodies upon first glance. It’s only once she’s stepped a bit closer when she realizes that it’s technically two and a half persons—a man, a woman, and a small baby.

With shaking hands Ryan clutches the wooden frame and immediately recognizes Harry as the body on the left. Albeit his hair was much longer and messier, there was no mistaking his boyish grin and sparkling eyes. This younger version of Harry still made her cheeks flush and her heart rate skyrocket, and for a brief moment she lets her mind wander at the prospect of potentially meeting this version of Harry when she was at a pub in uni, or out shopping around the city, or even running into him in the Underground. She wonders if she would fall for this version just as quickly as she did with the older version waiting right outside this very room, a version without a child and without responsibilities. 

Ryan’s gaze falls to the figure his arm is wrapped tightly around, and with one look at the shape of her eyes and the slope of her nose, she knows instantly that this is Jackson’s mother. She’s beautiful—the type of beautiful that you couldn’t help but feel envious of, because her button nose and almond-shaped eyes and pouty lips and perfectly structured jawline were put together in such a fashion that made it seem almost unfair that one person could possess that type of beauty. Her blonde hair fell in curly ringlets down her back, and her eyes were so blue that Ryan was almost certain she could see herself through the reflection. She had that type of smile where her mouth sort of fell open and you could practically hear the laugh fall from her parted lips. Jackson was swaddled inside a green homemade quilt in her arms, and Ryan could only make out thin wisps of chocolate-colored hair, and suddenly she felt as if she was looking at an image that wasn’t meant for her eyes to see. 

Before she could get caught, Jackson’s soft voice calls out to her from inside the fort, and Ryan’s forced to crouch down on her hands and knees and crawl her way through the opening.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asks once she’s seated across from him, her legs crossed underneath her torso so that the tips of her denim-clad knees brush against Jackson’s flannel ones. 

“I love it,” Ryan replies, smiling when he flicks on the spinning nightlight against the wall, illuminating the inside. It’s only with the new light that Ryan notices the personalized touches Jackson added to the inside of his fort—the Tonka trucks along the floor, two grey pillows that seem to fit in a king-sized bedroom set, an iPad in the corner with a Marvel film queued up on Netflix, and a glamorous assortment of stuffed animals surrounding the border of the tent. 

She’s quite impressed with his interior design skills, if she’s being honest.

“Me and daddy watched Spiderman here last night because we can’t go to the cinema no more. He asked me if I wanted to watch Harry Potter with him, but I told him no because we haven’t finished reading the book yet,” Jackson explains slowly. “I told him I’d only watch it with you anyways. I think he got a little sad about that.”

Ryan’s heart swells inside her chest. “Why will you only watch it with me, champ?”

“Because it’s our thing.” He says it so definitively that Ryan feels stupid for even questioning him in the first place, and the thought of him telling his father no, all because she spent an afternoon reading a few chapters with him, causes a warm feeling to rush through her insides. It’s a different type of warmth than the feeling she gets from Harry—instead of a sweltering wave of heat, it’s more subtle, more muted. It feels like wrapping yourself in a heavy blanket in the middle of winter when you’re laying on your mum’s couch, just before you’re about to fall asleep. It feels like comfort.

It feels like home.

Just as Jackson’s in the middle of telling her about the new Spiderman film, a fuller head of curls pops in through the front entrance. Ryan peeks over and sees that Harry’s smiling shyly, looking as if he’s afraid to interrupt their moment together.

“Pizza’s done,” he says quietly. Jackson practically jumps through the blanketed roof, pushing Harry’s shoulders so that he falls backward on his bum as he runs through the entrance with only the kitchen in his sight. 

Before Ryan follows him, she makes sure to turn off the nightlight and rearrange the pillows she and Jackson were sitting on. When she crawls out of the tent on all fours, she looks up from the carpet and sees Harry watching her from the doorframe, a comical look in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Ryan says from her position on the floor, shaking her head in silent laughter once she hears Harry’s loud chuckles from across the room. Before she can get up on her own, she sees large bare feet in her line of vision, with a strong tattooed arm waiting to be held on to.

Her right hand clutches the outside of his own while the left falls into his palm, and with practically no effort, Harry heaves her upright so that she’s standing a few inches away from him. She blinks in the low light of Jackson’s room and realizes that she can still make out the freckles in Harry’s eyes. They’re suddenly in the same position as earlier when they’re standing far too close to each other and breathing a bit too heavy and saying absolutely nothing. It’s only when Harry reaches his right hand out to move her cardigan back into place on her exposed shoulder when she realizes that she’s still holding on to his left hand for dear life.

She unlatches her tight grip and lets her hands fall back to her sides, wondering if she’ll always feel as if her heart was going to burst through her skin whenever she stood too close to Harry. He coughs unnecessarily into his fist, stepping back slowly and giving her a forced smile.

“Let’s go eat.” His voice comes out low and scratchy, and it sounds as if he’s forgotten how to speak. Harry desperately is craving for a beer or water or anything to reprieve the dryness coating his throat, because he somehow has forgotten how to breathe correctly around Ryan, especially when she’s looking at him with messy hair and blown out eyes and tinged cheeks.

When they arrive back into the kitchen, Jackson’s already seated at the kitchen nook, working his way swiftly through his first slice of pepperoni pizza. Ryan slinks in next to him, already reaching for the stack of napkins in the center of the table and wiping his sauce-covered chin as if the motions were practically ingrained in her system. Harry watches a bit slackjawed, before refocusing and grabbing the half-emptied beer bottles from the counter and falling into the seat across from them.

“Thank you,” Ryan mumbles once Harry hands her beer over, and when their fingers brush during the exchange, she tries her hardest not to quiver from the rush of electricity crackling under her skin. 

Harry nods and grabs a slice of his own, bringing it to his mouth and chewing. Ryan does the same, and when Jackson peers over at her pizza, squinting at each topping and trying to decide if he liked them or not, Ryan rips a small sliver and places it on his plate.

“What’s that?” Jackson asks through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

“Jackson, chew with your mouth closed,” Harry instructs from across the table.

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, trying his hardest to move his lips without opening his mouth, causing Ryan to giggle on the side of him.

“They’re bell peppers,” Ryan explains when Jackson holds a slice of green pepper in front of his eyes. He instantly squishes his face in disgust and places the vegetable back onto the slice, exchanging it for the pepperoni.

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ryan exclaims from Jackson’s side.

He shakes his head so quickly that the curls on the top of his head begin to flutter. “I don’t like vegetables.”

Ryan rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah? Coming from the kid who eats dried fruits as a snack. I don’t believe you for a second.” Her light tone indicates that she was only teasing, and when she tickles Jackson’s side and he begins to laugh loudly, she giggles right along with him.

But Harry’s confused as he’s watching them interact, wondering how on earth Ryan knew that piece of information. “Dried fruits?”

Ryan nods when she realizes that Jackson’s chewing. “Yeah. He told me his mum used to feed him that for snack time.”

When she looks up and sees a look of puzzlement across Harry’s face, she’s suddenly wondering if she’s accidentally pried open Pandora’s box, unassumingly spilling out memories that he had forgotten long ago. Memories of a pretty woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who fed her son dried fruits and has slowly become the elephant in the room that neither Ryan nor Harry seem to want to address.

Ryan reaches for her beer, tipping the bottle back until its contents are sliding down her throat. When she notices Jackson’s cup of water is empty, she grabs it and sneaks past him out of the kitchen nook, recycling her bottle and filling up Jackson’s drink. Feeling Harry’s gaze on her lower back, she looks over her shoulder and asks, “Need another?” and it’s as if the uncomfortable interaction never even happened.

Once she’s back across the table from Harry, she looks down at her plate and realizes that Jackson’s stolen her piece with the vegetables, chewing slowly as if he were trying to decide right then and there if he enjoyed the taste.

Ryan feels her chest puff with pride and she’s not quite sure why the site of Harry’s toddler eating the vegetables off of her pizza makes her feel important in some odd, inconsequential way.

“I guess it’s okay,” Jackson offers, causing both Harry and Ryan to laugh loudly across from each other.

Not long after their plates are emptied and their beer bottles a bit lighter, Ryan can see Jackson stifle a yawn from her periphery. It’s cute, the way his eyes squint and his small fist tries its hardest to catch the breath leaving his mouth before anybody can notice. But Harry does, and he’s looking at Ryan with a knowing look on his face. “Think you tired him out.”

Expecting a fight from the sleepy toddler beside her, Ryan suddenly stiffens when she feels Jackson’s head rest against her arm, his tangled curls tickling below her chin. When she angles her head downward, she smiles when she sees him rubbing his eyes, expelling another deep yawn for good measure.

“It’s alright, we had quite the day,” Ryan agrees, ruffling Jackson’s hair softly. “Go ahead and take him to bed, I’ll put these plates away.”

Harry pauses halfway out of the kitchen nook, looking at the pretty girl with his sleeping son practically on her lap in wonderment. The domesticity of her proposal surges through his skin, causing his heart to pump faster inside his chest. He knows he’s being ridiculous—she’s probably just being nice, offering to put the plates in the dishwasher because she didn’t want to intrude on Jackson’s nighttime routine.

But still, his cheeks flush at the thought that maybe this could be a normal occurrence, and for a slight moment, he revels in it, thinking of all the what if’s and could be’s. 

When he offers her a slight nod, Ryan places Jackson on the floor, before stacking the glass plates and bringing them over to the countertop near the sink. She turns around and smiles at the sight of Jackson holding Harry’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

But before he can get too far, Harry mumbles something that ends with Ryan’s name, and suddenly he’s ambling over to where she’s standing, blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he mumbles, “G’night Ryan.”

Ryan crouches before him, reaching him just at eye level. “Night, champ. Have a good sleep.”

All of a sudden, two tiny arms are wrapped around her neck, practically causing Ryan to fumble backward at the collision of Jackson’s small body falling into hers. She can feel his tiny hands gripping her brown hair, and after regaining her composure, her arms wrap around him fully so that she’s giving him a proper hug.

“Thanks fo’ today. I had the bestest time ever.” His sleepy admission causes Ryan’s breath to still, and that warm feeling is back—but instead of a warm quilt during winter, it feels like a heated blanket in the middle of summer, and suddenly she’s wondering what this all means.

And when he backs away slowly with a tiny wave, Ryan can only offer a shy smile, feeling far more confused than ever before. She’s too nervous to even look up at Harry’s face, because she’s almost certain that he’s probably horrified at the sight unfolding in front of him. Especially when he was fidgeting over her dried fruit comment, and the fact that Jackson’s mother’s beauty was incomparable to her own, and the fact that Jackson’s probably grown a little bit attached to Ryan, and she’s not sure if she can break his heart when she ultimately has to tell him the hard truth.

Ryan stands up quickly and gets back to loading the dishwasher, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand instead of the whirring sound of her brain trying to formulate meaning to the situation she suddenly finds herself trapped in.

It’s only once she pushes the start button and takes a deep breath when she hears the familiar foot pattern of Harry entering the kitchen. She turns around and begins to tell him that she should probably be heading out too, but before she can even think to speak, Harry’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion in his eyes, and suddenly she can’t bring herself to move.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” Harry says slowly, reaching for his unfinished beer that Ryan moved to the island countertop, before bringing it to his lips with ease.

“It’s no bother, really. You did most of the cooking when I was in Jackson’s tent.” It’s a lame excuse and thankfully Harry doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches into the fridge and offers up another beer, and how can Ryan say now when his boyish grin is back and she’s still trying to figure out what that look in his eyes means?

And that’s how they find themselves in Harry’s living room—with Harry perched on one end of the couch, watching Ryan fondly as she peers at all of the records lining his walls, figuring out which one to choose per his request. 

“It’s not rocket science, Ryan,” Harry teases after a few minutes have gone by and his record player is still void of a vinyl. 

“No, not rocket science. But it is quite an important decision,” Ryan counters, moving on to the next bookshelf and stopping at the K-N alphabetized section.

“Just pick what you like!” Harry exclaims through a chuckle.

Ryan stands up straight and turns around so that she’s staring at him head-on. “Music is your thing, isn’t it?”

Harry nods once he realizes that she’s waiting for a response.

“Right. So you’re going to judge me either way based on my decision—”

“—Whoa, who said I was going to—”

Ryan’s hand silences him. “It’s an internal judgment. Not a bad thing! I’d feel the same way if you were picking out a book in my flat.” She turns back around and bends at the knees, skimming through the M shelf. 

“Fleetwood Mac is too easy. You obviously are into classic rock with the way you wear graphic t-shirts and have two Rolling Stones albums framed near your guitar. Also, don’t get me started on the George Michael lyrics tattooed on your ankles.” Ryan’s still scrounging through Harry’s record collection, therefore she can’t see the look of astonishment grace his features.

She stops right in the middle of her search and plucks a yellow album with a colored picture of mountains in the background. It’s simple enough and the cover of the album is what drew her in, and when she squints her eyes and makes out Joni Mitchell in loopy cursive, she shrugs, deeming it okay.

When Harry grabs it from her hands and looks at her with a shocked look on his face, she smiles back, feeling confident in her blind decision.

“Joni Mitchell? I’m quite impressed,” Harry says as he’s placing the vinyl on the record player, bringing the needle to the outer-most edge and heading back to his position on the couch once the cracking sounds of the first song begin to play.

“Don’t be,” Ryan responds, gripping her beer and beginning to follow him. “I only picked it because I liked the color.”

Harry’s head falls back in laughter, before asking, “I’m supposed to believe that you know nothing about music?”

“Exactly,” Ryan starts, walking past an end table filled with picture frames. “I’m just observant. You give off the classic rock vibe with one look at your workspace, and it doesn’t take an idiot to recognize Careless Whisper lyrics—quite the bold choice, might I add.” Before she can say anything else, she recognizes Jackson’s mum in another photograph, and suddenly she’s forgotten her point. 

Harry’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders again, but instead of holding baby Jackson, she’s holding a beer and surrounded by four other people. Harry’s hair isn’t as long as in the first photograph, but it still falls well past his ears, so Ryan can only assume that this is from a time before Jackson was even a consideration. One arm falls around her shoulders, and his other arm is around the waist of a taller bloke with dark hair and a thick scarf around his neck. It seems to be winter, with the way everybody is wearing woolen coats and knitted jumpers. When Ryan squints, she can make out Christmas lights in the background, and she feels the elephant in the room come back, but this time she’s sick of running from it.

“Is this Jackson’s mum?” She’s not quite sure why she even bothered asking, because the way Harry’s eyes stop twinkling and the way his grin falls to a frown, Ryan already knows the answer without him having to speak.

“Yeah, her name’s Rachel,” Harry starts, placing his beer on the glass coffee table. “She’s just, uh, sort of not around anymore.”

It’s only once Harry’s still quiet, still looking pensive, when Ryan realizes how stupid she truly was. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She’s fumbling again and shifting her feet and averting her eyes, and suddenly she wishes she were anywhere but here.

“Wait, what? Oh. Oh,” he laughs, sipping his beer. Ryan stares at him wide-eyed, wondering how on earth he could possibly find this funny. “Christ, she’s not dead, Ryan. She’s just, uh, not really around.”

Ryan nods stupidly before falling onto the other side of the couch, finishing her beer easily and placing the empty bottle on the table. 

“We grew up together,” Harry starts, and Ryan brings her eyes up to look at his face and finds that he’s alarmingly calm. “When I came back home after uni we just sort of started hanging out with our sixth form mates again. Rachel and I never really were anything, but it was during that time after uni when you feel really lost and have no idea what you want to do with your life, so we just found comfort in each other, I suppose.” He pauses and Ryan wants to tell him that he really doesn’t owe her an explanation, but before she can say anything he’s shifted his eyes from the floor to her face and she knows that for some reason he wants to tell her.

“I hate to call it an accident, because Jackson’s the best little guy I could have ever asked for. But all of a sudden Rachel was pregnant and I was panicking because a kid wasn’t ever in the cards for me. Not so soon. And not with somebody I—”

Ryan nods, assuring him that she knows exactly what he means even if Harry can’t bring himself to admit it.

“So we… tried, I guess. She couldn’t bring herself to, uh, terminate it—him,” he winces softly and Ryan suddenly wants to grab his hand and never let go. “After he was born, we really tried. Got a flat near Finsbury Park and really did the best we could. And I was in, I was fully committed, one hundred percent. But, uh, Rachel. Rachel wasn’t.”

Ryan feels incredibly sad for Harry all of a sudden. Not the Harry that’s sitting before her—successful, kind, handsome. But the Harry she never met, the Harry she imagined when she first saw the photograph with Rachel in Jackson’s room. The one with long hair and big eyes, the one who didn’t really deserve to deal with the burden of raising a child on his own. The one who did it anyway, selflessly.

“She wanted to go to law school. Had all these dreams about being a career woman and living in a posh flat in the middle of the city. A baby wasn’t in her plans, either, I suppose.” He pauses and offers Ryan an encouraging smile when he sees the look of anguish on her face. “It’s okay, really. Didn’t want to stick around where I wasn’t wanted, right? Didn’t want that for Jackson, either.”

“We’re okay, now. Still friends and such. She sees Jackson one long weekend out of every month, and I think he’s getting used to it. But with covid and everything, she just hasn’t really been around much. So it’s an adjustment.” Ryan can tell that Harry really isn’t okay with everything, because how could you still be friends with somebody you made a child with? That same somebody who decided it wasn’t meant for her? That same somebody who let the responsibility fall onto one parent?

But one look into his eyes, Ryan can see that even after all that heartache and stress and pain, that Harry somehow did it. He raised a great kid, he figured out a career path, he ended up doing it all on his own—and suddenly Ryan feels quite in awe of the man sitting across from her.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” The words fall from her lips without a second thought, and she can feel the brightness from Harry’s grin, her own eyes squinting when she takes in the image of a beaming Harry with fluffy curls and strong arms and a stupid look plastered on his face.

Harry suddenly wonders if he should scoot closer towards her on the couch. Because she’s looking at him with bright, brown eyes, pouty tinted lips and a look on her face that he just wants to unravel. But he’s timid, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm her with the story he just told her and the feelings that are brewing in his stomach.

So he changes the subject.

“Jackson really likes you.” His words cause the apples of Ryan’s cheeks to raise.

“Yeah, well, guess I can sort of relate to him in a way,” her words come out so softly that Harry had to lean forward to make sure he heard her correctly. Because suddenly Ryan’s giving him information while looking into his eyes—not focusing on spreading out her pizza toppings, not mulling over which record to pick. She’s looking directly at him.

And Harry’s almost certain this is better than sitting closer to her.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Well, I was around the same age as him when my parents split up,” Ryan frowns when she realizes the direction their conversation is heading in. “I mean, not that you and Rachel were ever married or whatever. Or that you’re doing a bad job, I just, uh,” Harry encourages her to continue with a gentle nod, but suddenly Ryan is aware that her throat is closing up and her mind has gone blank. Her thoughts are just a swirling mess inside her brain, disappearing on the tip of her tongue the second she tries to formulate her response.

She can feel her social anxiety take hold, and she desperately needs a minute.

So she tells him. “Just, hold on. Give me a minute.”

Harry is nothing but patient, and when he can hear the breath lodged in her throat, her chest compressing as Ryan tries her hardest to push it out of her lungs, he reaches for the hand squeezing her thigh, rubbing soothing motions on the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down. 

Ryan’s eyes immediately look into green, and she can feel her chest fall as the breath finally leaves her parted lips. With one look into Harry’s eyes, one graze of his hand on the back of her own, she can feel her breathing regulate, and suddenly she’s calm for the first time all night.

“Lost you again,” Harry whispers.

Ryan nods thrice, feeling her skin prickle with goosebumps even though her insides are sweltering. “Sometimes I can’t think when I’m around you,” she admits.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?” Harry asks gently.

“Not really,” Ryan gulps harshly, forcing her eyes to look into Harry’s. “Not for me.”

It’s quiet, safe for the opening guitar riff of Car On a Hill playing softly in the background. Harry feels his body shifting just the smallest bit towards Ryan’s, so subtle that she can barely recognize it as it’s happening. She’s trapped in his eyes, swirling greens and golden hues spotted with freckles telling her to lean in, to come closer, to push herself into his personal space the way he’s been dreaming about ever since she left with his tea mug the day before. 

And she wants to, so badly, that suddenly it’s all she can think about. The confidence Fiona instilled in her hours earlier is back, and when her eyes dart down to Harry’s cherry lips, taking in the chapped ridges and the way his tongue darts out to lick the dryness away, she’s almost certain he wants the same thing as her.

His hand is still on hers and that’s all of the affirmation she needs, so with one fell swoop she makes a move to close the gap between them. And just as Ryan is centimeters away from his lips and her eyelids are about to shut—

—Nothing.

At the last moment, Harry backed away the smallest of inches, but it was enough for Ryan to understand that he didn’t, in fact, want the same thing as her.

So with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Ryan stands up abruptly, ripping her hand out from under his own warm palm, offering a lame, “I should go,” before grabbing her trainers from near the shoe rack and heading straight for his door without even stopping to put them on her feet.

Before Harry can hear his front door close, he kicks into high gear, running after Ryan before she can get away again. Because he’s an absolute fucking idiot for backing away, for his muscles turning rigid and his mind swirling with far too many thoughts. 

But once he’s reached the entranceway, he finds nobody there. Just the sight of his door half-closed and the hallway rug upturned at the corner. And when he peeks his head out into the hallway and hears the sound of heavy oak closing, he realizes that he’s missed his chance.

And there’s nobody to blame but himself. 

*** A/N: Hi guys, please don’t hate me. Here’s part five of you feel like home, aka the longest part I’ve posted so far. Originally I was going to have it be two parts, but because I didn’t want to create another title, it’s just one. I know this is probably not how we thought (or wanted) the “date” to go, but I promise there’s more to the story! Part six will be posted on Thursday December 3, so feel free to chat (or yell) at me in the meantime. This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! And to everybody celebrating tomorrow, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris​ @niallgolden​

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 4: 404 File Not Found

by @dracusfyre

Over the next few weeks Bucky did start to get hints of Stark’s criminal operations, at least the ones that were easy to see: the illegal gambling dens, knockoff designer bags and sunglasses, the chop shops that picked up and moved every two weeks. This was the stuff that they already knew about, though, and so far Bucky hadn’t been able to directly link Stark to any of it. Learning that Stark had an accountant was the biggest break he’d had so far, but despite his best efforts he hadn’t gotten even the hint of a name. He was so lost in thought trying to figure out a way to get deeper into Stark’s organization that he didn’t even notice that KT had stopped walking until he was already several steps away.

“What’s up?” he asked and followed KT’s gaze to the park bench where someone was sleeping, an overflowing shopping cart pulled up next to them.

 “Stay here,” KT said, and went over to the bench. As Bucky watched, he squatted next to the bench. He must have said something because the person startled awake and sat up, scooting away from him. Now that the person was sitting up, Bucky could see that it was an older woman, gray hair waving in the wind. KT remained crouched, hands up, still talking. He was there long enough that Bucky looked around for a place to sit, but before he could find a seat KT handed her something and walked away.  KT had his phone out and was talking on it by the time he got back to where Bucky was waiting, so Bucky walked in silence until KT hung up.

“Who was that?” he asked as KT put his phone away, looking over his shoulder at where the old woman was pushing her cart somewhere else.

“Social worker,” KT answered. “Boss keeps one on retainer.”

“Retainer?”

“Yeah. She works for the city, but the Boss pays her extra to handle the cases he sends her way. Anna there,” he said, gesturing towards the old woman, “refused to go to the shelter so I told Ms. Walker to have someone come talk to her, see if they can get her some help.” Bucky managed to not roll his eyes, though he wanted to, but he must have made some kind of noise because KT looked up at him and said, “What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said, but KT put a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop right there on the sidewalk.

“No, we’re going to talk about this. You’ve had an attitude whenever I talk about the Boss since you started, and I’m tired of it. Say what you want to say.”

“I just don’t get why you really believe all that stuff, about Tony Stark being in it for a little guy. ‘The mob boss with a heart of gold,’” Bucky said sarcastically. “I mean, a social worker? Really? Head start programs, scholarships, small business loans, the whole line about kicking out drug dealers - it’s all bullshit. He’s just got a hell of a PR team.”

“And there it is. I knew this was coming. You new guys are all the same.” KT gave him a scornful look. “Look, belief is for things that you don’t know are true, so no, I don’t believe all that stuff. I know it.” He took his jacket off and pulled up the sleeve on his left arm; the inside of his forearm and elbow were scarred with track marks. “My name wasn’t Kenton when I was born, it was Katie,” he said. “My parents let me stay until I was eighteen, then they kicked me out on my birthday. I spent two years on the streets, and I was one of the first people in that rehab center when it reopened. The sweet deal I mentioned that you get at the 90 day mark? It's a rent-controlled apartment and a job. With benefits, no less. Haven’t been back on the bullshit since, and now the Boss is paying for me to get a degree in social work.”

Bucky was stunned. “That’s insane,” he said as KT put his jacket back on. “I don’t…people aren’t like that in real life.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” KT said with a snort, and turned to keep walking. “But I think that assholes want you to think that everyone is an asshole deep down; that way you don’t get mad at them for being assholes. Because if people knew that there were good guys, like really good guys like the Boss, then no one would put up with the assholes anymore. You get me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said faintly. “It’s just…”

“I know. I had a hard time believing it, too. Kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, you know? Like, no one gives away this stuff for free. But then the Boss sat down with a bunch of us and explained the buy-in, and that’s what made me realize he was for real.”

“Is anyone ever going to explain what that means? The buy-in?”

“When you’re ready, the Boss will explain what it means.” As they walked, KT pointed out small things around the neighborhood that Bucky had noticed but not really paid much attention to: the walls covered with paint that Bucky had assumed was graffiti but was actually street art, commissioned from local high schoolers; sidewalks were power washed with no weeds in the cracks; the space between the sidewalk and the curb often had flowers rather than being a sad patch of dead dirt and litter. No broken windows, no broken street lights, playgrounds with new equipment. It wasn’t like it was suddenly a rich neighborhood, with boutique shops and craft breweries, but it was clean and safe and clearly cared for. Bucky went through the rest of the shift on autopilot, lost in thought.

That night, he couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, so finally he pulled out his computer. He hadn’t done demographic research like this since he’d studied sociology in college, but gradually the picture started to emerge. Census data, crime rates, education statistics, property values, employment rates – they all added up to a picture that was hard to argue with: there was a bubble of prosperity around the neighborhoods that Stark controlled, an effect that faded quickly beyond the de facto edge of his territory.

Bucky closed his laptop slowly and bit his lip.  Some of the stuff he’d seen, like helping out the local businesses and the sex workers, could be explained as being good business sense. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why a mob boss would care about high school graduation rates and early childhood education. He exhaled and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“A criminal philanthropist is still a criminal,” he said to his ceiling. “Right?”

                                                 ***

As the weather grew cooler, Bucky realized had been working for Stark long enough to have developed something of a routine; he worked with KT during the week, but occasionally swapped out for one of Stark’s other patsani when KT was needed for something else, then on his days off he made his way to the library to make his report to his handlers. Despite what Stark had said about him being a cop when they first met, Stark seemed willing to let him stay on the streets; Bucky figured maybe it had been a test or his idea of a joke. But the sheer normalcy of the routine meant that, despite his best efforts, he had started to relax and let down his guard. He realized just how relaxed he had gotten when he showed up to meet KT for their daily rounds and Happy was there instead, leaning against one of Stark’s cars; his mind raced over the past few days as he felt a pulse of panic that he had screwed up somehow and his cover was blown. “What’s up, Happy?” Bucky said, steps slowing as his blood ran cold.

“New gig tonight,” he said, holding a car door open for Bucky. “You’re going to be the Boss’s bodyguard.” Bucky let out a silent breath and his shoulders relaxed as the spike of fear was replaced by a quick thrill of excitement. This was the opportunity he'd been looking for.

He shrugged carelessly as he got in the car. “Anything I should know?”

“Boss will tell you what you need to know.”

Happy took him back to the garage where he’d met Stark the first time, only this time instead of the grungy mechanic, Stark looked like the Tony Stark, the capital M Mechanic that Bucky had expected to see then. He was wearing a tailored Tom Ford three piece suit, charcoal grey over a crimson collared shirt, and his jaw was clean shaven except for his trademark Van Dyke beard. He was talking to a Black man with a military bearing, but when he saw them come in he gave them a blinding smile that made Bucky’s heart skip a beat. While Bucky tried to process that unexpected development Tony pushed his glasses to the top of his head and studied Bucky with eyes that were sparkling with humor, like he'd just heard a joke he was eager to share.

“Hey, copper,” he said as Bucky approached. “New job for you. I’ve got a black tie event to go to and I need someone to watch my back, so you’re going to be my plus one.”

"Not a cop," Bucky said automatically, then he heard the rest of Stark's sentence. “Wait, plus one? I’m your date?” he said before he could stop himself.

That surprised a laugh out of Stark. The curl of his smile got sultry and intimate, and he stepped closer to Bucky, who could only stare and swallow thickly, frozen in place. “Do you want to be, Blue Eyes?” he murmured, and Bucky got goosebumps as his voice got deep and smooth. The humor in Stark's eyes turned into flicker of interest as the moment stretched like hot taffy and a denial failed to manifest. Bucky bit his lip as Stark swayed closer, and his breath stalled in his lungs Stark’s gaze flicked down to his mouth and then back up. This close, he could tell that Stark was a few inches shorter than him; if he tilted his head down and Stark tilted his head up, they could be-

“Tony,” Stark’s friend said quellingly, breaking the tension. “Stop teasing the poor man.”

Stark inhaled sharply, as if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone, and took a step back. The glasses came back down over his eyes, and by the time he turned to face his friend, the laughing smile was back in place. “You should have seen his face, Rhodey,” he said, hands in his pockets as he strolled away. “I’ve never seen a person’s brain blue screen so thoroughly before. No, Blue Eyes, you’re not my date, you’re my bodyguard.”

Bucky blew out a breath, feeling shaky for some reason, and rewound the conversation. “Black tie event, you said?” Bucky looked down at his outfit, jeans and a Henley shirt, with his old military issue boots and a jean jacket.

Tony tilted his head towards the back of the garage, not meeting his eyes. “I got your fancy duds in the bathroom back there. And a razor, though I dig the manly stubble.”

 “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Rhodey said as Blue Eyes closed the door to the bathroom to get changed.

“Of course,” Tony said, keeping his voice light despite the fact that his nerves were still vibrating like a plucked string. “First of all, it’s objectively hilarious and you know it. Second, photos from this event are going to be all over the internet and I don’t want you or Happy to get that kind of press.” He looked over to see that Rhodey was watching him skeptically. “What?”

“Don’t sleep with the undercover cop.”

“I won’t.”

“Uh huh.” Somehow Rhodey’s skeptical face got more skeptical. “I saw that moment. You guys had a moment.”

“I’m not going to sleep with the undercover cop,” Tony repeated dutifully, wishing Rhodey would drop it. Because there had been a moment, a breathtakingly arousing moment that had felt as fragile as spun glass and as powerful as a hurricane; at any other time with any other person Tony would have chased that moment, that feeling, but the reminder that Blue Eyes was a cop had soured it. Now Tony wished he had a drink to wash the taste of want from his mouth. “Is Happy bringing the car around?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

The pause before Rhodey answered made it clear that he knew what Tony was doing, but instead of calling him out on it he just said, “It’s already out front.”

After a few more minutes, Tony heard the doorknob to the bathroom turning and consciously plastered an easygoing look on his face as Blue Eyes came out. It was good that Tony had a legendary poker face, because seeing Blue Eyes in a fitted suit, clean-shaven with his slightly long hair brushed back from his face, would have broken a lesser bisexual. Shaving made him look ten years younger and drew attention to his full mouth, which was currently frowning in concentration as he tried to fasten his cufflinks one-handed. A rare sense of self-preservation kept Tony from offering to help; he stuffed his hands in his pockets against the urge to reach out and run his fingers along the sharp, smooth line of Blue Eyes’ jaw.

Rhodey must have seen something in Tony’s face or posture that gave away his thoughts, because he said, “Don’t sleep with-“

“Enough, Rhodey,” Tony said under his breath. “Ready, Blue Eyes?” he said more loudly, gesturing towards the door where Happy was waiting. Blue Eyes nodded and followed him, climbing into the front seat next to Happy while Tony sat in the back.

“So where are we going?” Blue Eyes asked, turning around in the seat to look at Tony.

The reminder immediately cheered Tony up. “The Policeman’s Ball,” he said with relish, and got to see Blue Eyes’ brain 404 error for the second time that night.

[monaownsmyass]

It’s Complicated/Uncomplicated - Part 1/2

Requested fic by @ineedskyecrandall (if you have any fic ideas or requests you’d like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: My Two First Loves, (after) Chapter 38

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G, none

Word count: 1,896

A/N: This takes place after Ava dropped MC off at her house after homecoming. Later, Ava asks MC out on a date. It’s technically a continuation of my previous Ava x MC fic (read here) but you don’t have to read it, all you have to know is that they share a kiss. Also, this wasn’t meant to be a two-parter but as I was writing I noticed how long it was gonna be lol so I split it up.

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics.)

Part 2 here!

I watched as Ava's car drove away, sighing with a stupid grin on my face. God, I felt like I've been waiting for eternity for that to happen without even realising it. I quickly went to the bathroom to get changed and plopped myself onto the bed, sprawled out, that damn grin never leaving my face.

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, the fairy lights I had hung around my bedroom providing the only source of lustre. The soft glow dancing against my skin in a way that made me feel as if I were in another world. After that kiss, I'm pretty sure I was.

That kiss, it was all I was thinking about. How have I gone so long without kissing Ava? It felt as if I've always been craving to know the way her lips felt on mine. That made me think, have I always wanted this from her? Or was it a whim of the moment? So caught up in each other that kissing her was the only way I could express that intense feeling between us?

I thought back to all the times I've spent with Ava. I thought about how I accidentally tripped over myself while walking to class and Ava laughing at my clumsiness. Instead of scolding her, I was transfixed by the sound of her laugh, bright and dazzling. And that time she was comforting me as I cried into her shoulder, holding me and rubbing my back, reassuring me everything was going to be alright. I felt so safe and warm in her embrace.

Then there was that other time when we were at the beach together. I pushed her into the water and ran to shore as fast as possible while laughing. I remember my giggling stopped dead in it's track when I saw her resurfacing from the water, walking towards me like an avenging goddess. I felt nervous but at that time I thought it was because I was scared she was going to get her revenge on me. She did, by the way. Being much stronger than me, she dragged me towards the ocean and ultimately ended up lifting me and tossing me into the water.

I also thought back to the first time we had a sleepover. Both of us awkwardly trying to fit together on my single bed at that time. I've upgraded to a queen size since then because Ava started sleeping over a lot more frequently after that but at that time, we had to squeeze onto my bed that was definitely not made for two. I remember feeling anxious but excited and thinking it was because I've never been this close to anyone before, physically and emotionally.

Right before the kiss, I had recollections, moments with Ava flashing before me, passing by too quickly to process but long enough to know what I felt. However, looking deeper into them right now, I realised that that kiss wasn't because it felt right in that instance. It wasn't because we were caught up in the moment. No, it was because I have liked Ava for a while now.

My eyes widen in comprehension at my epiphany. I knew I liked her after kissing her but looking back now, it hit me that I've liked her for a long time, I just couldn't tell if it was just purely platonic or also romantic.

I’ve always liked Ava Lawrence, my best friend.

Just the thought alone made shivers run through my body. It all finally made sense now, all those unexplainable feelings I would just brush off as close friendship. I've never had a friend like her before. I mean sure, Mason and I had been friends since we were kids but I've never had this kind of connection with him or with anyone else. Except for Ava. So I'd just assume that's what inseparable friendships were like, but maybe not.

Okay, definitely not.

Still staring at my ceiling, I bit my lip as memories ran through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder how on earth I've never figured out sooner that I liked women in general. Subconsciously, my hand slapped down against my face at my oblivion.

"Ow!"

I probably shouldn't have done that.

I won't deny that Ava was the main girl that I always thought about but there were times where I would see a pretty girl and catch myself getting flustered or blushing or even acting shy. Well, I guess I know why now.

I rolled onto my side and looked at my phone. Noah and Mason had been blowing up my phone and I didn't even notice. I just continued to stare at the screen lighting up when a message would come in. I didn't feel like talking to either of them right now but that didn't stop my mind from spiraling once again.

Noah and Mason. My first two loves. I definitely had feelings for them, heck, I definitely loved both of them. But was I in love with either them? I cared for them both and I definitely found them incredibly attractive. But then there's also Ava, the girl that was always on my mind. Wow, this crap was confusing. But one thing wasn't, not anymore.

"I'm... bi?" I whispered into the dimly lit room.

As soon as I spoke it, it was like a flip switched in my brain. It felt right. This was who I am, this is me. I'm bisexual and it felt.. great. That dumb smile that I had as I watched Ava drive away found it's way back onto my face. Relief washed over me, incredibly comforted by the idea that I figured one part of the puzzle that was my life.

My phone lit up and buzzed again, the different ringtone catching my attention. It was Ava's personal ringtone. During our first sleepover, she insisted that we set special ringtones for ourselves on each other's phone. Reason being that even if we were near our phones but weren't on it, we could tell that the other was thinking of us, wanting to talk to us. The idea back then made me blush and it still worked it's wonders now. Years later, we still haven't changed it.

I immediately grabbed my phone off the nightstand and opened the message.

‘Hey, nerd, you still up?’ the message read.

Seeing the term of endearment made me let out an involuntary grin. I knew she meant it lovingly because I do the same to her.

‘Yeah, I was just thinking,’ I replied.

‘About?’

I paused. Should I admit that I was thinking about her? Screw it!

‘You.’

I saw her typing a reply and then stopping. I began worrying if I shouldn't have been so upfront before a message popped up.

‘I was thinking about you too. About that kiss.’

My heart leapt from my chest, the smile on my face grew wider as I read the message over and over again.

‘I miss you,’ I wrote back.

‘I just saw you, loser.’ I could almost hear and see her giggling at my text. The image caused butterflies to dance in my tummy. ‘But yeah, I miss you too...’

‘I wish you were here,’ I responded and I didn't realise how true that was until I typed it out. It suddenly felt much colder in my room, much too big despite having the smallest room in the house.

‘Me too,’ her text read back. I rested my phone against my chest and let out a deep exhale. I just wanted to hold onto her again like I did after our kiss. The idea made my heartbeat increase rapidly.

I lifted my phone and saw her typing again. ‘Not to ruin the mood or whatever, but I have to know, what do Mason and Noah mean to you? What do I mean to you?’

Funny how my heart went from pumping like crazy to almost stopping entirely. In fact, it sank down to my stomach. How was I gonna answer her when I didn't even know myself?

‘Ava... I care about them but I care about you too, and you know that. And I definitely see you as more than my best friend if that’s what you want to hear.’

‘More like what? Sisters?’

I scrunched up my nose. ‘Eww, that's so gross! I don't kiss my sister on the lips!’

Once again, I could hear her unadulterated laugh, a laugh that could brighten anyone's day. ‘Lol then be more specific.’

Of course she'd make me spell it out for her, she has always been so demanding and persistent. I admired that about her. ‘Fine, I see you as someone I could be with, romantically. As someone I could date. I can imagine us together in the long run. You by my side, as my other half. I can see you as my girlfriend.’ I hesitated before sending the next text. ‘But my feelings are complicated... ‘cuz I don't think you're the only one I feel that way about, and I don't know who's the right one for me.’

After I hit send, it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't have done that, that I may have blown my chance at being with Ava. But then it hit me. I knew Ava wasn't gonna stop being my friend and I had two great guys as alternatives. So why did I care so much if she takes it the wrong way and stops pursuing me?

I saw the screen of my phone light up with another notification from Ava.

‘Let me help you uncomplicate your feelings then. Can I take you out tomorrow evening? On a date?’

A sense of relief washed over me, thrilled by the prospect that she still wanted me. I knew what she meant, but I just wanted to make sure. ‘We've been on many dates before.’

‘I know but I mean it this time. A proper date, not a friend date.’

My heart started beating so fast I was sure I was going to go into cardiac arrest.

‘I'd love that!’ I quickly shot back. I was elated that she didn't back down from wanting something more out of our friendship.

‘Oh, thank god.’

I giggled to myself, happy to be reassured that she was just as nervous as I felt.

‘I really want to hear your voice,’ I confessed.

‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘But it's getting pretty late, you should sleep.’

‘Ava :(’

‘Haha, sorry beautiful, but we have a big day planned ahead of us tomorrow so you should rest.’

‘You’ve already planned what we’re gonna do tomorrow?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve thought about it. Now go to bed.’

‘Alright, fine, good night I guess :(’ I typed back sulkily even though I was smiling so hard.

‘Sweet dreams, Emma<3.’

I send her back a heart in reply and finally put my phone down on the nightstand again. Once more, I found myself staring at the ceiling, wondering how the heck I was supposed to go to sleep now when my heart felt like a roller coaster and when butterflies were invading my tummy.

Eventually, after hours or tossing and turning, I finally drifted off the sleep with a small smile on my lips and Ava on my mind.

(More fics!)

[heli0s-writes]

II. The Binding

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  You return to the newly dubbed Avengers Tower after two years. The Words find you with a surprise. A/N: Part 2 of Mystery of Love.

It took a few months for you to settle in and find a new apartment, but soon enough you were back on a regular schedule. Your work continued to be well-reviewed and circulating, which was a good sign because it meant you could still make a living off it. The merchandise in your store was steadily being bought and it certainly helped that you still had quite a bit of money left over from your last few paychecks. There were invitations in your inbox for exhibitions and requests to purchase original files of your work. For now, you were leaving them unread.

You visited your parents once, to talk to them, but you felt strange in their home. The longer your conversation went on, the more you realized that your parents couldn’t comprehend the importance of your work to you. Nor did they understand why you were no longer enamored with the idea of a soulmate. To them, you were meandering around the world to pursue a hobby, luckily it made you quite a bit of money, but you needed to settle down and find your other half. He was in Manhattan, they believed, so you needed to stay put. When you scoffed and said that it could very well be a “she”, they asked you to leave and think about your actions for a few days.

On a sunny May morning, as you reviewed the hundreds of pictures from your journeys, you received an e-mail from Ms. Potts. She hoped you had a fun trip, and that she’d like for you to come by for another assignment. She promised that there was a surprise.

You thought the surprise was that the Avengers Tower was now called Avengers Facility and was outside of town. It wasn’t. The surprise also wasn’t the chauffer who pulled up the next day to drive you there.

You balked at the size of the estate upon seeing it. She met you once again at the door, first to give you a hug and ask about your travels, then as if she’d done something wrong, Ms. Potts bashfully straightened her skirt and led you in. You laughed and returned the hug, thanking her for the bonus; it had gotten you through more than 5 countries in almost two years, after all.

The contract she slid under your nose was entirely review same guidelines as before. There were new specifications, however, four new Avengers: Samuel Thomas “Sam” Wilson, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff. You had heard about Sokovia while you were travelling- it happened while you were in Thailand, and Sergeant Barnes’ investigation and trial was on the news during your entire stay in Saudi Arabia. It was very, very recent.

“I thought you might like an additional photo to your Peculiar Pairs Series,” Ms. Potts smiled, “Wanda and Pietro are bonded,”

Your eyes must have looked like saucers. You’d never seen it before- soulmate twins! There were old folktales, of course, but you didn’t think it was real. You gasped in disbelief and ransacked your brain for an appropriate response. What kind of words would they have said to each other? Babies don’t have a concept of language? What was it like growing up together- what is their relationship with each other like? What did their family think?

You sputtered.

“I… Only with their permission, of course!”

Pepper laughed, “Yes, of course. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

It was then that a wave of nausea hit you, thinking suddenly about Captain Rogers and the awful feeling your stomach gets around him. It was such an embarrassing thing to admit and be helpless to control. You often wondered to yourself if you were reacting so extremely because he scared you? No, he didn’t. Did you like him? Well, you didn’t know him. You were attracted to him, yes, but who wasn’t?

Captain Rogers had been in your textbook since you were a little girl. You went to the museum in Brooklyn multiple times and gazed at his uniform and peered at his photographs alongside Sergeant Barnes. He was handsome in such a honest and gentle way, someone once upon a time you might have dreamt of being your soulmate. He had beautiful blue eyes and a boyish grin, even as a man. You always thought even before the serum, you could have liked him. It wasn’t like you were a very tall woman, anyway.

You rubbed your sternum discreetly as you slipped behind Ms. Potts.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said abruptly, as if she were letting out a too-big breath of air, “Please. And Tony would love it if you’d call him y’know, by his first name too.”

You blushed. You’d just never been that way. But you promised her to try.

“I understand we’re all much older, but just get into the habit, yeah? Wanda and Pietro are your age, and wouldn’t it be weird to call them Mr. and Ms. Maximoff?”

You agreed.

After a few long hallways, the turn led into a large sitting space illuminated by an entire wall made of windows. A large sectional was placed in the center of the room along with some single sofas and bean bags. There was a bookshelf along one wall and a flat-screen across from the seats. All eyes turned to you when you entered. You recognized them- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky Barnes, the Maximoff Twins, and Sam Wilson. Apprehension flooded your core at the sight of the Captain. Sergeant Barnes, who sat beside him, seemed to be glaring.

“Ah! There’s my favorite little P.R. twerp!” Tony Stark cried as he slid across the rug, arms outstretched, “Missed your photos, kid, I’ve got one of me blown up in the master right now. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks, Tony,” You replied shyly, feeling a bit silly for taking so long to make the switch. Tony gasped dramatically and pretended to be on the verge of tears, punctuating his display with a loud, “Finally!”

Natasha came to hug you as well, whispering a greeting in your ear and congratulating you on all the good fortune with your travels.

The twins regarded you wordlessly, both giving curt nods and gazing at your camera bag. You returned the gesture, placing your hand on the strap to move the bag out of view- you didn’t want to take their picture until they were ready, regardless of what the contract stated. Sam Wilson came to shake your hand and introduce himself. He was very charming, you noted, and definitely knew how to hold a conversation- maybe being the most normal person here.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” he said with a smile, “It’s such a refreshing take on an old, trite thing.” You thanked him in response, grabbing the strap of your camera bag nervously. It was a habit you were trying to let go of, but receiving compliments was still something you handled poorly.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been standing since you and Pepper entered the room. You noticed that the Captain cut his hair shorter than you’d seen it before. Two years ago, it was longer on top and brushed to the side. He tentatively gave you a small smile and waved, unsure of your reaction.  

When you smiled back, he exhaled loudly, “It’s good to see you,”

“You too, Captain”

There was a sudden sensation prickling at your flesh. At first it tickled, like a brush, but then it hit you like a staccato of needles stabbing into the skin of your chest. Your face contorted into an expression of confusion before the pain hit, hands pulling the strap of the camera bag down roughly to investigate the source of your agony. You backed up into a chair. Natasha and Pepper rushed over. The sweltering feeling grew as you struggled to unbutton your shirt, finally giving up and tearing it halfway down the middle.

As the buttons scattered, you watched in horror as black words appeared on your sternum, all capital letters running up your chest in a straight line: it’s good to see you.

Captain Rogers groaned audibly and fell backwards onto the couch as he frantically rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see your words appear on his left bicep, cursive script running in a circle to disappear and return around. The room was filled with gasps and clattering chairs as the watchers began to realize what was unfolding. Sergeant Barnes leaned down to examine his friend, fearfully looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Jesus Christ!” He cried, as the Captain’s handwriting stopped carving into your skin. Your gasps were beginning to subside when he called out, but when those words left his lips, you began to feel it again, this time overtaking your arm. You couldn’t remain balanced on the chair any longer as you doubled over in pain, sliding onto the floor, just out of reach of Natasha’s steadying hands on you.

Underneath the loose sleeve of your speckled navy and white button up, the Sergeant’s words appeared in thick, heavy strokes of half-cursive, half-print: Jesus Christ.

The room froze in disbelief. Everyone looked from you to the Captain, to the Sergeant. Even your tears subsided for the time being while your heart hammered in your chest. There was ringing in your ears as you tried to still your panting, your hands trembled as they touched the newly formed Words on your left arm.

Sergeant Barnes slowly rose to his feet, staring at you. The Captain did the same. The three of you knew why this was happening, but not quite what it meant, or what it involved for your futures. Captain Rogers extended his hand first, and you slowly slipped shaky fingers into his large palm. It engulfed your hand in a compassionate but strong grip, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up. The touch had an immediate response. It felt like the first time you stepped on warm sand, or the feeling of an ice pack on your head in the throes of a fever. In Captain Rogers’ eyes, you could see the same emotions overpowering him.

“Say something to him,” he whispered. You gulped, looking at the Sergeant, waiting by his side, lips parted in anticipation. You shook your head wildly, afraid. Your first words to Captain Rogers were so dull already- what could you say to the Sergeant? You were racking your brain for phrases you’d memorized over time when he spoke up.

“Say somethin’, please,” Sergeant Barnes’ icy blue eyes urged you with a frantic plea, “There’s nothin’ that wouldn’t be just exactly how it should.”

Your stomach turned again and you reflexively placed a hand to your torso, suddenly reminded that your shirt was undone, your breasts barely covered by the sides of fabric. Captain Rogers pulled it shut for you, sliding one seam over another, and lightly touched your collarbone before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was a deliberate motion; the desire to pull you up into his arms and hide you away in his room was riotous in his mind, and it was taking all of him to be still.

“I’m not so bad, am I?” the Sergeant took a step forward, expression faltering on the cusp of sorrow. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find what to say. He was a complete stranger- just another legend you grew up with, like the Captain, like soulmates and the idea of love. But he was right now in front of you, he was proof that the legends you’d been disregarding for the past 4 years existed, as much as you wished they didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, and leaving a tingling path in its wake.

“This… can’t be real,” You gasped absentmindedly as his thumb traced a line down your jaw. When your eyes started to fill up again with tears, you didn’t know, but they were cascading down your face as Sergeant Barnes sucked in a sharp breath. His full bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he unbuttoned the loose Henley. Your eyes travelled slowly down each button. At the edge of the slit in his shirt, there they were, the Words… your Words: this can’t be real. They were in the same position as Captain Rogers’ Words on your own chest. Sergeant Barnes exhaled shakily as the letters finished their scorching trail on him. The three of you stared at each other, heaving in unison, panting, steadying the furious butterflies in your stomachs.

Sam Wilson was the first to speak up, shattering the silence with the question everyone else thought, “What just happened?”

It shook you from your daze. Both of Pepper’s hands were clasped over her mouth. Natasha looked astonished, but intrigued. Tony slowly made his way to Pepper and pulled her hands down, gripping it tight in his, his eyes remained transfixed on the three of you on the floor the entire time. The twins sat in silence, fingers intertwined with pleased smiles.  

“This is incredible,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve only heard stories,”

“You... all are soulmates?” Sam asked

You looked back and forth between the two men at your side, unsure of how to answer. You could only think of the time you met John in Prospect Park with Francis and Marilynn. Tony seemed to recall that photo as well and spoke up in clear voice over his shoulder.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the Peculiar Pairs photo gallery on the T.V.” The flatscreen hummed to life as Tony scrolled to the last images of the set. There were three elderly people sitting on the bench together, holding each others’ hands. Francis on the left, John in the middle, Marilynn on the right, all smiles. Tony traced the Words on Francis’ wrist and Words on Marilynn’s collarbone. John sat happily between them, two sets of words etched on the same spaces: wrist and collarbone.

Tony pointed to you, “Same thing,” he said with a slight jerk of his neck, “You got Capsicle’s words on your chest, Count Buckula’s words on your arm… and he’s—” a slide to the right of his finger, pointing to Captain Rogers, “—got your words on his arm… and those words are on his chest…” the finger slid to the other side, at the Sergeant.

Both of Tony’s hands came to rest on his hips as he regarded you almost proudly. “I can’t believe it, kid, you got two soulmates.” It seemed like the speech would end there, but Tony’s eye began to twinkle mischievously, and a deviant smirk overtook his previously harmless smile, “Oh my, my, my, my, my, aren’t you three going to be having some adventurous s- Ah!”

Pepper had punched him before he could finish his sentence, and began to twist his ear, dragging him out of the room with a very sympathetic apology. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, loudly clearing their throats, offering you congratulations and smiles as a dark pink blush spread over your cheeks. The Maximoffs were the last to leave. Pietro strode casually to the hallway but lingered in the shadow as Wanda put her hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her flowing blouse and showed you her brother’s mark--- a long curved line, punctuation with a frenzy of dashes and dots at the end. “Do not worry. It is meant to be how it is meant to be,”

At her brother’s bidding, Wanda slipped away as well, following him down the hall.

You were left alone with them. The two men standing in front of you stiff like statues, hands clenched tightly at their sides. You didn’t know what to do with your own body, either, as it hummed and positioned to their frequency. There was a vibration that was unmoving, a tune that was noiseless, a thread hanging onto all three of you, stringing you together. Your legs were beginning to shake.

Sergeant Barnes noticed and led you to the couch as Captain Rogers pushed two loose sofas closer so that they could sit facing you. He was careful to give you as much space as you needed, so long as it didn’t entirely take you away. The very sight of you now, etched with his Words gave him the clarity he’d been searching for nearly his entire life. He didn’t need verbal verification to know that Bucky also felt the same way.  

Your gaze slowly traveled up to the sandy-haired man sitting in front, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop of his knees. You’d known this man for years, but somehow in this moment, he looked so strange and unfamiliar. His brow creased with curiosity. You were sure this wasn’t how he – either of them- must have imagined meeting their soulmate. You were just some kid. Christ, fifteen minutes ago, you were still rejecting the idea of soulmates!

The markings on your body began to feel heavy with each acrimonious thought. Your chest tightened up again, stomach squeezing itself inside of you. Tears started to fall from your eyes as the room caved in. Your heart felt so full, as if it could burst from your chest at any minute if you let it. Your hands moved on their own, grabbing at your chest and arm, scratching wrathfully at the Words’ inscription on your body. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You refused it.

In the darkness of the chamber, you heard someone say, “She’s having a panic attack, Buck,”

A warm hand found itself against your back, rubbing large lines up and down your spine leisurely. Another hand was rubbing against the narrow plane in between your breasts, but it was cold and made you shiver. Someone’s hands were tucking your hair behind both ears, sweetly wiping away the tears that ran freely and gathered under your chin. You felt so small against them, leaning sadly into the warmth, shuddering sobs shaking your frame.

“Breathe… breathe, there you go, hon’, you’re doing great,”

The blackness soon began to fade, and you struggled to follow the rhythmic directions being whispered into your ear. New tears were shushed away gently by another voice, like an ocean breeze blowing away sand. Your hands clenched severely to your thighs, but soon were peeled away and held in a grasp that burned like a furnace. When the light returned to your field of vision, you could make out the Captain and Sergeant giving you encouraging smiles.

“I’m.. sorry,” you wheezed hoarsely. You hadn’t experienced one of these since early college.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a lot to take in,” Captain Rogers spoke, squeezing your left hand in his. At the sensation, you looked down to see your small hand, once again, engulfed in his and laughed loudly, surprising them both. They were glad to see you laughing, at least, and only raised their eyebrows to question it. You shook your head, not knowing where to start, pulling your hand away and wrapping both arms around your legs. You didn’t notice Captain Rogers’ expression.

“How does this work, Captain?” You asked, murmuring, in hopes that if they didn’t hear you, maybe you could just avoid talking about it forever. “There’s… two of you… the Sergeant, I.. this… we’ve only just met.” You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, feeling your poor head starting to hurt.

“Please,” he called, “Please…” it was pleading, soft and slow, so, so desperate, “Call me Steve, please.”

You swallowed, trying the sound out over your tongue gently, “Steve,” You chanced a look over to his left, where icy blue eyes wandered over your face.

“You’ve got more options with me, hon’” a smile graced Sergeant Barnes, and you started to notice just how much more handsome he was in person. All those museum photos could never capture the sharpness of his jaw, or the way his stubble worked to frame his face, or the dip in his chin that seemed to make his rather intense features so agreeable. His long hair was much nicer in person than it was on all those breaking news broadcasts. His blue gaze was brighter than you could have ever imagined from those black and white reels. You licked your lips idly, and flushed pink when both men followed the trajectory of your tongue and lingered on your mouth.

“Bucky work for you? If not, you can call me James,” “That’s his government name,” Steve quipped, getting smirks from both of you.

You tried both, and promised you would try to settle on Bucky. Neither of them felt right anyway, since you’d grown up categorizing any information you knew of him under “Sergeant Barnes”. You relayed the information to them, and added that frankly, it unsettled you to call Steve by his first name too. They, in return, promised to be patient.

“What if… its’ wrong?” Your face contorted, your eyes were flashing from Steve to Bucky, back to Steve, back to Bucky. Your brain was revving up, “I mean, soulmates, you know? What is that? Right?” God, you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t we choose who we love? We’re… god, we were born decades apart. You guys are… superhuman.. and I’m just 23…! Compared to you, you’re legends, you’re Avengers, you save the damn world? Oh my god, I just take pictures of people.”

“I’ve never even kissed a boy.” You said suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut. There were flashbacks to all the times you’d run away from boys, or during the speed-meets when you’d stare longingly into someone’s eyes for the good span of five seconds before having to do it again with someone else thirty more times, or in undergrad, when you tried to go on a date with Nathan Young but when he dropped you off at home and put his hand on your thigh, you bolted.

Bucky and Steve laughed in relief as you slid your head in-between your hands. They shared a knowing look with each other before Bucky slid his hooked finger under your chin and turned you upward to gaze at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta kiss anyone unless you want to,” he assured, “We just want to be with you,”

They laughed again in unison. Bucky leaned back on the sofa and put both arms behind his neck, letting Steve explain.

“We’re eager, but we understand. I’ve waited for so long. We’ve tried to ignore fate… with dating,” A snort from Bucky confirmed his fact, “It never worked out.” Steve continued, “I feel it, in my gut, this is right. Can’t you? Buck and I, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers; there are no secrets between us.”  

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling it settle strangely, wondering if the sickness you’d experienced in the past around Steve was a sign you wrongfully chalked up to your anxiety. He seemed to hear your thoughts and nodded, letting you know that the fateful day in the conference room, when he reached his quarters, he had developed an angry red rash across his arm. He was curious, but since you were keen on avoiding him, he let you have your space. Now, as the three of you sat in each other’s company, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe needed all of you together for the Words to work.

You asked them for their patience. You needed to go home, let the information settle, do some work to calm down, maybe. You could tell that Bucky was hesitant to let you go, but Steve assured him it would be fine. He asked for you to return soon, because as you knew, soulmates who were already bound to each other with Words, suffered each other’s maladies, and he was honest in letting you know that it would hurt him to not be close to you.

When you quietly got ready to leave, Bucky broke the silence by asking your name- a fact you’d forgotten to give in the chaos of the Binding. He repeated it, over and over again, tongue touching the top of his mouth in deliberate flicks, as if it was holy. Steve walked you to the car and watched it until you disappeared into the horizon.

Upon returning to the lounge area where Bucky sat, pained expression casting harsh shadows on his face, Steve placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Bucky understood the implication of the hand—a request to keep his promise of patience. He wanted to, for you. He wanted to do anything for you.

“She’s gotta come back, Stevie,” he muttered, hand reaching up into his shirt to trace the words. Steve assured him that she would. “I can’t stand it, Stevie, all those times in the chair, when they were scrambling my brain,” his voice dropped low, “I was thinkin’ about her. I could feel her somewhere, not knowing what she looked like or anything, but just feel her. Can’t stand it that she doesn’t want to be here now.”

Steve didn’t need his friend to finish the sentence to know what he meant.

“Buck, if we push her, we’ll lose her. I want the same thing, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own.”

That night, as you fell into your bed, a message blinked on your phone- an e-mail from Pepper. It was the picture you took of of John, Francis, and Marilynn- from Prospect Park, beaming on that old wooden bench next to the birdbath. A single question was written beneath the photograph.

It worked out for them, didn’t it?

Next Chapter

[ayellowcurtain]

Could you write a fluffy, flirty kiss and hugging scene between Jens and Lucas VDH, please? 

Part 1 

---

“You...know him?” Ralph puts his beer right next to Jens’, clearly more interested in Jens’ lack of love life.

“Of course! He’s my little protégé. Oh my God, you two would make such a cute couple, Jens!” He claps his hands in front of his face and Jens wants to die. 

“No, no, no, don’t go all crazy on me now. We’re not a couple, yeah? It was a very bad date and I don’t need him to be reminded of that, Ralph!” Jens puts both hands on Ralph’s shoulder, keeping him in place, looking at Jens so he can really understand that Jens can’t have him running to Lucas to tell him about a date that never happened.

-

Jens was panicking. He had specifically asked Ralph not to tell Lucas about their “date”, but as he was coming out of the kitchen, drinking a very cold beer - he had lost count of how many he already drank - he saw the blonde talking to Lucas, but all his friends were around too, so Jens was almost sure that Ralph wouldn’t throw him out of the closet for a whole group of strangers like that.

But Lucas’ eyes suddenly meet his for a very quick moment, by accident (clearly) and Jens suddenly starts to believe in the impossible. There’s no way Ralph would do that. He looks around, trying to find an escape route. He just needs a moment alone to collect himself, maybe stalk his friends’ social media back home to regain some sort of confidence in case something happens.

His eyes finally find a dark hall that’s a little less crowded. The bathroom must be that way, or an empty room at least, so Jens tries to walk past everyone else, as far away from that small group of people that Ralph is talking to. When he looks, Lucas is not there anymore and Jens drinks to that. Maybe he found a girl or his friends found him a girl, and he went somewhere with her.

Jens is just being a coward, happy to see the guy he wants leave the party with someone else.

He opens the first door that he finds where there’s no couple making out against it, already opening his phone, Robbe’s instagram already on his screen from stalking him earlier. He puts his beer on the nightstand next to the door. 

There’s a new photo of him with Sander right next to him, kissing his neck as Robbe smiles to the camera. It’s a dark picture with a bunch of crazy lights, Robbe is probably at some party, having the time of his life with his boyfriend. Jens likes the photo and when he’s about to move on to Aaron’s page, he hears a noise behind him and everything comes crashing down on him.

Lucas is there too, inside the dark bedroom Jens just got in, but he’s closer to the window and alone, looking scared as he stares back at Jens.

“Hm, sorry,” Jens says, but he doesn’t even think about turning back around and out of the room. Instead, he puts his phone back inside his pocket, finally seeing his surroundings. It’s a mostly pink room, with a vanity mirror on the other side of the king-size bed.

“It’s ok.” Lucas finally answers. They’re still in the dark, but Jens can see Lucas, the moonlight helping give his shadow some kind of depth. His curls are clearly getting out of hand, pointing at every direction. Jens thinks he likes Lucas’ hair like this, a little longer than when he first saw Lucas months ago. He looks older and better. “Jens, right?”

The world stops turning as he hears his name coming out of Lucas’ thin lips for the first time, the corners of his lips barely turning up, but Jens notices. How the fuck does he knows Jens’ name?

“Yes. And you’re Lucas…” The boy gives him a shy smile as a first response.

“Yes. Ralph was talking about you.”

Jens rolls his eyes and looks down. Of course, Ralph made him look like a fucking fool in front of Lucas.

“He did?” He raises his eyebrows, carefully walking just a few steps forward.

“Yeah. Apparently, we know each other...? But he didn’t say much about that, so I guess you’ll have to remind me.” From the look on Lucas’ face, he has no idea of how dumb Jens was just half an hour ago, lying to Ralph’s face, but maybe Ralph did give something away because Lucas keeps looking at him in a way that makes Jens feel exposed.

“What did he tell you?” Jens leans against the frame of the window, right next to Lucas. He didn’t notice how close they were until he has to turn his face to see Lucas. The darkness made him be a little closer than what he anticipated, but Lucas doesn’t seem to mind.

“That we knew each other. It wasn’t a question, but he pointed at you and I’m sure I don’t know you. I know I’ve seen you around college, but we never talked or I would remember.”

The way he says it and how soft and low his voice goes make Jens almost think he might have a chance. There’s nothing to lose, they’re completely alone and Lucas is apparently flirting with him, or at least letting him go on with this weird conversation.

Jens should just leave, it feels like a bad idea to be alone in a bedroom with Lucas, he doesn’t even know who lives here and who’s bed is right in front of them, just feet away. They’re in the same year, but Lucas looks so much like a baby when you’re looking at him up close, with nobody walking between you two or when there isn’t an entire patio in the middle. Jens carefully stands up again, walking back to the side of the bed, really thinking about ruining everything by suddenly leaving Lucas behind.

He has to laugh, whispering a quiet fuck as he turns on his feet, with the door behind him, just needing a sign, anything from Lucas that tells him that they can go for it.

Lucas walks slowly too and stops right in front of Jens, so close he has to tilt his head back to be able to see Jens.

“What are you doing?” He asks just because his brain is completely dead and he wants to be sure of what’s going on.

Lucas is looking into his eyes, Jens can hear when he swallows. He presses his lips together, trying not to smile, but Lucas does it first and it’s a beautiful, real smile. His eyes go so small, he has very delicate dimples and he looks like an angel.

His throat is suddenly dry, but Jens doesn’t pay attention, carefully putting one hand on Lucas’ neck, his thumb gently following the curve his jawline makes close to his ear, he looks carefully at Lucas’ soft and thin lips, with a little mark right next to it. 

Lucas is the one to crash their lips together all of a sudden and Jens just licks his cupid bow right away, making him open his mouth as their tongues meet instantly. He puts his other hands on the back of Lucas’ head, slipping down the nape of his neck, playing with his hair as they kiss desperately.

Jens can feel Lucas’ urgent hands on his side, going up the small of his back, underneath his shirt and it makes his skin get rough, shivering, making him press his body against Lucas and he instantly responds, pushing Jens against the wall behind him.

Lucas is an amazing kisser and his touch lights Jens’ body on fire. Whatever happens between them, it’s dangerous. Jens thinks they can’t touch each other ever again or things might happen anywhere, at any time and place.

“We-we can’t...” He stutters and gathers all his strength not to keep pressing their bodies together, he was a second away from pushing Lucas to the bed right next to them.

“Why?” Lucas exhales as he whimpers and Jens closes his eyes, smiling against the soft lips he was just kissing.

“I’m drunk…” It’s hard to say those words, especially with Lucas’ hands still around his waist, under his shirt, quietly exploring whatever he can reach.

“So...?” Lucas pulls him closer, tilting his head, asking for a kiss again and Jens just gives it to him, kissing his bottom lip first and the top right afterward.

“I won’t remember every detail about tonight. And I want to remember everything.” Jens feels dumb being all sappy like that with a stranger, but Lucas’ coy smile makes it worth it.

“So you’re the romantic type.” He looks at Lucas’ messy hair from Jens’ hands, his pupils completely blown, but he still has the bluest eyes and he doesn’t look as affected as Jens is sure he is. Just by looking at Lucas - and kissing him - Jens is sure Lucas is the type to wreck people’s hearts without even thinking twice.

“And you are...? Practical?” Jeans leans against the wall, Lucas’s hands slowly come to his front under his shirt, gently touching his abs sliding up to the middle of his chest. Lucas thinks a little longer and just shrugs.

“I don’t know. I don’t think too much about it.” It’s hard not to focus on the soft and small pair of hands exploring his body and Jens really doesn’t want to leave, but he’s too drunk to go any further.

“You seem practical. The guy that goes breaking little girls’ hearts and acts like he didn’t mean it.” Lucas leans against him, on his tiptoes, brushing his lips against Jens’, clearly not comfortable talking about love or what he does with it, his teeth gently closing on Jens’ lower lip, experimenting and Jens can feel it all the way to the small of his back, making his hips jerk forward, searching for Lucas’ hips, any contact, really. Lucas smiles when their bodies finally collide again and Jens accepts his defeat, kissing Lucas again for even longer than before.

They only stop when their lips are puffy and red. Jens only opens his eyes when he has managed to quietly push Lucas away just one step back.

“I really have to go.” Lucas seems genuinely upset, but Jens tries to ignore it, kissing his cheek, fixing his clothes so he can leave without getting a lot of attention. “Maybe we could, hm...hang out some time?”

Lucas raises his eyebrows, fixing his hair too, looking at Jens a little clueless.

“Yeah, sure. Just...don’t tell anyone about this...?” Jens wasn’t going to, but he nods his head, trying to give Lucas a reassuring smile. Lucas doesn’t really tell, but Jens saw his tongue inside many girls’ mouths over the last few months and he noticed how proud his friends watched when he did it. Lucas is clearly not out yet, but neither is Jens so it’s good. For now.

The only problem is how addicted Jens instantly became of Lucas’ taste so he isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to not see the boy again.

“I’ll...find you on Instagram or something?” Lucas smiles and Jens can see how he relaxes his shoulders again.

“I’m sure you already found me there, so yes, we’ll talk later.”

[caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma]

Map of the Soul, Chapter Four

For the @btswritingcafe​‘s Map of the Soul: 7 Workshop

Pairings: OT7 x reader (kinda); Taehyung x reader x Jimin

Series Summary: If you give a piece of yourself to everyone you love, at some point, there will be nothing left for yourself. While feeling lost and alone in your adult life, a strange box falls onto your head in your own closet, and you take an unexpected walk down memory lane wondering where everything went wrong.  Was it the romances that fizzled out, the friends & loved ones you left behind, the “what could’ve been” moments, the brush with Fate that never quite connected? Could the strange map you find have the answers you are looking for?  Determined to feel complete once again, you embark on a journey to reclaim the missing pieces of your soul.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, A Lot of Smut

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: cursing & vulgar language, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendos, mentions of previous sexual encounters, bisexual behavior, fingering, oral sex (m/f receiving & giving), spanking, unprotected/protected sex (rules exist for a reason, be safe), daddy kink, a sliver of degradation, orgasm denial, cream pies, anal play/sex, double penetration

Chapter Four: Just Filter Out the Bad, Keep the Good

Oh, Kookie.

You rolled your eyes and giggled at your phone screen as the bartender finally walked over to you.

“Can I get another Jameson and Ginger?” you shouted over the music. “And another Long Island Iced Tea?”

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and began making your drinks. It was the third time tonight you’d made your way to the bar, but you couldn’t really complain. You were having so much fun, and Taehyung had the crowd half in love with him with his charming stage presence and his smooth honeyed vocal stylings.

“Thank you,” Taehyung crooned over the microphone. “I’m going to take a little break, but I promise, I’ll be back.”

A round of disappointment resounded through the bar, and you rolled your eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. You caught Taehyung’s eye and he motioned that he was going to go to the bathroom. After a quick thumbs-up, you picked up your drinks and made your way back to your booth to wait for him.

Almost twenty minutes passed and the ice in your drink was clinking against the bottom.

Where the hell is he? Men’s bathrooms don’t take THAT long in bars.

Realizing that this modern bar might actually have gender neutral bathrooms, you decided to go off in search of your soulmate. After making your way past the crowded tables, you rounded the corner and saw there were only a few people waiting in line, none of them Taehyung. You waited a few minutes and the line moved, but none of the individuals exiting the single stall bathrooms were him either. Confused, you started walking back toward the bar.

A throaty groan caught your ear as you walked by a darkened hallway. In the dim red light of the Exit sign at the end of the hall, you made out the distinct shape of Taehyung’s shoulders hovering over a smaller individual against the wall. The two were completely unaware of your approach as they were obviously occupied with other things at the moment.

“Seriously, Tae,” you mused. “Ditching me for a pretty face? That’s a real dick move.”

“Look, sweetheart,” a wispy voice exhaled. “I saw him first, so I’m gonna need you to step off, alright?”

That voice…

You inhaled sharply, staggered back a few inches with your eyes wide, and clutched at the non-existent pearls on your neck.

“Jiminie?” you squeaked out.

The two men ceased their makeout session abruptly, and Taehyung stepped aside to reveal plush lips, bright red hair, and big brown eyes blown out in shock.

“Jagiya?”

March 20th, 11:17 pm

“This next song goes out to my gorgeous soulmate,” Taehyung chirped into the microphone. “I’ve loved her since the moment she fell from Heaven and crushed my head on the playground.”

A round of “awwww”s reverberated across the bar, and you rolled your eyes at Taehyung and blew him a kiss. The music started up again and Taehyung went into full Elvis mode.

“Wise men say only fools rush in, But I can't help falling in love with you…”

“Wow,” Jimin groaned sensually. “Does his voice always sound like liquid sex poured over hot coals?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” you quipped. “Taehyung has a very special relationship with the microphone. They’ve been going steady for decades, but he’s always too cowardly to commit.”

“What do you mean, jagi?” Jimin grinned. “Does he not realize how good he is?”

“Oh, he knows,” you corrected him. “He just can’t handle the spotlight very well. In a bar, he’ll get brave, but put him on an actual stage with a real crowd, and he becomes an awkward mess of a man. It’s a mystery.”

“You’re kidding,” Jimin scoffed. “There’s no way that gorgeous hunk of man over there is ever awkward.”

“You’d be surprised,” you chuckled. “I know that man better than he knows himself.”

“I was pretty close to getting to know him myself,” Jimin bragged. “Someone just had to interrupt our steamy little makeout session back there.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jimin,” you goaded. “Sure, you may have captured his attention, but he’d never really ditch me for another pretty face, including yours.”

“I don’t know, jagiya,” Jimin smirked. “Before you showed up, I already had him asking how far away my place was.”

“That may be so,” you smiled wickedly. “But I guarantee he wouldn’t ditch me. One look and he would be crawling back to me without question.”

You and Jimin stared one another down and your eyes battled it out for dominance. You sighed sweetly and blew a kiss to Taehyung, and he eagerly snatched out of the air and placed it in his lapel pocket. Jimin rolled his eyes at your dual displays of affection and chuckled.

That’s right. No one comes between me and my soulmate.

“So, what brings you back to town, Jiminie?” you giggled, changing the subject. “Let me guess, another frat party?”

“Yes, actually, I’m here for the fraternity’s centennial celebration,” he explained. “We had a whole ceremony and raffle fundraiser last night, and the house party is tonight.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t there now,” you gawked. “The Park Jimin I remember never missed an opportunity for a good frat party.”

Jimin giggled and ran his fingers through his hair, an old habit that always increased his allure. He leaned over and placed his hand on your thigh, provoking a rolling plain of goosebumps across your arms and legs.

“I’m not the same Jimin you remember, jagi,” he murmured while licking his lips. “A lot of things changed since we last saw each other. When was that, by the way?”

A bitter memory triggered in your brain and you gently pushed him away, free from his hypnotic seduction. Confusion traveled across his face and he cocked a questioning look at you, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis.

“It was during grad school,” you reminded him. “The Venetian Masquerade Homecoming party at your frat house?”

Jimin closed his eyes briefly and nodded gravely as the memory hit him as well. There was a tangible shift in his personality, and you knew Jimin was trying to figure out how to proceed.  He was an expert at tailoring his personality to fit the situation, but he seemed at a loss when you reminded him of the troubled past. You both sat there in silence, allowing the details to take shape in your mind once again. Taehyung chose that exact moment to intrude upon your conversation.

“Hey,” he shouted. “Who’s up next?”

Jimin glanced over to Taehyung and gave him a tight smile.

“I guess I am,” Jimin offered. “Any requests?”

“Sing me something sweet,” Taehyung pleaded. “I want my heart to burst with emotion.”

Jimin winked at Taehyung and glanced over to see if you’re looking at him. You were not. As Jimin headed over to the booth to choose a song, Taehyung pulled you close and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“What’s going on, ttalgi?” he teased lightly. “I’d know that angsty look of yours anywhere. Are you and Jimin-ssi reliving painful memories from college?”

“Something like that,” you muttered “We didn’t exactly end on good terms the last time.”

“How so?” he recoiled. “Every time you’ve mentioned him in the past, it was always with glowing reviews of his sexual prowess. I’ve never once heard you say one bad thing about him.”

“Tae,” you grimaced. “Have you really never noticed that I stopped talking about Jimin a long time ago? Like almost 6 years now?”

“No,” Taehyung said carefully. “Why? Did he do something to hurt you?”

Taehyung stiffened against you as he shot a glare in Jimin’s direction. You were quick to calm the raging Papa Bear beside you. Taehyung was always quick to defend your honor, but it wasn’t necessary in this case.

“It’s not that simple, babe,” you sighed in defeat, lifting your eyes to stare longingly at Jimin. “We hurt each other...badly.”

“Hello, everyone,” Jimin announced on the microphone. “I’m Jimin, and I’m an asshole. That’s not a lie either. I hurt someone who is very special to me, and I never apologized. Because of that, I lost her and I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back and that sucks. Because I really care about her a lot and I just want us to be friends again because she’s amazing and I miss her. Jagiya, this song is for you.”

A powerful boom pumped through the speakers and Jimin began singing “Before I Cry” by Lady Gaga.

“I can't believe the things you said Right now I wish that you would try Try to stay near me Try to be near me”

“Oh damn, babe,” Taehyung breathed out in a rush. “He broke out A Star is Born? Bold move.”

Your eyes glistened as you concentrated on Jimin’s gaze, which never once wavered from your own. He was singing directly to you, and everyone else in the room just faded away. The delicate lilt of his voice was mesmerizing, and you braced yourself for the chorus, knowing he would be unleashing the full extent of his vocal power on you.

“'Cause I'm gonna cry If you say you don't need me I'm gonna cry if you act like you don't care Promise me, baby, you know I can't fake it Why don't you hold me? Tell me you love me before I cry”

You took note of the gloss covering his eyes after that last big note. He continued to sing, his heart pouring waves of regret and longing over you. His hands reached out for you emphatically as the song progressed and after he hit the last big chorus, he stepped off the stage to sing the last verse. With every step he took, he walked closer and closer to your booth until he was kneeling in front of you and reaching for your hand.

“Have I said what I needed to say? Have you said what you wanted to say? Did you say what you wanted to say? Would you try and stop me before I cry?”

The music stopped and you sucked in a sob before launching yourself into his arms. Jimin stood up and lifted you off the ground in a crushing hug. The room exploded into thunderous applause and they cheered loudly when you pulled back and kissed Jimin on his full lips. He released you and you brushed away the tears trailing down his chubby cheeks. He smiled brightly at you and then remembered he still had the microphone in his hand.

“Oh, thank you,” he laughed in embarrassment. “I guess that worked pretty well, huh? Who’s next?”

Jimin handed off the microphone to the next singer and you pulled him back into the booth with you. Taehyung was leaning on his fists while shooting heart eyes at Jimin who countered with his own half-moon eye smile.

“Jagiya,” Jimin said, turning to face you properly. “I really am sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It wasn’t only your fault, Minnie,” you responded sweetly. “I said some pretty fucked up things to you that night also. Can you ever forgive me?”

“So, is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Taehyung interrupted rudely. “All I seem to understand is that you fucked up, you stopped talking, and now you’re making up. Can someone please fill in the blanks?”

You and Jimin giggled at Taehyung’s flabbergasted expression and decided to take pity on him.

“Jimin and I were supposed to go to a masquerade ball together a while back,” you began. “We even got matching costumes.”

“We were never officially a couple, but people just knew we had a special relationship,” Jimin continued. “But it didn’t stop us from playing the field.”

“However,” you cut him off. “That night, we’d agreed to stick together for once. No one else, just us.”

“Oh shit, I see where this is going,” Taehyung squealed. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Anyway,” you sighed. “We were doing fine until the jello shots started circulating. You know I can’t resist a good jello shot and neither can Jimin.”

Taehyung nodded enthusiastically, and Jimin pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I caught her making out with some hot cheerleader in the kitchen,” Jimin explained. “So I got mad and pulled her away.”

“In my defense,” you countered. “I had just seen you nibbling on that guy’s ear on the patio.”

“You were the one giving that guy a lap dance on the couch,” Jimin shot back.

“Only because you grabbed that girl’s ass on the way to the bathroom,” you spat.

“Yo,” Taehyung cut in. “I get it. You guys are stupid competitive and extremely jealous. Continue the story.”

You and Jimin both laughed at Taehyung’s outburst.

“We ended up having a full on public shouting match in the front yard of the frat house,” you sighed. “Not gonna lie. It got pretty ugly.”

“People thought we were having an actual breakup,” Jimin scoffed. “After we said some pretty nasty things to each other, I got mad and told her to leave the party.”

“He disappeared into the frat house,” you muttered sadly. “The last thing I saw was him pulling some guy and girl into a back room. He flipped me off before he slammed the door in my face.”

“Nothing happened,” he explained. “I just wanted to piss her off. When I left the room a few minutes later, they told me she’d left in tears. I felt like shit about it, but I was still pissed. I got blackout drunk and woke up under the kitchen table in my underwear.”

“Sounds like a good party,” Taehyung giggled. “So what happened after that?”

“I left back home,” Jimin said. “I didn’t apologize because I thought it was her fault.”

“And I didn’t apologize because I thought it was his fault,” you continued. “We haven’t spoken or seen each since then, at least until tonight. We were so fucking stupid. It’s not like we were dating or anything.”

“Yeah, you two should never date,” Taehyung declared. “Look at how horrible you were to each other. That shit would get toxic real quick.”

You and Jimin looked back at one another and he placed a kiss on your forehead. You both sighed and hugged it out once again.

“You’re probably right, Tae-bear,” you admitted. “It just sucks that we weren’t able to fix things back then. I feel like we lost out on so much.”

“I’m willing to do a hard reset if you are, jagi,” Jimin suggested. “I really have missed you. Want to be friends again? We can just erase everything that was bad and just focus on the good stuff and all the fun times we had.”

You rolled the idea over in your mind and then an idea struck you. You promptly scooted him out of the booth, and with a wide smile spreading across your face, you grabbed onto his hands.

“Let’s do our song,” you cheered. “That way it’s really official!”

“Oh, jagiya,” Jimin pouted. “I’m definitely filing that under bad stuff. Besides, you know I can’t perform without the proper attire. There is only one way you’ll get me to sing that song, and I seriously doubt you have what I need.”

“Oh my gods,” you huffed out in bewilderment. “No fucking way.”

“I’m sorry, jagi” he teased. “You know my rule: no sequins, no song.”

You crawled over the table and grabbed your clutch from next to Taehyung. You reached inside and pulled out the gold sequined bow tie and held it up for Jimin to see. He blanched at the sight and the shock on his face was tangible.

“Where the fuck did you find that thing?” Jimin spat. “I thought I burned that in the bonfire!”

“I have no idea,” you grinned triumphantly. “But you owe me a song now, sir. Let’s go, 가자!”

You pulled the bow tie over Jimin’s head and adjusted it. He grimaced and whined as you pulled him over to the booth to fill out the song request. You both grabbed a microphone and you pushed a very reluctant Jimin onto the stage.

“Hello, everyone,” you greeted sweetly. “I brought this adorable gentleman up here for one more song. Wasn’t he just lovely earlier?”

Everyone applauded and Taehyung stood up to whistle and whoop like a crazed fan. You beamed at Jimin who gave you the fakest petty smile he could muster. You leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and he gritted out a faint, but spiteful “I fucking hate you” under his breath. You winked at him cheekily and poked your tongue out in response.

A series of electronic snare drums snapped and synthesizer beats popped out of the speakers and an exuberant “Yeah” and “Woo” filled the air as Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” kicked off.

You and Jimin switched off every other line like a proper duet, and the crowd was eating it up. You alternated little dance moves around each other with cute poses, and you even pulled his arms around you during the chorus, which of course, everyone sang with you.

When the song was done, you both received a standing ovation from the entire bar, and even the bartender applauded enthusiastically. When you finally made your way back to the booth, a waitress showed up with a round of fruity red shots called Washington Red Apples, courtesy of the elated bartender.

“Well,” you cooed at the grumpy Jimin next to you. “That is definitely the best friendship renewal I’ve ever been a part of. Can you even think of a better way to make up than that?”

“I know a better one,” Taehyung remarked with a smirk.

You and Jimin looked up at each other and then at Taehyung. The devilish look on his face transferred onto Jimin’s and then made its way onto your own. You took the shot glass between your fingers and held it out to propose a toast.

“To renewed friendships,” you grinned. “Among other things.”

You all clinked your glasses and downed your shots. It only took a second after for everyone to take action.

“Tae-bear,” you purred. “Close out our tab. Jimin and I will meet you in the car.”

March 21st, 1:07am

The drive back to your apartment was a blur, a steamy blur full of well placed kisses, hot visuals, and a plethora of wandering hands.

After Taehyung pried you off of Jimin’s lap in the back seat, he handed you the keys and ordered you to drive since you were the only one who knew how to get to your apartment. In the meantime, Jimin was pulled onto Taehyung’s lap in the backseat and you were treated to quite a show in your rear view mirror. The moans and groans emanating from the backseat were causing quite a stir in your panties. In fact, the thin material was noticeably sticking to your dripping folds as you parallel parked the car in front of your apartment building.

“Everyone out,” you barked. “Let’s go!”

The two entwined bodies groaned at your command, and refused to move out of the backseat. Beyond aggravated, you leaned in and grabbed onto both heads of hair and pulled back harshly. Both men whined and moaned lightly, but both also knew better than to pull away from your claws. You knew both of their kinks to the letter, and pain was at the top of the list.

That’s right, boys. I’m in charge here.

“I said,” you growled. “Let’s go.”

They quickly exited the vehicle as soon you released them, and all three of you hastily made your way inside of your apartment, promptly locking the door behind you.

The dogs had been walked and fed before you’d left the apartment, so they briefly greeted you at the door, and then huffed out snorts of derision at your choice of nighttime activities.

Jimin got excited when he saw Oberyn and Yeontan, but you and Tae were quick to pull him back into the fold, promising proper introductions later.

Much later.

After a flurry of clothing and shoes tossed from the front entrance to your bedroom floor, you found yourself completely naked and standing at the edge of your bed wedged between two deliciously sweaty naked men who were pressing open mouth kisses all over your body. You could barely differentiate between Taehyung’s playful nibbles and Jimin’s soft suckling against your skin. In perfect synchronization, Taehyung and Jimin latched on to opposing sides of your neck, drawing an impatient moan from your lips.

That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

Jimin pulled you back slightly and kneeled between you and Taehyung, gripping his hands onto each of your thighs for balance.

“Allow me,” he hummed. “After all, I am a guest in your home.”

With fluid precision, Jimin grasped a hold of Taehyung’s throbbing cock and began stroking it from tip to hilt while simultaneously pulling your swollen clit between his lips. You and Taehyung let out gasping moans in unison while holding onto each other for support.

“Didn’t I tell you the man had talent, Tae?” you hummed. “Ah, Jimin…”

You couldn’t even start your next sentence because Jimin was slipping his tongue into your folds and lapping up every drop of essence collecting between your thighs. Taehyung gaped at the sight while trying not to blow his load over Jimin’s skillful ministrations.

“Holy fuck, babe,” he groaned. “You totally undersold him. He’s like some kind of wicked little sex fairy.”

Jimin giggled against your slippery folds before placing a fat kiss on top of your clit. He sat back on his heels and pursed his glistening lips at Taehyung.

“Sucking dick doesn’t make me a fairy, Taehyung,” he teased. “But I guarantee it will feel magical when I get that fat cock between my lips.”

Switching it up, Jimin plunged two fingers into your hungry hole while licking a long wet stripe up the front of Taehyung’s girthy length. Your eyes locked onto Jimin’s bouncing red hair as he sucked on Taehyung’s dick like a juicy popsicle. Neither his fingers nor his tongue slowed their actions as Jimin turned both of you into hot moaning messes.

“Jimin...ah...baby,” you whimpered. “We need to get horizontal before I fall. My legs are...ah...about to give out.”

Taehyung slid his hand down your side to steady your waist, but found it difficult to concentrate with Jimin’s never-ending onslaught of pleasure. You could see Taehyung’s eyes rolling back in pleasure each time Jimin lowered his head onto his crotch. The erotic sight only spurred your arousal forward, leaking all over Jimin’s fingers as he artfully fingered you.

“Tae,” you whispered. “I can’t...ah...I can’t hold...ah…”

You couldn’t even form coherent sentences at that point because not only was Jimin curling and dragging his fingers along your G-spot, he was also brushing against your clit with every stroke. It was heavenly, but also sent you tumbling forward into oblivion without anything to hold you up.

Taehyung took mercy on you and grabbed a hold of Jimin’s scarlet locks. After pulling Jimin’s mouth further down his length a few times, he pulled his wicked little sex fairy off his dick and to his feet.

“My soulmate needs a bed,” Taehyung gritted out. “Now.”

“Flattering,” Jimin chirped while licking his lips. “But we’ve only just met, Taehyung. Don’t you think soulmate is a bit much?”

Taehyung seized Jimin’s head and devoured his lips, while still holding you up. After a clash of teeth and tongue, Taehyung pulled Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down harshly. Jimin’s aching whimper drew your attention, but you struggled to focus on anything with Jimin’s fingers pumping into you.

“I wasn’t talking about you, Jimin,” Taehyung growled. “I was talking about her.”

Jimin offered Taehyung a mischievous smirk and nodded coyly. He motioned for Taehyung to get behind you as he focused all of his attention and energy on you. They eased you onto the bed keeping you on your knees, and your legs were happy to oblige the shift in balance. Jimin pulled you closer and licked his way into your mouth and you began attacking his lips with your own. He swallowed each whine and moan as his fingers began to pick up speed.

Taehyung took this opportunity to kneel behind you and run his hands over the globes of your ass, relishing the plumpness in the dim lamplight.

“How does your ass always look this perfect, ttalgi?” he mused. “It’s extraordinary, and totally unfair.”

He reared his palm back and brought it down firmly against one cheek and then the other. With each spank, you cried out wantonly, much to the delight of both men.

“She loves it when you spank her,” Jimin chuckled. “This vixen loves pain.”

“I know,” Taehyung shot back after delivering yet another smack to your ass. “She’s my soulmate. It’s my job to know these things.”

“Oh yeah?” Jimin quipped. “You think you know more than I do? I’ve probably made her cum more times than you have.”

“It’s not about quantity, Jiminie,” Taehyung bragged. “It’s about quality.”

Taehyung punctuated his statement with one last slap across your reddening cheek and then leaned against your back. He cupped both of your breasts and began pulling at alternating nipples, loving the throaty moans you emitted with each tug. You started rubbing your ass against his hardened length, and Jimin chased after your creamy center, determined to regain your attention.

“She needs multiple stimuli,” Taehyung explained while leaning forward to pull your earlobe between his teeth. “She’s a dirty girl who wants everyone to touch her, to feel her, to own her, isn’t that right, ttalgi?”

Your moans were reaching a fever pitch, and Taehyung knew what you needed to hear to reach the apex of your climax.

“Come on, baby,” he purred against the shell of your ear. “Be a good girl and let Daddy hear you scream.”

The knot of pleasure in your core tightened sharply and snapped. You cried out as the orgasm quaked across your body in a frenzy, the sensations more pronounced in the areas where you were being touched. Your nipples tingled, your clit pulsed, and your ears were ringing.

You collapsed back against Taehyung’s chest and let out a blissful sigh of satisfaction. You opened your eyes when you heard a wet noise near your face and got an eyeful of Taehyung licking your essence from Jimin’s fingers.

“Mmmm delicious as always, babe,” Taehyung swooned. “You have no idea how good you taste, do you?”

“How good?” you giggled.

“Exquisite,” Jimin hummed after licking the remnants from Taehyung’s lips. “I seriously missed that flavor on my tongue, jagiya. It’s only gotten better with age.”

“Right?” Taehyung expressed with a boxy grin. “I was going to say that too!”

The two of them high-fived and you groaned at their childish behavior.

“If you two assholes are just going to sit there and call me old while high-fiving, I’m so fucking done,” you spat. “I got mine already.”

You tried to move away from them, but they both moved swiftly to pull you back into their arms with a whine.

“Where do you think you’re going, dirty girl?” Taehyung teased while grinding his still hard cock against your ass. “You aren’t done until we say you are.”

“And we are far from done, jagi” Jimin promised. “How about we change things up a bit?”

They laid you back on the mattress and you stretched out your limbs, trying to shake the tension out of your muscles. Taehyung reached into your side table to pull out the box of condoms he knew you had. Jimin pressed his body against yours, trailing his fingertips from your neck down to your hip. You both looked up at Taehyung when he cleared his throat.

“Ok, ttalgi,” he began. “Are we sticking to our usual rules with Jimin here? It’s your call.”

“What are the usual rules?” Jimin asked. “She and I only had two rules: wear a condom and be honest about what we liked or didn’t like.”

“We have something similar, but with variations,” Taehyung explained. “Condoms for any assplay, colors for safewords, consent is always confirmed, aftercare is mandatory, and open, honest communication.”

“Condoms only for assplay?” Jimin gulped. “What about vaginal play?”

“I have my birth control implant,” you told Jimin while pointing out the spot on your arm. “Taehyung and I have always been vigilant about staying clean and we get tested every other month, even when we aren’t sexually active.”

“So, I guess the question we have is,” Taehyung expressed kindly. “What about you, Jimin? What do you want to do?”

Jimin sat up on one elbow and shifted his doe eyes between you and Taehyung. He couldn’t believe what you were offering.

“Jagi,” he breathed out. “We’ve never gone bare...like ever. I’ve never gone bare with anyone actually.”

“I know, Jiminie,” you expressed tenderly. “I’ve only ever trusted Tae-bear with something like that. But I know how careful you are, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed. If you’re comfortable with it, then I’m willing to trust you as well.”

You reached up to cup his cheek and he leaned in and kissed your palm gingerly with his swollen lips. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

“Nothing’s changed,” he finally responded. “I’m still careful, I still get tested, and I’m still clean. If you really trust me, then I trust you too.

He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips and sat up to pull Taehyung in for a kiss as well.

“I trust both of you,” Jimin proclaimed. “I know I just met you, Taehyung, but if my jagiya trusts you with something like this, then who am I to argue with her logic?”

Taehyung smiled at Jimin’s words and reached over to stroke your cheek affectionately. You all took a deep breath as the electricity in the air increased exponentially. The soft caresses on skin transformed into overzealous gropes, and the quiet exhales became heated moans and needy whines. You decided to take the lead this time and climbed onto Jimin’s chest, asking for permission to ride his face, to which he quickly consented. As you settled over his ravenous lips, Taehyung instigated a rather noisy blowjob behind you, pulling Jimin’s angry red tip between his lips and slurping at the precum spilling over the edge.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasped out beneath you. “You couldn’t give me a warning, Tae?”

“Do you want me to stop?” Taehyung pouted. “Just say the word, Jiminie.”

“No, please don’t stop,” Jimin begged. “Keep going.”

You looked back over your shoulder and grinned wickedly at Taehyung. The smirk on his handsome face was mesmerizing, and you returned it in kind. You lowered your soaking wet heat to Jimin’s lips once again as Taehyung swirled his tongue around Jimin’s girthy penis.

Jimin inhaled sharply through his nose and moaned out into the flooded depths of your vagina. He dug his nails into your hips and you cried out erotically. For every lick and suck Taehyung unleashed upon him, Jimin paid it forward to your gushing center.

“Jimin,” you moaned. “I’m getting close.”

Taehyung slapped his palm against Jimin’s thigh, causing him to hiss and moan into your drenched thigh.

“What was that for?” Jimin protested.

“Don’t let her cum yet, Jiminie,” Taehyung instructed. “Let’s see how far we can edge her out.”

You whipped your head around to glare at Taehyung’s smug face and scowled deeply at him. He knew you hated edging, but he also knew that you came especially hard when edged. You pouted at him and he cocked an eyebrow at you before pulling off of Jimin’s dick with an audible pop.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, babe,” Taehyung relented. “But I promise it will feel amazing if you let it happen.”

He winked at you playfully and you couldn’t resist the boxy grin he shot your way before diving back onto Jimin’s glistening cock. You watched him dip and twist his mouth up and down Jimin’s stiff shaft, even dragging his tongue below the base and flicking along Jimin’s scrotum. Jimin was quickly unraveling underneath Taehyung’s expert skills, and he suddenly lost his concentration on you when Taehyung started licking lower between his legs.

“Ttalgi, come here, quickly,” Taehyung commanded.

You released your hold on the wall and dismounted Jimin’s face, which was contorting into a mask of pure pleasure thanks to Taehyung. He started stroking Jimin’s shaft in time with his tongue barrage.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jimin moaned out. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

“Do you want to cum inside her, Jiminie?” Taehyung cooed. “Want this dirty girl to sink down on this hard cock and soak up your hot sticky load?”

Jimin couldn’t verbalize anything, but he nodded desperately and started flailing his arms in search of you. Taehyung positioned you just above Jimin’s dick and held you in place.

“When I say sit, babe,” Taehyung quirked. “Sit down and ride him into his orgasm, ok?”

“I’m ready, Tae-bear,” you agreed wholeheartedly. “Just tell me when.”

After a few more strokes, Jimin’s hands clenched against the sheets and he threw his head back harshly.

“NOW,” Taehyung commanded while lowering you safely onto Jimin’s lap.

As soon as your thighs connected with Jimin’s, he let out a cry of unbridled passion and thrusted up into you like a madman possessed. His eyes were blown wide and he couldn’t stop pulling you onto his dick even as he shot out jets of cum, painting your walls in white. The sexual tempest finally abated and Jimin slumped against the pillows and let out a long audible breath laced with amusement.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “That has to be the most incredible sensation in the world. Jagiya, why have I never plunged into your Cave of Wonders bareback before?”

“Because we were both busy being responsible adults, Aladdin,” you quipped. “Or maybe I should call you Genie since Tae referred to you as a magical sex fairy.”

“He can call me whatever he wants if I’m going to get this kind of treatment,” he giggled. “But, I’m worried about him, jagi. He hasn’t been given proper attention just yet. We should really help him out, don’t you think?”

You chuckled and pulled yourself off of Jimin then propped yourself up on all fours, wiggling your ass slightly to entice Taehyung forward. He shook his head and eased onto the bed behind you. He reached between your legs to see if you needed additional lubrication, but the deluge he slipped into told him you were more than ready.

“Look at this mess you two made,” he commented in astonishment, while licking the combined cum from his fingertips. “Just like a creamsicle on a hot summer day.”

Taehyung slid the blunt head of his stiff cock along the crease of your sopping wet pussy and then slowly pushed his way in. He groaned as each inch disappeared from sight and he gave a small thrust to fit the last few inches snugly inside. You whimpered at the stretch and lifted your head to meet Jimin’s amused stare.

“What a naughty girl we have here, Tae,” Jimin cooed. “All stuffed full of cock and she still looks like she wants more. Should I give you more, jagiya?”

When all you could do was whimper weakly at Jimin’s entreaty, so Taehyung pulled your hair back and thrust forward sharply. Jimin was enthralled by the fucked out look on your face and leaned forward to lick into your open mouth.

“Jiminie asked you a question, ttalgi,” he hissed in your ear. “Don’t disappoint Daddy and ignore our guest. Now, do you want more cock or not?”

“Yes,” you begged desperately against Jimin’s plushy lips. “Want him in my mouth, Daddy. Can I? Please?”

Jimin chuckled at your pleas and leaned over to lure Taehyung into another heated kiss.

“Daddy kink, huh?” Jimin teased as he pulled away. “That’s a new one for me.”

“It only works when I do it,” Taehyung grunted. “You can call me Daddy too, if you like?”

“We’ll see how I feel later,” Jimin smirked. “For now, let’s stuff this naughty little slut full of cock.”

Taehyung picked up the pace as he pistoned his aching dick deep into your womb. Jimin stroked his own cock until he had half an erection and then ran the tip across your lips.

“Open up, jagi,” Jimin crooned sweetly. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

You eagerly opened wide and allowed Jimin to place his hands on your head to hold you in place while he fucked into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and slurped him down until he was hard and quivering against your tongue.

“Ah, fuck yes,” Jimin squealed. “Just what I needed. Thanks, jagi.”

Jimin pulled out of your mouth and you whined in protest. He brushed the saliva from your lips and planted a fat kiss on them before disappearing from your sight.

Taehyung took your distraction as an opportunity to pull you up against his chest so he could play with your clit as he fucked up into you. He read your impending orgasms carefully and pulled back each time the crest threatened to break across your threshold. He appeased your adorable tear-streaked face with sweet promises of “the best orgasm of your life.”

“You have to trust me, babe,” Taehyung sneered against your wet cheeks. “You’ll thank me when you fall over that edge, I promise.”

You were about to whine out another protest when Taehyung clenched against you unexpectedly.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed against your temple. “You wicked little fucker. I should’ve kept an eye on you.”

“Yeah, you should have,” came Jimin’s voice from behind Taehyung. “I’m a sneaky bitch, did I forget to mention that?”

Jimin had sprung a sexy sneak attack with two lubed fingers currently seeking entrance at Taehyung’s back door. Taehyung released you back onto all fours so he could grant Jimin better access to his ass. He slowed his movements just long enough for Jimin to work his dick into Taehyung’s now well lubricated asshole. With all three of you connected, it took a moment or two to find a definitive rhythm together, but once you did, the fluid movements initiated a series of high pitched squeals and moans unlike any you’d heard before. Taehyung felt your walls clamping down into his dick and he gathered up enough focus to make an erotic suggestion.

“Jimin, wait,” he huffed out on a moan. “Let’s change positions. As much as I’m enjoying this, there’s something I want to try now that we have you here.”

Jimin pulled back and waited for Taehyung to continue. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung reached over and gently pulled the condom off Jimin’s dick and smirked sinfully.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough to double penetrate her,” Taehyung explained quickly. “Get inside her cunt and let me get a condom on.”

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasped. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”

“You bet your fine ass, I’m serious,” Taehyung gritted out while rolling on the condom. “This dirty little girl is about to blow and so am I. Daddy owes her the orgasm of a lifetime and he’s going to give it to her.”

You were just catching your breath, and you whimpered at the tightness in your clit.

“Guys, if I don’t cum soon, I’m going to fucking explode,” you growled. “So unless you want me to take care of this by myself, I suggest you get over here and finish the fucking job.”

“Oooh, jagi is feisty when she’s frustrated,” Jimin cackled. “I’ve never edged her, so this should be fun to watch.”

“I’m giving you a front row seat, Jiminie,” Taehyung beamed as he laid down beside you. “Enjoy the show.”

Jimin helped rearrange your body so that you were wedged in between them on the bed. After lifting up one of your thighs, Jimin slipped his bare cock into your swollen cunt, reveling at the raw feeling of your fleshy walls tightening around his dick. You were so wet and slippery that even Taehyung was surprised that he wouldn’t need much lube to get your asshole ready for him.

“I love it when she’s this strung out and horny,” he chuckled. “Makes it so easy for me.”

With a little help from Jimin’s fingers, Taehyung slipped beyond your puckered hole and buried himself into the glorious tightness of your ass. With both of your holes now occupied, you found yourself adrift in a sea of endorphins. The finish line was just beyond your sight and you cried out as you felt both cocks sliding across the thin membrane separating your cunt from your asshole.

“Tae,” you whimpered helplessly. “Jimin...please...I need you.”

“We’re right here, ttalgi,” Taehyung soothed. “Just let go. I’m not going to hold you back anymore. Just let it flow right through you.”

Jimin slipped his fingers down to rub against your clit and the combined sensations hurtled into your brain all at once.

“OH FUCK!” you screamed as you careened over the edge of your climax and tumbled into one spasm and after another, losing track of just how many orgasms Taehyung had stacked up for you throughout the course of the night. When the last one hit, your vision cleared just enough to catch Jimin’s awed facial expression as he watched you come undone. The glazed look in your eyes triggered his own climax and he shot another rope of sweet release deep into your quivering heat.

“Babe,” Taehyung grunted behind you, still pumping away. “I’m really fucking close. Where do you want it?”

You smiled wickedly and pulled Jimin close. He was still reeling from his last orgasm, but he offered you a small smile, wordlessly agreeing to whatever your face was suggesting.

“On our faces,” you moaned. “Cum all over our faces, Tae!”

It only took a few more well timed thrusts before Taehyung was pulling out and stepping over the two of you. He tossed the condom aside and pumped away at his shaft until he unleashed a cascade of semen all over your face and Jimin’s. He groaned wantonly as he watched you and Jimin lap up the streaks of semen from each other’s face.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he conceded while throwing his head back in exhaustion. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m fucking spent.”

His knees buckled onto the mattress and you placed one last kiss on Jimin’s lips before rolling off the bed. You left the two of them gasping for breath on the bed while you retrieved some bottled water from the fridge.

“Oh, you angel,” Jimin preened. “Just what I needed.”

Once you all got back to a normal heart rate, you corralled both Jimin and Taehyung into the shower. You silently thanked your landlord for installing the wide shower stall with a built-in bench seat. The three of you fit comfortably in the shower together with a little room to spare.

After you were all cleaned up and refreshed, the boys changed the sheets and you gathered up extra pillows so you could all cuddle up on the bed. Jimin heartily agreed to the sleepover, and you were all thoroughly exhausted from your early morning romp.

Taehyung tucked both you and Jimin against his chest and sighed out with contentment. After kissing both of you on the forehead, he wished you good night and settled into his pillow. You and Jimin slipped your fingers together and snuggled against Taehyung.

As you faded into unconsciousness, you smiled and exhaled happily.

Damn, Universe. You’re on a roll.

The three of you drifted off to Dreamland as the dogs in the living room looked up with curiosity and growled at the black sparkles that flashed and pulsed from your coffee table and then vanished a moment later.

Author’s Note: (releasing my clenched thighs) Whew, is everyone ok after that chapter? I don’t know about you, but I need a long shower after that. I had so much fun writing this chapter and I made my betas all hot and bothered when they read it, so I assume it’s good. I hope you all enjoyed the Vmin playtime. Only three more chapters to go! 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Chapter Three: The Beautiful Music We Used to Make

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter Five: There’s Still Sunshine When He’s Gone

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​‘s MASTERLIST

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating.  ... 18+? 

word count.  ~5200

note.  THIS GETS REAL NON-PG-13 REAL QUICK.  I'M SORRY.

chapter 6.  

You don't think you'll ever get used to it.  The kisses pressed to your crown, over your eyelids, coaxing sandman's dust from your lashes.  The saccharine laughter muddled by sleep and swept into messy sheets, threaded into stitches and saved for another day.  His hands and his warmth, all over and everywhere and yet never enough.  He was like a straight shot of adrenaline and you were a junkie, desperate for the thrill. 

Every day was like some wonderful dream - some quietly whispered wish come to life.  

And it was all thanks to Taehyung.

Since that first night, you'd fallen into an easy routine.  Good morning texts and on occasion, more, his deep drawl acting as a lullaby rather than a wake-up call.  Flowers at your doorstep when he knew you didn't have class;  a coffee and boxy smile ready when he'd meet you after your last.  Date nights every Tuesday, because your lectures ran late and you didn't have time to cook on those days.  Your favourite meal from the nearby mom-and-pop shop memorized as easily as his own name.

He was so good to you. Too good to you, you insisted, only for him to brush you off.  

Because he'd swept into your life like spring rain and where there'd once been monotony - pretty but boring shades of grey - there was now colour that blinded you.  Swaths of red and blue and yellow you'd never seen.  Some kind of King Midas, you thought.  

"Are you hungry yet?"  You're partially inclined to believe he's speaking to someone else - whoever's on the other side of his voice chat - but fail to realize he's behind you, broad frame curled around you as he traps you beneath him.  His arms span either side of you, palms planted firmly on the tabletop where you've made a bit of a mess.  There are notebooks and loose papers, a textbook with dogeared pages that looks like it's on its last legs.  There's even a half-eaten stick of Pocky sticking out from its container, lonely and forgotten.  

You turn and peer up at him, trying to focus despite your swimming vision.  You've been working on the same composition for the better part of three days and it's been hell.  No matter what you do, it doesn't come out right.  

When you almost go cross-eyed in your vain attempt to reconcile the two figures in your line of sight, he's slipping your thin gold-rimmed glasses over your ears and off your face, setting them down gently beside your pencil case.  You think he's frustrated - you would be, too, if you'd been invited over only to be ignored all night - when his hands find your jaw.  You know he isn't by how gentle he is, pad of his thumb pressing soothingly over your bottom lip. 

"Take a break, okay?"  It's a demand dressed as a request, seducing in its tenderness.  You know he's not going to take no for an answer.

You hesitate nonetheless, ready to present your first, second, and third excuses.  He silences them before they can see the light of day, coaxing them back into their hiding spots with the sweetest graze of his mouth.  Cheater.

Before you know it, you've forgotten yourself and all the reasons why you'd been so ready to return to work, fingers curling over the backs of his hands.  It's a makeshift handhold, your way of finding balance after being swept up in the storm that is Taehyung.  "Not fair,"  you chide, not unhappily.  You draw his hands to your lap, ignoring the awkward way his body shifts to accommodate the movement.

"I'm just looking out for you,"  he responds, like that's a good enough reason.  You huff.  He rolls his eyes but there's no venom behind it.  

"What do you want to eat then?  I think we have some kimbap leftover from yesterday."

"I ate that earlier when you were having a mini breakdown."  You ignore the teasing in his tone because there's adoring understanding too, and a hint of concern.  He's not part of your world but he's trying to be.  You appreciate that.

Unfortunately, your gratitude doesn't fill hungry stomachs.  "How about jjapaguri?"  

Taehyung's brow quirks and you know he's going to make some bad joke before it leaves his lips.  You recognize the tell-tale signs in the little twitch of his mouth, the way his cheeks tighten and release as if he can't hold back the absolute genius that is he.  It's only been a few weeks but you can already read him like a book.  (Also, he's a really easy book, like Goodnight Moon.)  "Are you trying to tell me you're hiding your husband in the basement?"

"Damn, you got me."  You're as deadpan as possible.  There's more tonal variety in dry toast.

You stare at each other for half an eternity and then you're both giggling.  The sound curls out of your mouth and flits into the air, dragging weight from your shoulders as it ascends.    

"You're the silliest."  It's meant to be a compliment as much as a rebuff.  Darling Taehyung takes it as only the former, beaming proudly.  He pulls gently at your hands, coaxing you to straighten with him.  He's got you where he wants you now, cradled to his chest like porcelain, and you can't help but relax into the welcoming embrace, cheek pressed to the velveteen cotton of his Celine shirt.  When you speak again, it's muffled.  "Thank you."  

You feel more than hear his laughter, his shoulders reverberating with the motion.  "Nothing to thank me for, jagi."

When he uses the term of endearment, poppy red sprouts across your skin, blooms prettily from the tip of your nose to your temples.  You still weren't used to it and you're grateful for the cover of your hair, the expanse of his chest that you're burrowed against.  "I'll go make food.  You stay here."

Then you're gone, scurrying from your bedroom before he can say another word.

Your setup is perfect.  From your chair - functional yet pretty, you'd boasted the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom - to the custom-built aluminum keyboard with cat paw esc key, it's a gamer's paradise.  Your mouse has all the sensitivity he's used to and it shifts dreamily through the colours of the rainbow, moulded grip lightweight in his palm.  (He wishes it were a little bigger, but that's a him problem.)  Even the tri-monitor display soothes his secret nerdy itch, filling the void of being away from home with it's insane resolution.  The fact that there's thousands of dollars worth of studio equipment in and around it doesn't even deter him.  He appreciates that you trust him enough to be seated here. 

Pulling your headphones over his ears, he aimlessly reaches for the attached microphone before remembering it doesn't exist.  That was something he was still getting used to.  He's not really sure where or how the sound is being picked up - maybe by one of the two microphones positioned strategically on either side of your desk, though he can't bother to figure out which - only that it is, and it's good enough for him.

"Ready?"  He prompts, watching as his user tag lights up to indicate his question.  

 JKMKNAE lights up below him.  "To kick some ass?  Yeah." 

Overwatch loads, the FINDING GAME screen sliding into view.  The timer rolls on, seconds dragging, and he makes small talk over voice chat while he waits.  No one else is on yet - their usual group of near and far online friends still showing offline on Discord - so it's just the two of them. 

"Are you going to that party?"  He's referring to the little get-together being thrown by Hoseok's new girlfriend.  Honestly, he can't remember her name - Gahyeon?  Dohyeon?  She was nice enough and his friend was clearly smitten, but given that he'd met her in passing only once, he hadn't committed it to memory.  He'd learn it before Friday, though.  Maybe.  H'd have to, if he planned on introducing you.  

Couldn't really say 'Jiyeon, meet Hoseok's unnamed girlfriend.'

"Don't know."  The response comes indistinct and he imagines Jungkook is shovelling ramyeon into his mouth - can practically hear the slurp slurp slurp through your state of the art earphones - while they queue up.  It makes his stomach growl.  "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Slurp.  Swallow.  Response.  "It sounded like a freaking animal."

Had Jungkook heard his stomach?  No way.  "That was me."

This seems to surprise the maknae, who takes a moment to cease his endless eating noises.  Thank god - Taehyung had been worried the call was about to turn into a full-blown ASMR session, complete with smacking lips and clinking chopsticks.  It wouldn't have been the first time.  "Did you get a new headset?"

"Uh, no," comes his response after a beat.  It's enough for his friend to latch onto, bowl of noodles long forgotten in favour of the unravelling string of his hesitation.

"You do sound clearer actually.  Which did you get?  Sennheiser?"    

"I didn't get a new headset."  Taehyung sounds a little as if he's frustrated with having to explain himself and that only makes the other all the more curious.  He should've known.  Since they'd been teenagers, Jungkook had been like this.  Endlessly curious, tripping over his own feet to be included in whatever news their friend group had to share.  It was almost always endearing.  

"Then are you wearing a mic taped to your stomach?"  

Another pause, punctuated by a sharp exhale. 

It's only been a few weeks - three as of this weekend, in fact - and Taehyung's still not sure where you stand.  Even when you were opening yourself up to him, there was always another layer.  You were an enigma.  An enigma wrapped inside a burrito.  He chuckles at the thought and reminds himself to use the comparison later.  He's sure you'd laugh and he loved the sound - like it was the most beautiful song in the world.

When Jungkook doesn't get an immediate response, Taehyung can practically feel the chagrin rolling through the chat.  As much as the youngest liked to tease his hyungs - and he did it often,  whether with words or action - he'd never purposely upset anyone.  He didn't have a bad bone in his body.  

Before he can apologize, Taehyung's cutting him off with a rush of words, like it's the greatest secret ever spoken into existence.  "I'm at Jiyeon's."

He'd expected some sort of excitement or downright bro-like congratulations.  It was how Jungkook operated, his bravado presented for all to see.  Anything to hide that big soft heart of his.  (He was different like that - hiding his sensitivity whereas Taehyung and Jimin paraded it around, shouted it from rooftops.)

Instead, there's silence.  Because what he doesn't see is Jungkook looking like he's been sucker punched, dealt a straight shot to the gut that he hadn't expected.  And why hadn't he expected it?  He'd known you were seeing Taehyung, heard about your frequent dates from his friend himself.  He'd had to smile along, offering congratulations like the mere thought wasn't burning him from the inside out, like battery acid hadn't replaced the blood in his veins. 

"That's great, hyung."  It sounds off to Taehyung's ears, cutting over the connection.  For a moment, he wonders if he's jostled a cable.  You'll kill him if he has.  Then there's a bang, an ear-splittingly loud crash.  "Shit!  I have to clean this up."  

Then there's the sound of a participant exiting the channel and he's left to queue all on his own.  

"Four packages was two packages too many."  You're groaning into your hands, your arms, anywhere you can bury your face.  The cold glass of your coffee table is soothing against your cheek, your heated breath forming condensation across the surface.  

Above your head, somewhere on the couch behind you, Taehyung laughs, the sound punctuated by chewing.  "I could've told you that."

You're not sure how he's still eating, diligently working through his bowl of noodles when you feel like you might explode like some scene out of Alien.  It's hard to breathe - in fact, you think you can feel the tail end of a noodle at the top of your throat - and you bite back a gag, shoulders shaking a little with the exertion.  

You're being overdramatic, you know.

"I thought I was hungry!  I thought you were hungry!"  A hand is flying up, wrist weaving bonelessly through the air as if it'll help you drive your very poor point home.  

"I am hungry."  More laughter.  You reach behind you, flailing wildly in the direction you know his legs are, and huff in triumph when your knuckles collide with the sharp bone of his shin.  You ignore the fact that you've somehow hurt yourself, too.  "You probably haven't eaten today so your stomach is the size of Po's."

As if on cue, the feline sweeps into the room, sniffing curiously at your prone figure before flouncing off to the kitchen in search of more interesting things.

"Why are you so reasonable?"  You croak like a dying woman or a frog. 

Somehow, against all odds, Taehyung still finds you adorable.  He sets his bowl down on the side table, careful to place the chopsticks neatly across the rim, and bends at the waist to fix his hands under your armpits.  You can already feel the upward momentum but whine nonetheless, the sound tipping out of your mouth like some sort of Dickensian street urchin. 

"No!  Stoooop."  

"Come here,"  your not-boyfriend boyfriend coos, dragging you onto the couch.  You slump against the cushions when he releases you, rather than falling into his side, eliciting another crinkly-eyed smile from him.  It's hard to resist when he's like this, playful and enticing.  Still, you try.  You pretend like it's nothing, curling your arms around your middle as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't feel good."  It's a statement that demands payment. 

Taehyung happily gives it, peppering kisses over the delicate bones of your face, his broad chest encompassing your frame.  He locks his arms around you, sliding them into place around your own, and holds you recklessly close.  You don't think you could run if you tried.  Whether it's from the noodles you've all but inhaled or the hazy desire that blooms beneath each of his kisses, you're not sure.  Maybe both. 

"I can make you feel good,"  he purrs, his mouth feather-light and teasing.  He's focused on the sensitive dip by your ear, right where your pulse throbs, and you swear you hear him chuckle before you lose all sense of your surroundings.  

The flat of his tongue presses against that sweet spot, laving hungrily at the skin like he might be able to taste the copper that sings beneath it.  You whine, louder and higher than you'd meant to, desperate even to your muffled ears.  You hear his laughter more clearly this time, breath hot against the outer shell of your ear, and you're not sure whether you're burning up on the outside or just internally.

"See, aren't you feeling better already?"  Every word from his mouth is honeyed and intoxicating.  You chase the sound, turning your face just in time to feel his lips against yours, more forceful than you'd anticipated.  As much as he teased you, he was a kind and forgiving lover, bending to your will as easily you did his.

"You're terrible."  You mean it like an insult but, in true fashion, he accepts it like the greatest compliment he's ever received.  He preens with it, tossing his head back, causing his hair to fall prettily over his eyes.

Eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you'd let them.  They're so dark, the ring of his iris all but engulfed by the desire that presents itself in the void of his pupils. 

Your heart stutters in your chest.  Your breath catches, hitches and careens into a gasp.  Somewhere, just beyond the realm of comprehension, you recognize a familiar fluttering in your core.  He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen and he wants to bang - hang - you on the wall, where you belong. 

"Do you want me to stop?"  Despite whatever war wages in his mind and the thrum of want that skitters up his bones, he's genuine in his delivery.  He wants you to want this as bad as he does.  He won't hold it against you if you don't.

You owe it to him to be honest.  "I'm not sure."

You don't miss the way his expression slips, fall just an inch.  He's so careful to retain his composure, offering you the most heartfelt smile you could ever hope for.  It doesn't quite reach his eyes, despite his best efforts.  You feel awful.  Worse then awful.  Like you'd shut the sun out.

You reach for him all at once, long fingers framing the edges of his face, thumb sweeping just beneath his eye.  He blinks once, twice, and says nothing. 

"I want you,"  you start.  It's not clear where you're going with this but you hope you find it along the way - for both of your sake's.  "I like you, Kim Taehyung."  His eyes sparkle when you say his full name and you want to give up this conversation and smother him in kisses instead.  "I really, really like you.  But I'm also scared."  You say it out loud, though you're certain he already knows.  

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb that's drifted and found a rhythm in soothing circles at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm an assa."  You don't seek pity or understanding.  You'd chosen this;  you liked it this way.  "I don't let people in often.  Those I do, I trust explicitly."  Your hand slides to his chest, palm flat down the column of his throat to the expanse hidden just beneath his shirt.  You settle there, over his heart, and tap experimentally.  "I don't want to ruin this - whatever it is - because I expect too much.  We deserve to be on the same page.  I don't want to ask for more than you can give."

Where the words have come from isn't clear but they spill forth, settling like lead into your veins.  He's only been good to you, accepting all of your quirks and flaws in stride.  From the first time you'd lashed out - irritable after a long night of rearranging notes - to the time he'd found you half-asleep in front of the fridge at 3 AM, he's accepted you without hesitation.  Time and time again, he'd proven his capacity for kindness, for giving you everything and asking nothing in return.

But you can't help the little voice in your head, the same one that demands love in the same breath it rebuffs it. 

"I'm right here with you."  As if to drive his point home, Taehyung's hand finds yours and squeezes.  He's so heartbreakingly handsome like this, unwavering in his sincerity.  "But even if I weren't,"  he indulges your worries, because he knows he needs to face these demons with you, lest they steal you away,  "we'd still be reading the same book.  You'd just be a few chapters ahead and that's okay."

Not for the first time, you're reminded of how overwhelmingly good he is.  It makes your heart swell ten sizes and you crash your lips to his because you want to and he wants it, too. 

"You're so poetic,"  you muse, withdrawing just enough that your words don't get lost.

He grins and does that same toss of his head, chin cocked as his tongue swipes over the soft pillow of his bottom lip.  "O, Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?"  He's inching closer, like it's a game, and you're nearly stumbling back, though you have nowhere to go.  "Deny thy father and refuse thy name."  There's mischief in this expression, setting his smile aglow.  "Take all of me."

You only manage to get your taunting response out, a snarky "that's not how that goes" before he's upon you, devouring you whole.  

Despite the hunger in his kiss, the way his mouth slants over yours in a demand, it's anything but rushed.  He takes his time in coaxing your mouth open, seeking out the warmth with tentative passes of his tongue.  You hum appreciatively when he chases yours with his own, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as some sort of punishment for getting away.  You think you could do this forever. 

So you pout when he withdraws, out of breath and delirious.  You think you must look the same, can see it reflected in his blown out pupils.  

As if to sooth your ache - it's not enough - he caresses your jaw, the delicate line of your neck, capable hands running the gamut of hot and heavy and soft and searing.  He's sprinkling weak kisses where his hands go, following the paths they carve over your exposed skin.  When he dips his tongue into the dainty turn of your collar bone, you keen, chasing the sensation when he exhales cold breath over it.

"We have lots of time,"  he parrots with a grin so smug, so salacious, you want to cry.

You're pouting, fingers curling into the silk at his nape, tugging none-too-gently on the hairs there. 

He seems to find that funny, his nose brushing the collar of your shirt, the valley of your chest that he aches to explore.  "Patience is a virtue."  

"Who says I'm virtuous?" 

You're meeting his surprised stare with big doe eyes, a coy smile playing over your kiss-swollen lips.  Taehyung almost considers giving in.  Almost.

Instead, he returns to the task at hand, trailing open-mouth kisses across the front of your shirt.  He's grateful for the flimsy cotton, the way it drapes over you like wrapping paper begging to be torn apart.  You're reclined against the cushions but it's not enough - there's no more space for him to nose past your rib cage.  He stops;  you whine.

"Tell me we can keep going."  The words are nearly lost into your skin.  He's holding you so intimately, the curve of his cheek pressed to the underside of your breast.  He can feel the scalloped trim of your bra.  It's not nearly enough.  He wants what's underneath, exhales his need in a throaty moan, lips seeking out his hidden treasure. 

You don't immediately respond and his head snaps up, a little concerned.  But you're not looking at him, lost to the ceiling above and the heavens beyond.  You look so hot.  He feels his cock twitch and he has to remind himself to wait, to hold out for your breathless yes. 

The moment it comes, you're in his arms and your eyes snap to his face, bewildered.  He's an anomaly beneath you, equal parts hard and soft.  The planes of his stomach are taut but comfortable;  he's lean muscle beneath a yielding layer.  You've never been this close, body pressed recklessly against his as he carries you to your bedroom.  Your ankles lock around him, heel of your bare feet digging into the expanse of his lower back.  He says nothing, simply nuzzles into your softness of your neck and smothers you with affection.

"What was wrong with the couch?"  It's meant to be mocking but it loses its edge when Taehyung releases you atop your bed, eagerly slotting himself between your knees when your hold on him releases.  

His hands are driven, making quick work of your tee shirt, and then he's feasting like a man-starved, taking in every line of your body like he can commit it to memory.  "You're so beautiful,"  he says in response, diving into your skin that begs to be touched, soft as silk and unblemished.  He hums happily against your throat, licking a wet stripe from your clavicle to your ear, pausing to bite thoughtfully on the lobe.  The sounds you make should be illegal.  He wants to hear them forever, until the day he dies.

The strap of your flimsy bra - pretty periwinkle lace, he notes with a quirked brow - twists around his finger and he can feel you staring at him, expectant.  When he lets it fall and you huff, he wants to laugh.  He doesn't, though, choosing to drop his head to follow the trail of his hands over the swell of your chest.  Thumb and then mouth catch, teeth nipping at your nipple in a way that makes your back arch.  He flicks his tongue out, circling the pebbled bud with precision, and he thinks he might be stealing the breath right out of your lungs by the way you're coming undone beneath him.

"Sensitive?"  He drags the edge of lace down between his teeth until the fabric is caught beneath your tits, showcasing them proudly.  He leans back on his calves, catching your wrists with ease when you try to cover up.  You're so pretty like this, head thrown back, body on display.  Like a piece of art.

He wishes he had his camera.  

"You're a tease, Kim Taehyung."  You don't know how much he loves it when you say his name like this, a little authoritative and full of want.  

Your own personal Adonis settles over you once again, kissing you as if his life depends on it.  He swallows you whole, taking all of your moans and pleas like they're prayers and he's your deity.  Maybe he is.  "Patience, jagiya."  You can feel him grinning against you, sweet as sin.  You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging the edges of your teeth over the sensitive petal.

Now it's his turn to whimper, hand fisting into your hair before relaxing, fingers soothing the roots he'd just pulled. 

"I said patience,"  he repeats.  You don't have time to test him again, suddenly encompassed by the feeling of his warmth pulling away, drifting lower.  You miss the weight of him, his chest pressed to yours. 

But you like this, too, his hot breath fanning over your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.  You like it even more when he licks a strip down the valley of your cleavage, inhaling your scent.  You're sure you're coloured like a neon Christmas sign, rouge blossoming over your skin where you want more - need more. 

"I'm going to be so good to you."

How he manages to be so unrelentingly sweet, even while mouthing sloppy kisses over your bare abdomen, you're not sure.  He does it so well, like this side of him is only for you.  It makes you see stars.  They flicker brightly in your vision, sparked to life with each pass of his lips, each concentrated glide of his hands.

"Look at me."  It seems almost impossible that his voice has dropped even further, the lower octave simultaneously exciting and surprising.  It sinks like weights in your stomach, forcing your eyes to his face.  He's at the edge of the bed, his head ducked against the swell of your bare thigh - when had that happened? - eyes half-lidded as if swept up in dreams.  You know he's paying attention when he nips gently at the sensitive flesh, manipulating your softness with firm, unyielding hands.  "Do you know how crazy you drive me?"

You thought you'd had a clue - had spied it in the way he kissed you in the morning, held your hand in his - but you were wrong.  You realize that now, watching him watching you.

"Show me,"  you all but whisper.  An appeal, a wish, a begging demand. 

When he looks at you, it's as if your words are the keys to his heart.  He smiles that blindingly handsome smile and dips forward, shifting your calf over his shoulder.  You think you might die from the sight alone but you're sure you do - heart stopped and all - when you feel his breath at the juncture of your legs.  

He inhales deeply and you blush scarlet, the desire to clamp your thighs shut twitching your limbs.  As if he can sense your sudden shame, he redirects your attention with the tip of his tongue.  You nearly buck at the sensation, somehow already wound so tight that the feeling is a harsh constriction of the coil in your stomach.  You need him.  "Tae, please."  The sound is a garbled whine, half bitten into the pillows you're buried in.  

Luckily, he needs this just as much as you do.  He's generous with his love, spreading you wide open and nearly groaning at the sight.  You're already dripping, inviting him to sink his tongue into you.  He alternates between long, languid strokes along your slit and teasing, penetrating delves of his tongue into your hole. He dutifully ignores your clit.  You writhe beneath him and he mimics the motion, grinding his straining erection into the bed.  He feels a little bad when the motion jostles you but he thinks you don't care, too far gone in your own blissful heaven to notice.

"Tae,"  his name barely registers, so caught up in the taste of you and the way you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin.  "Tae.  Baby.  Please."  You're keening, teetering dangerously on the edge of ecstasy.  You hadn't known how badly you needed this and now it's eating you alive, burning you from both ends until you're left in ashes.

"What, jagi?"  Taehyung's the devil in disguise, pausing his ministrations to suck a wet kiss into your thigh.  Wet from his own mouth or your juices, he's not sure.  

"I need more,"  you whine, the neediest he's ever seen you.  He's so turned on.  He curses his choice of pants, the soft cotton too inconsequential against him and his useless rutting.  He needs a zipper or your hands or better yet, your mouth.  But this isn't about him. 

This is about you.  He'd come later.  Literally.

"Is this more?"  The last word disappears, a shot in the dark as he wraps his lips around your aching clit and sucks, simultaneously sinking his middle finger into your feverish core.  He groans when your hips undulate with the pressure, seeking out more like the greedy kitten you are.  He pumps into you once, then three more times for good measure, before adding his ring finger, endlessly proud of the way you take him to the knuckles without an ounce of hesitation.  "You're doing so good,"  he praises you as if he knows you need it, laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting attention.

He can feel it before you're able to verbalize the words, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your plea careening off your tongue.  "Please don't stop.  I'm so, so close."  A hiccup.  Your voice is wet.  "Tae, please."

So he doesn't, instead twisting until he finds that spongy spot at the front of your pelvic wall.  He rocks against it, fingers tapping with brutal precision.  It's what sends you over the edge into an Earth-shatteringly strong orgasm that he fucks you through with tender care, rolling your clit over his tongue and basking in the feel of you soaking his hand (and face and chest).

Your head's still in the clouds when he pops up, triumphant.  Even in your fucked-out bliss, you recognize he's drenched.  If he didn't look so proud, you think you'd be mortified.  

"Well, that's a first." 

notes.  as @fortunexkookie and @taehyungforreal (two of my main reasons for writing, tbh, and people i fangirl over from afar) once said, kim taehyung remains the reigning king of lovemaking.  i hope i did him justice.  xo

[hobidreams]

Bloom Minis: I

things that fall: petals to soil. rain to earth. namjoon for you.

pairing: florist!namjoon x assassin!reader genre: bit of angst-tinged fluff words: 1.4k a/n: this is a drabble for Bloom from Namjoon’s POV. it contains heavy spoilers for the main fic! this is set right after the third meeting between Joon & Reader. yes. that one.

At the sound of the now-familiar shop door’s open, Namjoon’s head snaps up.

Excitement douses every crease of his instinctual grin, betraying the hope that blooms unabashedly in his chest. He’d been in the midst of trimming an arrangement, but the shears are dropped in his haste, needing to be at the front of the store without any more delay.

He wipes his hands on his apron, trying to catch a glimpse of his visitor as his feet slap against the floor. It hasn’t even been a day, but could it be…?

“Hey, it’s me!”

Jungkook’s bright voice filters through the ferns and florals as he enters, casually trendy in his oversized t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Namjoon tries his best not to look too disappointed. “Hey, Kook.”

“Wow. You look so much like an actual florist,” Jungkook laughs, eying Namjoon’s dirt-smeared clothes, the general sweatiness.

Namjoon raises his left eyebrow. “That’s kind of the point.” He turns to pick up a stray towel. He runs it over his face, mopping up some the sticky perspiration. “Are you still on duty?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Nodding, Namjoon starts to walk towards the door behind the counter. “Then you know what to do.”

Jungkook spins the sign behind him to BE BACK IN 15mins. He flicks the lock, securing it with a quiet click. Namjoon has already disappeared into the backroom. When Jungkook joins his partner, he finds Namjoon sitting amongst computer screens in lieu of trees, the expensive monitors flickering with information or CCTV footage from the hidden cameras around the shop and its vicinity.

“So, this is about the report, yeah?”

Jungkook presses his lips together. “HQ read it this morning,” he confirms. “They’re... not happy.”

“As always.” Namjoon sighs. “I should’ve gone to give the debrief in person. Then I could’ve at least explained it better.”

“Yeah...”

“Damn it.”

“Your report did end kind of... abruptly. And you didn’t get much that can be used against the Nightingales.” Jungkook flicks his eyes to the computers. “Look, bottom line, they think you’re wasting this opportunity we have. With her.” He gestures with his chin at the screenshot blown up on screen. It’s taken from that very first meeting – your face, caught in a fascinated smile as Namjoon shared his billionth plant fact. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t question why it’s there. Either way, Namjoon doesn’t think he can explain.

The monitor beside that one holds information Namjoon has now read several hundred times over. They are what sparse facts the NIS could collect on you, your family, your life before your worlds entwined. But he’s long filled those icy fragments with what is unquantifiable in formal documentation: the fatally deep warmth in your eyes, the breaking lilt of your voice when you speak of those you love yet cannot save. After last night, he commits the honey of your whimpered bliss to his memory too.

With a cough, he wills himself to look away from your smile before he loses himself in it again. “It hasn’t even been two months. Don’t they understand that these things take time?” He sticks his tongue in his cheek, jaw set. “It was pure chance that we even met in the first place. We should take every precaution not to rush things and scare her off.” He wants to suggest it requires months, weeks, days; hell, even an hour longer, he would take.

“It was lucky, but it’s not producing many results right now. I’m sure it’s not your fault, but HQ doesn’t want to waste resources by leaving you here.”

If only you knew. “Makes sense.”

Jungkook flashes a light grin, letting the tough NIS agent exterior crack. “Plus, I miss working with you, partner.” Lazily, he makes to lean against a nearby table for half a second before he jerks away. “Ah, god, ouch!” He just lightly stabbed himself on a spike of an aloe plant.

“Hey, careful!” Namjoon’s rolling chair clatters as he lunges towards the plant, nearly knocking a few other pots over in the process. “That one already has a broken leaf!”

Jungkook leaps away with a wince. He carefully situates himself in an open area before he stares with his nose wrinkled at Namjoon, who is practically petting the succulent, making sure Jungkook didn’t uproot it with his jostling. “It’s just a plant.”

That earns Jungkook a glare. “They’re living things, just like you or me.” It takes Namjoon a full minute before he’s satisfied that the aloe hasn’t sustained any lasting trauma. (Jungkook rolls his eyes behind Namjoon’s back.) “Anyway. I miss you too, but I can’t leave. In case she comes back.”

“But you gave her your number.”

“I did, but she might drop by.” And I don’t want to miss it. “Or she’ll want to come over immediately like last night.” Oh. Fuck. Namjoon thinks the curse as soon as the words come out of his mouth, having not been able to staunch them in his focus on covering his emotions. The emotions he hasn’t yet dared to untangle, for fear of what might come out. Bringing up last night will only exacerbate that, complicate it by involving clueless Jungkook in the situation. Namjoon had hoped Jungkook wouldn’t ask about the night at all, but now he watches the younger man’s eyes harden.

“Speaking of which. Can you tell me what really happened last night?” Jungkook flexes his arms, the veins rippling. “I don’t think you just ‘talked and she left.’ That’s just bullshit you wrote for HQ, right?”

“No,” Namjoon replies, perhaps a bit too quickly. “No. It’s true.”

Jungkook just looks at him.

“It is!” Namjoon insists, but he’s much too aware that he and Jungkook have been friends for much too long for such a tactic. Still, he owes it to their partnership to at least try. “She just needed comforting, that’s all. Nothing happened between us. Just talk—”

“Hyung,” Jungkook interrupts with a murmur, his tone holding all the fragility of glass. Yet it’s still delicate enough for Namjoon to understand he is not speaking in a wholly professional capacity. “She’s an assassin.”

“I know.”

“A criminal.”

“Yes.”

“She’s killed people.”

“Well, so have we.”

And there it is. A fact neither of them can refute, nor do they want to acknowledge. It ushers in a silence that neither of them know how to break and so they let it seep through the space until it is suffocating.

“Look, Kook, I’ll stall with HQ somehow. I-I’ll figure it out. I need some time, that’s all. I know what we have to do.” Maybe if he says it enough times, his rebellious brain will finally behave. “We… We’ll get the Nightingales in the end.”

“Right.” Jungkook cards his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay. You’re right. We can do this.” He manages a smile, his prominent teeth peeking out just a bit. “I’m going to go then. Gotta report back.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook walks to the door, unlocks it. He can’t help but turn back one last time. “Hyung. Just... Be careful. Please?”

Namjoon nods even though his heart throbs in contradiction.

And when he is finally left alone with naught but the quiet hum of a distant bee, he turns his stare down at his hands.

He wants to be careful.

He wants so fiercely to stay focused on the task given to him and uphold the tenements of his vocation but all he can remember is the softness of your skin, the heat of your tears drawing rivulets down your cheeks that he could taste on your lips. Damn it all.

Namjoon breathes an extended exhale, collapsing back into his chair. His eyes search the computers, finding your picture on the screen with a misplaced urgency that does nothing to calm his poor heart. Here and now, Namjoon thinks he understands why succulents etiolate. Why they ruin themselves in such desperate reaching for the suffocating heat, the very light that burns scars into their petals, leaves them forever altered. And as he traces the beguiling curves of your smile with his gaze, a truth mires itself in his thoughts so easily it is as if it has always belonged there, as if it finds its home there.

It’s a truth that frightens him with how it overrides logic with instinct, reality with sordid fantasy. Mingling, building, finally culminating into an urge teeming with danger, yet he hurtles himself towards it anyway because he cannot seem to survive otherwise. The damning truth of it all: that he will do anything to hold you in his arms again.

[neohighwayv]

Again and again

Characters: NCT / NCT DREAM Jeno x You

Genre: fluff, romance

Word count: 2.7k

Description: “I think it’s great that you have a great sex life but I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to put a hole in my wall whilst doing it.”

Author’s note: The prompt may look misleading but I promise – there is no smut in this story.

Warnings: Implied suggestive content, mild cursing

-----

I’m going insane. Please SHUT UP!!!

Ripping your headphones out of your ear, you sat up in your bed fast, whipping your head around to glare at the wall behind you. The sudden movement made your vision swim from the sudden rush of blood to your head as you slammed your fists down hard. Your innocent Samoy soft toy by your side took the brunt of your force, his beaded eyes almost falling out from the impact. Snapping your head to your bedside quickly, you found your notebook laying there neatly – the perfect weapon for such a situation. You snatched it up from your bedside before using it to pound at the wall behind you viciously, the spine of the book bending at an extreme angle afterwards, some pages crumpled from your iron grip.

Your neighbour seems to have heard you – for the sound of the bed squeaking stopped momentarily and your walls stop shaking. All was peaceful and silent for a short while, and you breathed a sigh of re–

Only to exhale deeply and sigh again when the screams and moans started to fill your ears, coupled with the familiar sound of the bed squeaking. Your walls began to shake – this time more violently – the tremors of your bed making your stuffed toy fall to the ground.

You slump back down onto your bed in defeat, ruffling your hair as you let out a strangled scream tear your throat.

Making a silent promise to deal with your inconsiderate neighbour tomorrow, you tried to fall back asleep, blasting the music one notch higher in hopes of draining out the noise that didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

---

Three short raps on the door.

That was what you did when you went to confront your neighbour, instead of banging down the door and storming in like you envisioned yourself to. The door opened slightly by a crack and you caught a glimpse of blonde hair just before the door swung open fully to reveal the owner of the blonde hair.

The first thing that stood out to you was how pale the young male looked. He had a head of white blonde hair sitting atop of his equally pale face, making him look like Casper the friendly ghost. The wide eyes that stared back at yours initially soon melted into twinkling crescents that regarded you kindly, his pink lips pulling back into a sweet smile that showed off his rows of pearly whites. Now, he looked like a Samoyed, with his white hair serving to enhance the resemblance.

On normal days, you might have stopped to appreciate such a fine young man – but – life had been anything but normal for the past few weeks, especially with the noise level that he was creating at ungodly hours of the night (or day.) Hence, you were not in the mood to ogle at your handsome neighbour, and you simply wanted to tell him off so that he would get the clear hint this time round.

You opened your mouth to say something to the male, but you quickly closed it, gulping thickly afterwards as you were completely unsure of how to put into words what you wanted to say to him. Said male in front of you could clearly see your discomfort from your body language – you were mumming your lips together, your knuckles turning white from your hard grip on your bag strap. Wanting to ease your nervousness, he decided to start the conversation first.

“Hi, is there anything I can help you with…?”

How does one talk about…that…topic to a complete stranger?

You were still angry at him for interrupting your sleep, but the thought of having to breach such an intimate topic to a stranger still was very awkward to you. Your face and neck burst into a bright shade of red as last night’s scene played in your mind, his breathy moans suddenly filling your ears.

Why are you thinking of that Y/N! GET A GRIP!!!

Watching as you engaged in an internal battle with yourself, the male became more worried for you, prompting him to question you once more.

“Miss, are you alright? You look pale, maybe – ”

Hearing his voice snapped you back to your senses and that was when your brain’s word filter suddenly malfunctioned at the critical moment, the words spewing out of your lips before you could hold them back.

“Look here, sir, I’ll get straight to the point. I think it’s great that you’re having a great sex life, but I would appreciate if you wouldn’t put a hole in my wall whilst doing it. While you’re at it, I’d appreciate if you could keep your volume down – or if you can’t – make your room soundproof? Your moans are just keeping me up all night and distracting me from my studies.”

You immediately inhaled deeply once you were done, having made your entire speech in a single breath. You made the mistake of glancing over to the blonde and you jumped back in shock when you saw his facial expression, your hands flying to your chest as you let out a small yelp.

The smiling blonde now looked absolutely petrified – and for a moment – you thought you were staring at a statue. Upon hearing your words, the blonde became frozen stiff, his eyes that were blown wide now stared at you, unmoving, as his pale lips were set in a thin line. Then, the most bizarre thing happened. Starting from the base of his neck, red started to rise up his face, covering every inch of his face. His ears, in particular, appear to be burning red and you had half the mind to actually want to ask him if his ears hurt from – what you assumed – must be searing pain.

However, you didn’t get to ask him your question as both of you turned your attention to the new arrival at the scene, heads snapping to the figure behind him. The new boy regarded both of you from under hooded eyelids, his blonde hair with a strip of blue flopping down like a mop on his head. He wore a pout on his face, his lips looking puffy due to the fact that he looked like he just woke up.

“Jeno-ah, who’s this?”

His question ends with a yawn as he raised his hands above his head to stretch – and that’s when both of you see it.

The action exposed his chest, the top three unbuttoned buttons enhancing the view both you and Jeno had. That’s when you see the evidence of last night’s activities – the purple and blue hickeys littering the expense of his chest, right down to his naval just above the waistband of his pants. Both your eyes grow wide at the sight and everything that happens next happens so quickly that you wonder if the events actually transpired, or it was just a figment of your imagination.

Jeno comes to his sense first, lunging at his friend before slamming the door shut with his foot. From your spot on the opposite side of the wall, you can hear the urgency behind Jeno’s hushed whispers, and the disparate difference in the other’s husky, slow voice.

“Ya Na Jaemin! Why did you come out looking like that!”

“What… it’s no big deal Jeno, you’ve seen me with less articles of clothing before.”

You think you hear Jeno sigh deeply, before the conversation continues again.

“We have a guest Jaemin, in case you didn’t realise.”

“I didn’t know until I came out and saw you by the door, can’t blame me man.”

“Ok that doesn’t matter now, just go change into something more decent or at least button up your shirt next time.”

“Jeno, it is buttoned.”

“Button it up FULLY then. Now go.”

“Awww, sending me away already? But ok I’ll go if you answer my question.”

“Na Jaemin, do not ask – ”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT NOW, GO GET CHANGED!”

You hear Jaemin whine as the sound of his footsteps get further away, before the door is flung open again to reveal a nervous Jeno.

“Hi, I’m terribly sorry about that incident just now. About last night… I’ll… remind him again so… he’ll… keep it down the next time. I’m very sorry about that and I promise it won’t happen again.”

He gives you a bow to convey his sincerest apologies and you hastily mirror it, before the door closes shut in your face again, the sound of running footsteps before a howl of pain travels through the door to reach you.

You stood at your spot unmoving for the next few minutes, trying to process everything that just happened in your mind. After your confused brain was finally able to put together each piece, you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud gasp – for it finally dawned upon you that you had made a grievous mistake.

I just blamed the wrong person.

Fuck.

---

It didn’t help that you kept seeing the blonde around your neighbourhood – Jeno – as you now know him by. It was inevitable considering how both of you lived in the same neighbourhood but you still cursed your terrible luck.

The first time you saw him, you were walking home from the local bread store which was located right beside the gym. Jeno was walking out after having just finished his power lifting session, his head bent down low over his phone screen. You, on the other hand, were counting the change in your hand as you tried to get a proper hold on the bag full of bread. Neither of you were watching where you were going and a collision was inevitable. The impact sent your bread flying along the pavement and Jeno immediately bent down to help you pick it up.

You profusely apologised as the mystery male helped you gather your stray breads, you quickly bending down to aid the process.

“I’m so sorry about that, I should have – ”

“It’s alright, are you hurt?”

Why does this voice sound so familiar…?

Both of you turned to look at the other party right at the right moment and you were sure you must have looked like a fool in front of him because you let out a squeak as your eyes widened to twice their size.

Of all people, why did it have to be you again, you damned Samoyed!!!

Jeno, on the contrary, remained calm as he handed you your bread back, having already put the incident that happened at his doorstep behind him. It was a natural assumption – he had reasoned with himself. He was just extremely understanding by nature – like the angel he was. He gave you a small smile as he handed you the bag with two hands, still awaiting your reply. What he didn’t expect was for you to awkwardly bow slightly after snatching the bag from him before you took down the length of the street, curving sharply to enter the lobby of the apartment.

Jeno watched all of this with a twinkle in his eye, his lips curling up into a playful smirk as he let out a light huff.

She’s adorable when she’s flustered.

That night as you lay down in bed replaying your encounter with Jeno, you slammed your pillow over your face as you tossed and turned in bed, wondering why you always manage to appear so stupid in front of the boy. First, the wrong accusations and second, the bread incident – but perhaps – what you refused to admit was that you were flustered because you thought he looked good in the muscle tee that showed off his well-defined muscles, more so than the fact that you kept embarrassing yourself in front of him.

---

The second time you saw him, it was… agonising… and frustrating. A hand had slipped through the crack of the metallic lift doors, the resulting clang giving you a fright. You press the button to hold the lift open as Jeno squeezes through the slit to stand beside you. You groan inwardly at your horrible luck once more, but you plaster your best customer service smile on your face. You miss it when Jeno smiles to himself as he watches your cute self, his eyes turning into beautiful crescents once again. The typically short elevator ride up to your floor seems excruciatingly slow today, and you tap your fingers against the back of your hand nervously, hoping that the lift would speed up. Meanwhile, Jeno is enjoying every second of this ride, glad that he got to spend some time in your presence. Yet the smile is wiped off his face when the doors open with a ting, the muffled moans of Jaemin reaching his ears. This time, it was Jeno’s turn to glance nervously at you, sure that you had also caught onto the same thing. He had promised you that he would rein in Jaemin, but it was not working out very well. Both of you padded over to your respective doors quietly, and Jeno kept his head down the entire way out of embarrassment. Both of you stalled outside your respective doors, glancing over at each other nervously.

Pointing to his door, Jeno tried to talk, but he ended up stuttering instead.

“I- I- I’m go- go- go- going to ask him to quieten down.”

For the first time, Jeno managed to see a smile on your face and he was absolutely star struck.

“I don’t think you should, lest you want to walk in and see something unpleasant.”

Jeno lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching his nape as he blushed furiously at what you were implying. You gave him a small smile before entering your apartment, leaving Jeno hanging at his doorstop.

Aish this Na Jaemin! Why must he always embarrass me in front of her!

---

The third time you saw Jeno – well – to be exact, it does not count as seeing him coincidentally for he was the one that actively sought you out. Despite the moans still coming from the other side of the wall at 10pm, you heard the unmistakable knock on your door, the heavier sound reaching your ears much better than the moans. A quick peep into the keyhole showed that your mystery visitor was Jeno, and you unlocked the door, wondering what business your neighbour possibly had with you at such an ungodly hour.

“Hi…” – was all Jeno breathed out when he saw you, still not knowing your name having never asked despite the many encounters you had with him.

What an idiot you are Lee Jeno.

You caught on immediately, filling in the details for him.

“Y/N, my name is Y/N.”

“Y/N, hi.”

“Yes…? Is there anything I can help you with…?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to study together? Since… you know…”

He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his home, and your lips form an O in understanding. You stood at your spot for a few moments, contemplating if you should accept the offer from your dashingly handsome neighbour.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to! I just thought that since we both need to study; we could go together… doubt we’ll get anything done with the noise level.”

His eye smile was on display again, and it was hard to say no to the adorable face. Besides, he had a point. Nothing had gone in despite poring over your notes for the past 2 hours, and you were so close to giving up until he knocked on your door.

“Give me 5 minutes, I’ll be right back. There’s a 24-hour café at the neighbouring street, we can head there.”

“O-O- Ok.”

Jeno stammered as you ran back to your room, completely not expecting for you to say yes.

But I don’t mind at all.

---

“This is much better.”

“It is.”

Glancing up from your notes briefly, you caught Jeno’s eyes before flashing him a small smile, one that he reciprocated.

“Hey Y/N…”

“Hmmm?”

“What if we did this more often?”

“Studying together?”, you said, as you pointed to the table.

“Sure, definitely would not mind a study buddy.”

You turned back to face your books, hiding your shy smile between the pages. Jeno, on the other hand, continued to look at you with his twinkling eyes, happy with your response.

If Jaemin’s noise level meant that he could keep seeing you again and again, he’ll gladly let Jaemin keep it up.

[ramimami-blog]

Radical Emotions

Josh and Sam have gotten close since the disappearance of Hannah and Beth, and that makes things complicated for the reader, who has crushed on Josh for as long as she can remember.

A/n: Requested by @fahrenheit39! This is gonna be a miniseries because I like how this turned out. Sorry it took so long!

Warnings: strong emotions, conclusion jumping, and angst. No smut, sorry! This is really sappy. Like... you won’t find a tree as sappy as this fic. 

For so long, all I wanted was to see Josh smile. All I wanted was to see him become playful again. I found myself longing for the days when he would run up behind me and scare the crap out of me, with that smirk on his face and that laugh looming in his throat. 

Time after time, I wanted to forget what happened that night. I wanted to forget splashing water on his face to wake him up from his drunken stupor only to tell him we had to find Hannah and Beth. The look of desperation on his face when he realized the severity of the situation... it still haunts me. I wish I could unsee it.

But now, someone else is making him smile right in front of me. My best friend. Sam. 

I noticed it sooner rather than later, but I almost wish I hadn’t noticed it at all. Josh started hanging out with her, talking to her more. I would often text Sam and ask to hang out to receive that text, that damn text that made me want to scream. ‘I can’t, Josh needs some support.’ 

Support. 

What was that? Support... it had to mean something else. It had to mean more than Sam talking him through what happened, keeping the demons of his mind away, telling him it would be alright. It had to be more. When Josh and Sam were together, it often felt like I was third wheeling, like I was floating around in their orbit, Josh was clearly so deeply into Sam that our friendship didn’t matter anymore.

Was it something I had done? The prank on Hannah, I hadn’t been involved. I had walked away, told everyone how childish it was. Because it was, and look at what it had caused. The rift in our once content circle of friends had become massive.

Josh was a wreck. And it killed me to see it, to see him like that. Even with his meds, he was sad. That grin had less power, his jokes weren’t as funny but I laughed anyway because he was Josh, and Josh was perfect to me. 

Even if he had the stability of a house on a pin needle, he was still Josh and he still made my heart flutter. His eyes still made goosebumps over my skin, his voice made my hair stand up on edge. 

His scent was intoxicating too. Josh smelled like lavender, patchouli, hemp, and musky cologne. Those scents had become my favorite a long time ago, because of him. I found myself diffusing lavender essential oil in my bedroom, burning patchouli sticks, and using hemp-based shampoo just to bask in a taste of what it would be like if he held me. 

I soon realized why he smelled of lavender and patchouli after doing just a minute of research... anxiety, grounding. Those two scents were fantastic for keeping yourself grounded in reality when delusions or anxiety started to boil over. Josh had smelled like this for a long time, he had anxiety for a while. And it made me sad to realize it. 

It was hard to pull myself out of bed. For the first time in years, I turned off my diffuser and stopped the flow of lavender into my senses. It would probably take years to get the scents out of my room, for so long I had kept those smells close to my mind, to my very soul. For so long I drowned myself in lavender patchouli and hemp, how could I get my soul to unlatch from them?

I almost felt sick to my stomach thinking about it. It physically pained me to even fathom losing things that kept me happy. Losing the closeness Josh and I had, had hurt too. But maybe it was time to let go.

When my phone vibrated, it almost startled me, and I was thankful I was already on the toilet. It was a text from Sam. I didn’t even have to read it for my heart to drop to my stomach. Did I want to read it? These days I expected it to be the big announcement... something about her and Josh being official.

Without looking, I held my thumb down on our conversation and deleted it, breathing a sigh of relief into my bathroom mirror... until the group chat buzzed. Sam. 

That had to be it. It had to be the big reveal. I could see it all in my head, how everyone would be happy Josh was coming back to reality, how everyone would congratulate them and anger would boil in me. I didn’t want that yet. Not yet. 

I swallowed hard, blindly thumbing through my phone as I left the group chat, and held the power button on my phone, turning it off... not today. I wasn’t ready for it, I was not ready to watch Josh officially be in love with my best friend.

Avoiding my phone? That was the easiest part of the day. But I couldn’t avoid my mind, that had no applicable power button. There was no delete function on the emotions I had for the flannel-wearing son of a millionaire. 

How I wished there were. I wished it was that simple, easy to pluck him from my brain altogether and go on with my life.

Personal care... that would be the key to surviving that day. I took another deep breath, exhaling again and leaving the bathroom, shutting the door to my bedroom on the way to the living room. I had to avoid my lavender haven, my patchouli paradise like it was the plague if I wanted to keep my emotions calm.

Mentally I made a plan to try new essential oils and replace the filter in the diffuser, and maybe new incense. Perhaps... peppermint? My knowledge of essential oil and incense was very limited aside from... well, the scents Josh gave off. 

I barely knew what to do with myself. I turned the TV on and scrolled through my DVR, and settled on reruns of (tv show), even though it made my heart drop. The last time I had watched this show had been with Sam the night before the trip to the lodge, before everything changed. 

Ignoring the pain in my stomach, I started the show at the beginning of the first season, tossed a blanket over my legs and laid down on the couch. 

-

Bang! Bang! Bang! Ring! Bang! Ring! Ring! 

I jumped hard, startled by the sounds coming from my front door. It was dark now, at some point I had fallen asleep... I didn’t remember which episode I had fallen asleep on, but now my DVR was off, the blue light of the screen saver mocking me in the darkness of the living room as someone banged on my front door and furiously rang my door bell. 

Swallowing hard, I stood up, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders as I approached the door... I could see him through the window, the imprint of flannel and short brown hair.

Josh. 

My eyes closed, as if they were pained by the fact he was there, even though I was confused beyond reason. I had no idea why Josh was on my doorstep. But I couldn’t stand there in the dark and stare at his distorted frame in the window anymore... I had to talk to him, he was right there. 

“I’m coming!” 

Pulling the door open, Josh walked in, making me step back a bit as he turned my hallway light on. His eyes were filled to the brim with worry, scanning me up and down before walking past me and looking into my living room.

“What happened? You yote out of the group chat, and no one heard from you for a solid seven hours...”

I tilted my head, pinching the brim of my nose. “Please stop using ‘yeet’ in the past sense, Josh...”

But it was clear to me that he wasn’t joking, Josh was purely serious as he turned around, his hands moving to rub down his face in frustration. 

“You... you can’t do that. You can’t just disappear and not tell me why,” he scolded, and for some reason it hurt more than I anticipated. “So spill it. What the fuck?” 

I groaned loudly, running my hand through my (y/h/c) hair and trying not to look at him. I could get lost in those eyes, the scent of lavender could draw me back in if I wasn’t careful... I had to avoid him.

“Josh my dad’s gonna flip if he comes home and I have a boy over...”

“Fuck your dad, (y/n)! I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening!”

Shivers ran down my spine in waves, I hadn’t liked hearing Josh yell, it always made me nervous, always told me how serious his issues were but this time... they were my issues he was screaming about, my problems, my inability to handle Josh Washington being in love with my best friend. I could feel the hot tears peaking in my eyes, threatening to spill out and boil over. 

What was I supposed to say? Seconds of silence continued to pass between us, my eyes dropping to the floor. It simply hurt to look at him, to be so close to him. 

Josh began closing the gap between us before I could try to move away, grabbing my face and forcing me to look up at him. I hadn’t seen him so distraught in almost a year, hadn’t seen him so desperate for answers since that fateful night everything changed... I had to tell him. He deserved to know. 

My hands moved upward, grabbing his wrists and yanking his hands off of me, making his jaw drop softly, a look of shock on his face. I decided not to let him wonder why I had done that, and immediately spoke. 

“I can’t handle the anxiety of wondering when you and Sam are gonna come out with it! I figured today was the day, and I shut myself off from all of you.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Come out with what?”

Another groan passed from my lips, was he serious?! Josh had a tendency to be dense but this was more than I was expecting from even him. 

“I’ve seen you two. She’s blown me off so much just to be with you. I’m not stupid and I’m not ready for it, I’m just not!”

Confusion washed over his face, he seemed to be putting together what I said in his mind, mulling it over, and trying to figure out what to say, perhaps how to let me down easy. 

“Why couldn’t you handle Sam and I being together, (y/n)?”‘

I swallowed hard again, and the tears finally spilled from my eyes, hot and heavy, streaming down my face. I sniffled hard and could feel my breathing becoming jagged, the blanket falling from my shoulders as I tossed my hands up in defeat.

I had to tell him. I had to say it so we could move past it.

“Josh... That night... at the lodge, the night Hannah and Beth disappeared...” Could I do it? Could I finish my sentence, could I even say it?... I had to, no going back. “Beth was helping me...” 

“Helping you with what, (y/n)? Just... just come out with it already!”

Josh looked like he was at his wits end with the whole situation, I couldn’t keep him in the dark for a moment longer about how I felt. 

“She was helping me figure out how to tell you I loved you! Three shots in and I chickened out...” 

I watched his face, watched it soften a bit, almost in shock, my most intimate secret on the table to the person it pertained to. Every second felt like literal hours, waiting for him to response, watching as he looked away from me and turned his head to the side, staring at the floor as if he was shocked. 

“Dammit, (y/n)...” Josh cursed my name, sending chills down my spine. “I’m not, I’m not dating Sam, I’m not taking her to the bone zone, I’m not... courting her, whatever you’re thinking we’re doing that’s not it. I’m into someone else.” 

I felt my heart drop to my knees, anxiety releasing itself all over my body, my chest swelling with heart palpitations. What was I supposed to say to that? How was I supposed to handle it? At least... it wasn’t Sam. That fact did make me breathe a sigh of relief.

“Well whoever she is... she’s--”

“You. She’s you.”

[shamelessinnerbeast]

// I don’t post stuff I write usually here but I needed to train my english and it is linked to the doodles I’m posting these days so here is a little quick fic XP As I stated, absolutely NO shipping in this AU, especially with Damon - I really want to keep this clear as what I think is beautiful is the fact their relationship was truly pure in its own way. //

One single sentence on the phone screen that lighted up and flickered.

« He is dead. »

No need to ask for a name. It wasn't like Chloe really had anyone else, especially a man, besides him in her life. It had been two years already. Two years since they had met. Damon and Chloe. And it was all because of him partially ; Frank felt responsible. Guilty would be a more accurate word actually.

Two years following his orders, working for him. While she was just a 16-year-old kid back then. A hard teacher, a father, since David was not good enough, was even hated by her. Damon or the glorification of evil, of the anger and the aggressiveness that consumed Chloe since William's death.  

He had presented her a choice and she had made it. At least, Frank was not to blame this time. How many times had he tried to dissuade her ? Always in vain. She had stuck with Damon. Looking more and more like him, getting dangerously closer and closer to him regarding her mentality and her morals.

Over time, Damon had become the father she had been expecting since William's accident ; now that he was dead too, probably brutally killed in addition considering the kind of life he led, Chloe was certainly utterly destroyed right now. He texted her back urgently.

« Are you safe ? Where are you ? I'll be over there as fast as I can. »

He was now afraid she'd do something very, extremely stupid. He waited. One minute that seemed endless to him.

No reply.

Nothing.

Frank started the RV. Last he heard, they were living in some mobile home ; a completely obsolete place but at least they could each have their own room.

Chloe had thrown the phone away, instantly regretting that she had sent a message to Frank. They used to be some kind of pals... perhaps ? But Frank had never approved her decision to accept Damon's « training », her will to be his legacy maybe even ? To get rid of her fears, to become independent and strong like him. And lonely too.

Lonely. Truly lonely. Now she was.

She had taken his hand and placed it on the top of her head.

Wake up ! Wake up !

Futile.

You know Death, Chloe. It takes and never gives back. You know it. You know how it works.

Red swollen blue eyes that had shed so many tears they were now completely dry and started to sting went slowly up to stare at the bloody torso, pierced with several bullets. They kept traveling up until they found the inanimate face. Blood leaking down the scarred lower lip down onto the beard.

A violent pain constricted her heart and her lungs felt like they had been put on fire again immediately. Hardly swallowing the terrible lump obstructing her throat, she succeeded to stand up. Despite her legs, those stupidly skinny legs, that felt like jelly right now. Without the blood smeared on his face and his jacket, he could have nearly seemed simply sleeping. Chloe's eyes closed as she tried to breathe, her entrails twisting painfully.

Barely breathing, barely living. She felt like the whole world had crashed upon her and she was buried beneath, not even struggling right now to break free. Too numb. Too stunned. But the faint hope this was all just a nightmare was slowly fading away.

Once again, losing a father. At least, she could bid farewell to this one. There wouldn't be anyone else besides her to mourn him anyway. The hurt would turn to anger and to hate. Chloe wasn't of those who retreated into a room, turned off the lights and remained there, trying to cope with whatever they were going through. She had to take action.

Gathering her strength, she tried to get that 180 lbs man out of the seat he had been shot sitting on and began to drag him towards the door she kicked open.

- Always been a heavy guy right Damon ? She tried to grin but failed at it miserably, and her face contorted in pain and sorrow again, while her gloomy sorrowful gaze drifted away, away from the corpse she succeeded to take outside, thanks to her determined repeated efforts.

It was raining. A pouring rain that soaked her to the bone in no time. Like the night she was born. So his face wouldn't get too soiled, she slid hers arms under his armpits and, from there, she managed to drag him to the border of the woods. Slipping in the mud, the grass drowning in the water. She found herself surprisingly still crying ; she just hadn't even noticed it yet with all this damned rain falling upon her.

At some point, while she hadn't reached the desired spot yet, her strength seemed to give up on her and she stumbled, falling to her knees. Mud and blood splattered on her face and clothes, Chloe found herself staring at the dead body, completely still, as cold as it.

- You had to die too... You !.. You... I thought... you were stronger than anyone... I thought nobody could ever kill you... But you too had to... die...

He was not leaving her and she could understand it today, while she couldn't with William. Too young, too angry, a loss too sudden and unexpected. But Damon... As Frank would certainly say it, Damon had it coming.

Brutally shaken by violent erratic sobs, she crumbled near the cadaver. The contact with the icy cold mud and water mixed together somehow calmed her a little, even soothing the pain she still felt wherever she had received blows last night. Damon and her had gotten into some pretty serious trouble with an aspiring drug dealer ; competition was not acceptable.

Her cries decreased until she fell completely silent, still not moving a muscle though. Just lying there on the ground, under the rain, watching the inexpressive bloody face of her boss.

From far away, dizzy as she was, numb to the cold and to the pain, she heard an engine noise. Frank ? She remembered texting him. He knew better than to come near while she was in such a pitiful state for sure. She knew he knew her well enough to keep his distance and wait for her in the mobile home.

It was time. Chloe closed her eyes. Squeezed them shut. Tight. Like her jaws were clenched and she took Damon's hand in her, squeezing it even tighter.

Goodbye.

Opening her eyes, to contemplate the dearest face. This mad dog look. Put to sleep now.

- I'll miss you.

Every single fucking day. I already do.

- They'll pay for what they've done. This is my promise.

It took her so long to bury him properly. Deep enough. So the animals wouldn't dig him up to tear him apart. Even if the earth was soft that night. After several hours, she finally returned inside. It wasn't raining anymore.

When Frank saw her, the sight shocked him. He hadn't seen her for like two months and she looked awful. Bruises all over her arms and her face. Wounded lip. All bloody. And muddy. 

But it wasn't about it, it was about the way she looked at him. With empty eyes, expressionless, like all her energy, her enthusiasm had been drained out of her. She looked jaded. Terribly awfully jaded and tired, way too tired for a 18-year-old young woman.

He respected her wish not to utter a single word, not immediately at least. She didn't even look at him ; she went to the counter and filled a glass with whisky, drank it in one go and, out of the blue, buried her face in some large rag. To muffle a scream of rage followed by a succession of quick violent gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

When she finally emerged from it, she breathed deeply, inhaling, exhaling. She was really trying to get over it, to collect herself, but it was still too fresh and it just all kept coming back to her. The pain of discovering him. The pain of knowing all of this was real. She needed to lash out.

In a flash, she grabbed her baseball-bat she had always kept and started smashing everything indistinctively, destroying the fridge, the microwave, the shelves, the TV. Everything. Until Frank was quick enough to grab her arm and stop her. The baseball bat rolled onto the floor ; she let go of it, as he contained her. This bony ball of furor.

- You need this place... You don't want to go back to your mom right ?

After a long minute of silence, she spat bitterly a harsh « no ». Another glass filled and emptied right away. At least, the worst was behind them now.

- Huh... Sorry for your... partner.

- I know what you mean by that and it disgusts me. Why does it have to always come to this ? She retorted curtly, her voice acidic as if she was spitting venom.

Now this was embarrassing ; he should have asked before but he had never dared.

- You two lived together and I know you and I knew him...

- Sounds like in fact you didn't know any of us that well.

She let out an exasperated sigh.

- Still, thanks... I fucking guess.

Frank hardly swallowed. He was walking on eggshells around her today, more than ever. Before she changed, he didn’t give a shit about the words he used, about the fact she could get mad at him... but the Chloe facing him right now could have blown his brains all over the counter in a fit of anger, then regretted it probably, but he still would have been dead anyway. Plus, she was completely on edge right now.

- Heard your friend's back in town.

- Oh do you mean the friend who just completely ignored me, my calls, my messages for years ? Fuck her, she growled lowly, the suffering still there though. Anyway, got better things to do. The bastards who did this to Damon have to pay and only me can make it happen.

Oh shit...

That was definitely not what Frank had been hoping to hear from her. Damon's death, it seemed, hadn’t knocked some sense into her. It just did the opposite.

- You don't have any idea what you’re talking about ! Damon had many, many enemies. Fucking tough guys. People who have influence, who have money.

- I won't let them kill me ! She protested vehemently, shooting daggers at him with those bright icy blue eyes of hers. Everything Damon taught me was for this moment. It all makes sense at last.

- Chloe... Damon is dead. Take it as an opportunity to start a new life. A sane one.

- You don't understand... You don't... not at all... she muttered, shaking her head hanging low, her tone suddenly flat, monotone ; but, all of a sudden, she lifted her head again and yelled, or rather roared : First, I lost William ! And now... Now, they took Damon from me ! I don't care who they are, how rich they are ! How many men I'll have to slay to get to them ! I will find them and I will kill them. All of them !

Her pale blue eyes welling up again, she screamed, breathless, her voice fragile, breaking, throaty :

- I know what you think... You think he's not worth it. You think he's not worth it because he was what they call a bad man ! I can't argue ! He was no saint ! But he never let me down and I loved him ! He was like a father to me !... And I don't care what he did. In my eyes, he was always right. 

Even when what he could do was cruel and so wrong.

- Whatever you're going to do is not gonna bring him back but it can send you six feet under the fucking ground with him very fast ! That's what I fuckin' think Chloe ! You're 18 !

- And I am ready to die for a cause I believe in.

- Chloe seriously just think about...

- Get out.

- This is a one-way ticket... You realize that ?

Once you start running wild seeking revenge, it is easy to get lost. And it won't bring you any peace.

As Frank didn't budge right away, she pulled out a knife stuck in a wood-table and yelled at the top of her lungs :

- I said... GET OUT !!!

I have so much to do now.

[lightningenergy]

@lightningenergy and @codyscommandpost proudly present:

Operation Cloudburst, a Pokémon Fan-Fiction

Disclaimer: Pokémon is copyright its original owners. The authors only own the plot and original characters. Any representation of real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental unless it makes a damn good reference.

Shout-outs to my “little sister” @princessofhoenn for beta-reading this chapter! :)

Chapter 9 - “A Jewel in the Rough! The Gorgeous Oasis, Phenac City!”

Having applied a Revive and Hyper Potion to Wartortle, May withdrew it back into the safety of its Poké Ball. She should’ve put more thought into combatting that Tyranitar: she had surrendered herself into rage and her Pokémon suffered for it. Deep down May knew that Wartortle wouldn’t hold the loss against her — that just wasn’t its personality — but the burden of guilt was certainly going to gnaw away at her for days to come.

Her legs groaning their disapproval as she stood up, May brushed off as much dirt as she could. The cut on her forehead was still throbbing (she would have to get it bandaged), but other than that she wasn’t physically injured as terribly as she was emotionally. At least, she thought, it would be easier to conceal the latter than the former, which was a minute comfort.

Manya probably wouldn’t be pleased with me hiding that, May realized. The other girl offered a much-appreciated emotional outlet, of course… who, then, would comfort the comforter when it all became too much?

These thoughts drifted with the wind as May walked. Each step forward was an exhausting effort, yet she could not perceive the solid ground beneath her feet. Her brain automatically guided her towards the smoldering wreckage of the Snagem Hideout, and her body trudged along without complaint. The already bleak desert scenery blurred from view, becoming even more nondescript.

May subconsciously glanced up at the pillar of smoke wafting from the explosion sight. It had thinned somewhat, though its sooty color remained a blight against the mid-morning sky. Bits of rubble were gradually appearing along the landscape: shards of glass, metal beams twisted out of shape, singed and blackened chairs… May’s stomach shrunk at the thought of finding any disembodied limbs on the ground.

The debris thickened as May approached the hideout’s entrance, a synthetic maw that looked as though it had been hewn from the very canyon walls. Scorch marks stretched from the lone doorway from which the smoke was drifting, and the air burned with the bitter stench of explosives.

Manya was standing a few feet away from the doorway, directing her Solrock as it manipulated a girder with Psychic. The Meteorite Pokémon’s eyes shone a bright blue and the girder was lowered to the ground, which coughed up a fresh cloud of dust as the steel beam landed with a loud clunk.

Manya gave Solrock a gentle pat as it lowered down towards her level. “Good job, Solrock. You just let me know if you’re feeling overworked, okay?”

Solrock tilted forward in a nodding motion before turning back to clear the way. Manya’s dirt-stained face broke into a weary smile as May advancing towards her. “The shrimp and sleuth are inside,” she reported. “We found a few survivors, but they scampered off before we could do anything else.”

May nodded, her throat drying at the mention of “survivors”. There were some casualties after all… she unconsciously rubbed her eyes and felt her shoulders drop. People have died because of me. The thought sliced through her brain, shattering her confidence. I might as well have triggered the bomb…

Manya seemed to know what May was thinking, for she said, “Don’t go beating yourself over this. I know it’s frustrating but if you ask me I know this isn’t your fault. I think Abyss woulda blown this place up regardless if you were here or not.”

“I could have prevented this,” May mumbled, finding it easier to concentrate on her boots rather than Manya’s face. “I could’ve saved them…”

“How would you have known?” Manya asked, her voice firm yet unaggressive, hands on her hips. “You’re not a fortune teller, May… this was out of your control.”

May nodded again, though privately she reflected on their previous musings on approaching Snagem themselves and cursed herself for not taking charge yesterday. She was jolted out of this rumination by Manya placing a hand onto her shoulder, and suddenly found herself looking into her friend’s lilac eyes.

“Listen to me,” Manya said, her brow narrowed to the most minimal degree. “This. Was. Not. Your. Fault. You, me, Looker… even the brat… we’re human. We’re not omnipotent. Shit happens, y’know?”

May gazed into Manya’s eyes, simultaneously awed and ashamed of the faith Manya was displaying. She knew that Manya was right: they were only fifteen, and perhaps they would’ve been caught off-guard even if they were fifty. But the fact remained that people — even if they were bad guys — had lost their lives today.

May sighed and dropped her head onto Manya’s shoulder. She had been awake for not even three hours now but already wished to drift back into the dark void of sleep. I can’t let this get to me, she found herself thinking as Manya softly caressed her hair. I must keep going… I’ll make Abyss pay for this. I will stop them… even if I burn to cinders.

The holographic map caused her eyes to water but May refused to look away. She wanted to engrave the locales of Orre into every fold and crevice of her brain, an idea that sprouted from the desire to be worried over one less concern. Looker stood with her, having explained that he had been briefed on the geography for his mission. He had begun by pointing out where she had already been: Gateon Port on the western shore and jumping east before settling at their current location on the edge of Eclo Canyon.

“What’s this?” A city resting at the southern edge caught May’s attention. The icon on the Snag Machine’s map suggested the image of a secluded island or a wading pool, though she couldn’t imagine water existing in a remote area.

Looker followed her gaze. “That is Phenac City. It was, I believe, one of the first settlements in Orre: the city’s founder managed to draw water from underground.”

“Hm,” said May. The mention of water caused her mind to drift away into daydreams of lowering herself into a deep, wide pool. After enduring the searing heat, being able to swim in cooled water had become a far-off fantasy. The notion of running for Phenac City was incredibly tempting: it did lie directly south of the Libra, after all… but once she thought about it, beelining for Phenac just to refresh herself was an awfully greedy motive.

Manya and Smidge entered the Libra, both sweaty and sporting dark circles under their eyes. Smidge plopped straight down onto the ground, while Manya staggered over to drape an arm around May’s shoulder.

“We searched as best we could,” she reported, her voice sounding much more active than she looked. “But we couldn’t find anyone else… it looked like Abyss’ bomb was rather powerful, everything was either burned, melted, or outright broken. Ooh,” she said, catching sight of the map. “Are we going to Phenac?”

“If there’s good reason to,” May replied. She secretly hoped there was, if only to experience indoor plumbing again and get herself into a shower. “What do you know about it?”

“Well, it’s pretty lively, and rightly so with all the water they’ve got,” Manya explained. “And very low crime rates, too, especially lately…”

Smidge exhaled a noise of dissent through his nose but Manya pretended not to have heard as she continued. “Got themselves a Gym or something, too.”

“I am of the opinion that we should not be attempting to earn Badges,” said Looker plainly. “Instead, my thought is that Phenac’s lack of villainy should provide an opportunity to rejoin civilization and gather information.”

“If they’ll let us clean up, I’m all for it,” May said, deciding that she couldn’t hide her motivation anymore. She tapped the Snag Machine’s screen and the map flickered away. “Manya, if you’re up for taking us there —”

Manya was already preparing Miss Birdie for the trip. “It’ll be a tight fit, but you should all be able to ride aboard easily enough.” She flashed a sinister grin over at Smidge. “Feel free to toss the shrimp overboard to stretch your legs.”

“I’ll stretch that big mouth o’ yours, blondie, if you keep draggin’ me.”

“Be glad it’s only verbally for now.”

“Knock it off, guys,” May cut in flatly. As awkward as the thought was, she couldn’t help but reflect on how much Manya and Smidge’s taunting reminded her of Ash and Misty. She spent most of the trip south wondering if anything ever happened between her two friends, and if not, how she could assist them along the way.

The sound of rushing water greeted them after Manya shut off her motorbike’s engine. Tan walls curved around the city, however, perhaps to shield travelers from the sunlight reflecting off the water as they approached. True to Manya’s description, several people were making their way either to or from Phenac through the wide archways carved through the walls. May inhaled and could practically taste the water on the roof of her mouth. The sensation was surprising, though gratefully received.

Lush fronds of palm trees swayed in the moisture-carrying breeze, and May couldn’t help but imagine that the temperature had dropped several degrees once they had entered Phenac’s boundaries. A large fountain churned water about in the main plaza, in front of which stood a tall man in a suit conversing with a smaller man with a bow tie.

“… really think this could work,” the suited man was saying, his voice growing clearer as May and her group walked by. “I’m fully prepared to fund as much as necessary.”

“That’s very generous, Your Honor,” the second man answered. His reedy voice nonetheless reflected the gratitude he was experiencing. “I’ll draw up plans immediately…”

May focused on the city boundary again. She had only just noticed the water flowing atop the wall like an aqueduct. She was wondering what practical use that had when the tall man’s voice shattered her imagination.

“Welcome to Phenac!” he said, looking around at them. His neatly-trimmed beard shifted as he smiled and pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses slightly. He extended out a hand. “I’m Mayor Trest.”

They each gripped his hand in turn, and May found herself wondering about the genuineness of the warmth in Trest’s eyes. Fate would be a cruel bitch indeed if he turned out to be evil all along. Her sight flickered over to the second man, who adjusted his bowtie before staring around at them all.

“Oh, pardon me,” Trest had noticed May’s line of sight and gestured over to his companion. “This brilliant young man is Caecus. He’s brought up a wonderful proposal… would you like to explain?”

Caecus nodded and cleared his throat. His thin, light hair fluttered about in the dry breeze that swept by. “Phenac’s experienced tremendous success thanks to its waterway system. I believe it is imperative that other areas in Orre should construct the same.”

“Bringing water to a desert? Whoda thought? Ouch!” Smidge’s sarcastic comment was reprimanded by Manya putting him into a chokehold.

“That sounds wonderful,” Manya told Caecus, ignoring Smidge’s efforts to pry himself free from her grip. “I hope it works out!”

“I have an inquiry,” added Looker. “My current understanding is such that dropping large quantities of water in an arid environment introduces catastrophic results.”

May, Manya, and Smidge all stared at Looker in minor disbelief, though Caecus beamed. “Indeed!” he said, delighted. “Desert soil can’t absorb all that moisture at once, you see; disastrous flooding occurs. Instead, we shall be taking the cautious route and gradually introduce water. In this way, we can minimize the negative effects.”

Looker nodded satisfactorily. “His Honor has selected the appropriate man for the occupation.”

“They sound alike, don’t they?” May whispered to Manya, who smiled.

“Phanec’s the first city in Orre to implement Caecus’ blueprint.” Trest interjected, clapping a hand on the scientist’s shoulder. “The hope is for other areas to follow suit once they realize how successful this shall become.”

“Fair warning, Your Honor,” Caecus said with the barest hint of a smile. “This is still rather experimental… I’d rather not have my funding revoked should something happen…”

“Come now, my good man,” Trest grinned broadly and thumped Caecus on the back. “You can’t walk through life without stumbling a few times!”

May ruminated on that remark. Perhaps, despite even all her concern and anxiety, she had been attacking this issue too hastily. Yes, she was exercising caution (much to Smidge’s displeasure), but what if that hesitation was born from desiring perfection? Had she really been expecting everything to resolve without a problem lurking behind every corner? A scene of Max throwing a tantrum over a school assignment flashed in her mind’s eye, and May was forced to admit that she inherited something from her father after all.

“On that note,” continued Trest, and May looked up to see him gazing around at them. “It looks like you’ve been stumbling around quite a bit.”

May found herself agreeing. After all the traveling, Manya, Smidge, and Looker were all covered with dust and sand. She knew she couldn’t be much better: her gloves were no longer pristinely white, and her stockings bore rips and tears. While Manya did bandage the cut on her forehead, they had forgotten to clean off the blood around the wound.

“My dearest apologizes, Your Honor,” stammered Looker as he frantically began to brush off his coat. “We have not established plumbing at our, ah, main location…”

“That just won’t do.” Trest shook his head before smiling. “Well, I was already going to invite Caecus over for lunch, but I’d like the extend the invitation to you as well! As well as use of my shower, as needed.”

“If this guy turns out to be evil I’m gonna hate myself,” May muttered to Manya before speaking to Trest. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Trest smiled around them all and gestured towards a house on the city’s upper level. Caecus led the way, with May’s group following and Trest at their heels. The sun beat down upon them, evaporating the cool water into the air into a pleasant sort of humidity. Caecus held open the door and they filed in. An air conditioner was running somewhere in the house: the chill was discomforting but preferable to the heat outside.

Smidge plopped down on a couch, edging away from Looker as the agent took the spot next to him. Caecus sat in an armchair, shifting uncomfortably as though the sudden company had unnerved him. Manya and May sat on the floor: the former upright supported by her arms, the latter lying flat on her stomach. Even the scratchy carpet felt cold and relaxing.

“Bless my wife, she made extras.” chortled Trent as he reentered the living room. “I’m glad to see you’ve all made yourselves comfortable. Miss May, is it?”

May turned over onto her back, staring at him. Her heart jumped: as far as she was aware, no one had brought up her name within Trest’s vicinity. Had she been right and led them into a trap?

Trest noticed her confusion and clarified, “I keep in touch with Lily and Professor Krane. Phenac was conquered a few years ago by some hooligans, so I thought it best to keep the brightest and noblest minds in Orre at my side.”

May nodded weakly and reversed onto her stomach again, which was now squirming. Sweat trickled down her arms and she wondered if that was from the heat or the sudden dose of panic and shock.

“Anyways,” Trest continued. “My wife suggested that I allow you to clean up, which I’m sure you’d like. Our bathroom’s upstairs on the left.”

May nodded again. A shower would certainly revitalize her, but laziness had come to the fore. Any motivation was entirely drained, and she felt perfectly content to just close her eyes and drift away into bliss. Yet a meal loomed, and May was never one to avoid food… Screw it, she thought. Food first, shower and coma later.

Trest’s wife’s area of cooking expertise turned out to be comfort food. The dining room table was laden with thick, hearty dishes. Powerful yet soothing aromas wafted throughout the house, quickly luring May into a chair.

She spent all of dinner eating rather than talking, piling her plate with triple servings of mashed potatoes, bread rolls, and a very filling macaroni-and-cheese casserole. The others’ conversations drifted over her head, and she resolutely ignored Smidge’s snide comments about her eating habits.

Looker offered to assist with the dishes, so May trudged upstairs to the guest room. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t feel weighed down: her stomach with food, her brain with worry, and her eyes with exhaustion. She dropped her bag and shoes to the floor before collapsing onto the only bed in the room, everything instantly melting away into blissful sleep.

Her eyes snapped open hours later. The small alarm clock on the nightstand flashed the time: a little after three in the morning. Something shuffled next to her, and May looked to see Manya curled up under the blankets, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Quietly and gently, May slid off the mattress.

The house was utterly silent and colored inky-gray. Taking care not to step on any creaky floorboards, May snuck downstairs and sat herself in front of the video phone in the living room. She picked up the receiver and began to dial, hoping that Hoenn and Orre didn’t share time zones.

Her call was answered on the third ring, and the screen burst to life, revealing May’s mother Caroline on the other end. “Well, hello, May! This is a surprise!”

May would probably never admit it, but the sight of her mother’s smiling face brought forth a surge of relief. “Hey, mom. Hope I didn’t catch you a bad time.”

“Oh, not at all!” Caroline assured her. “I was just having my coffee when I heard the phone ring.”

May nodded, eyes flickering to the sunlight drifting through the window behind Caroline. “That’s good. It’s early morning here, and I didn’t know…” her voice trailed off and she had to shake herself clear. “Anyways, I thought I’d say hello.”

“That’s very sweet, dear,” smiled Caroline before sipping her coffee. “Norman told me you had another big adventure waiting. I told him that you’re practically a grown woman by now and this shouldn’t be a surprise!”

May smiled and nodded, making a mental note to never disclose this excursion to her mother. “Yeah, something just came up, that’s all. It’s not like I was running away from you guys or anything.”

Caroline was staring back at her with a curious expression on her face. “May, dear,” she said, her voice thick with motherly concern. “Are you doing alright?”

“I —”

Her mother’s question had caught her off-guard. She thought she concealed her mood well enough, but just enough had slipped through the cracks for Caroline to notice. May turned away from the monitor, as loud of an admission of guilt as her speaking aloud.

“I’m just hitting a few road blocks,” May continued. Ones that continually try to murder me, she added mentally. “So I’ve been a little discouraged…”

If Caroline believed this answer unsatisfactory, she didn’t say so. Instead she set down her mug and gripped the receiver with both hands. “May, I’m going to tell you something your grandfather once told me: if you’re running into enemies, you’re headed in the right direction.”

May stared at her mother’s face and said nothing.

“I know that everyone — especially Trainers — can find themselves in difficult situations. But you’re my daughter, and I know that you aren’t someone to let that stop you. I mean, when you started your journey five years ago you only wanted to travel, and now you’re a celebrated Coordinator!”

May rubbed the tears out of her eyes, trying to play it off as a yawn. “Thanks, mom. I know you’d root for me.”

“Forever and always,” Caroline beamed. “Don’t let anyone stop you, honey. You’ve got the passion and drive to bowl over anyone who stands in your way!”

May nodded again, but with sincerity behind the gesture. Caroline’s words had improved her spirit somewhat, and her chest burned with determination to return to Petalburg in one piece. “You know it, mom. I’m gonna get back to sleep…”

“Rest up, dear. A rested woman’s a beautiful woman!”

May waved as the screen turned off before hanging up the receiver. A remarkable sense of calm washed over her as she ascended the stairs. She had to hand it to her mother: she knew just the right things to say without knowing all the details (not that May would’ve told her).

May climbed back into bed without disturbing Manya. After settling into a comfortable position, she closed her eyes and allowed the gentle rhythm of her friend’s breathing to lull her back to sleep.

Trest’s wife whipped up another generously large meal for breakfast. Once again May neglected conversation, directing her attention towards numerous helpings of pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages, toast, and juice. A ceiling fan whirled overhead, cooling the six people around the table from Orre’s harsh morning sunlight.

Trest’s eyes were lowered upon the daily newspaper while his wife nudged him every so often as a reminder to eat the food sitting on his plate. Manya, sitting beside May, drizzled syrup on her fifteen-high pancake stack. Looker and Smidge, meanwhile, dissolved into an argument over the boy not drinking a glass of milk.

“I ain’t drinkin’ nothing that came from a cow!” Smidge growled, eyes blazing with dislike.

“Miltank milk is highly nutritious!” Looker countered. He picked up the glass bottle from the table and held it in front of Smidge’s face. “With a luxurious, creamy taste that leaves you satisfied –”

“Shove off, ya old fart! It’s gross and nothin’ will get me ta drink it!”

May shook her head as she took another bite of toast. She possessed little intention to intervene and was in fact rather grateful for Looker attempting to order Smidge around.

“Any more, dear?” Trest’s wife inquired as May drained her glass.

“No, thank you,” she replied with a thin smile. “But it was all delicious.” She stacked up her empty dishes and set them in the sink. “I, er… hope I didn’t eat too much.”

“With how little my husband tends to eat, I welcome the change.” Trest’s wife simpered, nudging Trest playfully with her elbow.

May went upstairs, slipped on her boots and bag, and stepped out of the house. Ignoring the bombardment of eighty-degree heat, she began making her way towards the center of town. Hardly anyone else was out, aside from a jogger being chased by his Castform. Though given this heat I’m not surprised.

She continued walking until she reached a plain, rounded building. It caught her eye yesterday but there hadn’t been an opportunity to visit until now. Nothing about the building stood out aside from carvings above the entrance that read “Prestige Precept Center”. How curious that a region without a Pokémon League would have something very much resembling a Gym…

May gazed at the writing for a while until a voice spoke, causing her to jump.

“I was curious as to where you had disappeared.” Looker frowned concernedly down at her, arms folded.

“I’m not running off, if that’s what you mean,” May replied evenly.

Looker shook his head. “From what your magical companion was revealed to me, you have accomplished a great of deal of things. Dashing away would not cohere to that.”

“I just said I’m not.” May spun on her heel before Looker could answer, stepped up to the PreGym door, and pulled it open.

Cold air rushed onto her face as she looked around. The building was a single room, with a battlefield taking up most of the space in the center. A chalkboard, a table, and some chairs stood to the left; on the right sat a large half-circle control panel. Other than herself and Looker (following her inside), May noticed that no one seemed to be around.

A mechanical grinding noise caught her attention: turning towards the source May spotted an elevator against the back wall. The doors slid open and a young man stepped out. His sharp face and just-unkept-enough fuchsia hair made him resemble a hypothetical older brother of May’s Contest rival, Drew.

“Hello there!” he called as he started walking across the room. “Welcome to my Pre Gym!”

“This is a Gym…?” May found herself asking aloud.

“Pre Gym,” the young man pressed with a smile. “Not that Orre has any actual Gyms… oh, excuse me! Where are my manners? I’m Justy, and I run this place. Are you interested in a battle…?”

The uncomfortable memory of her last battle jumped past May’s eyes. “Er… maybe,” she answered, hoping her stomach’s aching wasn’t discernable in her voice. “I was just curious about this place…”

Justy’s smile remained undeterred. “You’re not imposing or anything! You took the effort to poke your head in, so why not? After all, battling is a good way to learn about one another!”

His insistent enthusiasm was a disconcerting similarity to Ash and Brendan. May rubbed her forehead in attempt to dispel the twinge of pain that had surfaced. Part of her did want to accept the challenge, to vent her frustrations; the other half looked to withdraw and shut herself away.

“I request your pardon,” said Looker after sparing a glance at May. “But I am thinking that your challenge shall have to be postponed —”

“I accept.” May interjected.

Justy beamed and motioned for May to follow him up to the arena. Looker stared at her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, which only fueled her irritation.

“I don’t need you speaking for me,” she grunted, and stomped onto the battlefield without waiting for a response. She was old enough to do as she pleased, thank you very much, frustrations and anxiety be damned. What did Looker know, anyways? He didn’t seem to use — or own, for that matter — any Pokémon himself…

“We prefer Double Battles here in Orre,” Justy told May from across the battlefield. “Is that alright with you?”

May almost shrugged but decided it was politer to nod. Justy returned the gesture and revealed his Pokémon first: a spiny Sandslash and a prickly Cacnea. After brief deliberation, May sent out Blaziken and Venusaur. It might have appeared like overkill, but she wasn’t going to lose another match if she could help it.

Blaziken rushed towards Sandslash, which fired off an array of star-shaped projectiles in response. Blaziken swerved away into Cacnea, countering the Cactus Pokémon’s attempted Needle Arm with Fire Punch. The dodged Swift attack flew towards Venusaur: a powerful stream of Razor Leaf nullified the attack. May expected the Grass move to hit Sandslash, but it had burrowed under the arena.

Cacnea tumbled along the ground from Blaziken’s punch before righting itself. It took aim at its attacker, launching small seeds from its arm. May recognized the Leech Seed and had Blaziken leap away. Unfortunately, Sandslash chose that moment to spring out and collide into Blaziken, its spines digging into the Blaze Pokémon’s back. Venusaur quickly ensnared its partner with vines, yanking it away to safety.

“You’ve got some good Pokémon there!” complimented Justy. “Looks like we can’t let our guard down!”

May allowed herself a small smile. She might not accept praise towards herself now, but commendation towards her Pokémon was certainly welcome. Emerging victorious from this battle (as non-threatening as it was) would do wonders for her self-esteem. Though something about Justy’s Pokémon choices made her suspicious: she had a nagging feeling that they shared some sort of attribute that would be troublesome.

She was, to her displeasure, correct. Sandslash whipped up a sandstorm, obstructing itself and Cacnea from view. May swore under her breath: Tyranitar had given her enough trouble with this strategy. It certainly wasn’t much easier now, given both Sandslash and Cacnea had an Ability called Sand Veil, increasing their evasiveness during a sandstorm.

For a moment May berated herself for not having Skitty on hand. A Blizzard attack might have the power to disperse the swirling sand… not that Skitty would have any better luck against Tyranitar as Wartortle did. If Justy’s Pokémon attacked up-close, she could play the advantage of her Pokémon’s superior power by retaliating at the right moment.

Unless Justy played it cautiously and kept his distance, which he seemed to be doing. Blaziken and Venusaur backed into each other, wary of when and where their opponents would appear. Venusaur’s petals fluttered in the sand, and an idea came to her. She wouldn’t pull it off just yet: she’d save it for the climax.

Sandslash erupted from the ground underneath Blaziken, knocking it back. Sandslash raised its claws, which glinted in the Pre Gym’s florescent lighting. Blaziken recovered quickly to interrupt the Crush Claw with Flamethrower, utilizing Venusaur’s bulk to brace against the attack’s thrust. The Seed Pokémon, meanwhile, battered away Cacnea’s Pin Missile with a flurry of vine tethers.

May’s temper suddenly flared without explanation. The battle was only a few minutes in, yet the urge to demolish her opponent consumed her. Some part of her brain told her that a demonstration of overwhelming power would prove herself: not only to Justy but to Looker and Smidge as well. She had entered two Grand Festivals after all, so her skills and ability weren’t to be mocked.

Patience, May told herself. Patience… I know my plan will work… Perhaps overconfidence had gotten the better of her yesterday. Being self-assured was fine, but a swollen head prevented clear thinking. With that in mind, she thought hard and added some contingencies to her plan, just in case.

Sandslash and Cacnea retreated into the billowing sand again. Justy’s vigilance was admirable, she thought, motioning for Blaziken to crouch behind Venusaur. He may have summoned the sandstorm, but she could take advantage of it, too. “Go for it, Venusaur.”

Venusaur lazily swayed to and fro, a sweet, mellow scent emanating from its massive flower. Visible as a thin, pink mist, the aroma merged with the sandstorm and drifted throughout the arena. Infatuated with the intoxicating odor, Sandslash and Cacnea re-emerged from their cover.

Quick as a flash, Venusaur ensnared them both with Vine Whip. The opposing Pokémon barely struggled: the Sweet Scent commanded all of their attention. At May’s signal, Blaziken leapt up, its leg alight in flames. Venusaur held their foes close together, allowing Blaziken to descend and clobber both with twin Blaze Kicks. Cacnea succumbed instantly, so Venusaur released it unceremoniously onto the floor. Sandslash still had a bit of HP left, though that was rectified with Venusaur tossing it against the closest wall.

“Holy cow!” said Justy amidst nervous laughter. The sandstorm dissolved into nothingness, the battle having ended. “You’re a clever one!”

May suppressed a smile. “I apologize,” she said, unconsciously rubbing her upper arm. “I think we were too aggressive there.”

“It’s alright.” Justy recalled his Pokémon. “I had a lot of fun, and I’d be ashamed if you were holding back on me!”

His cheerfulness remained marginally unnerving. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She returned Blaziken and Venusaur to their Poké Balls before stepping out of the arena, taking care not to meet Justy’s beaming expression. Looker was still frowning at her, which she ignored. Her current mood aside, the battle helped lift her confidence as predicted. Practice made perfect, as people said… the prospect of losing against Abyss again wasn’t appealing, but she shouldn’t be so hard on herself… everyone loses battles sometimes…

May finally looked towards Justy. “Thanks for the battle. Sorry if I seem distant, I’ve had a lot going on…”

Justy didn’t have a chance to respond: the Pre Gym doors slammed open without warning. Everyone whipped around as Manya came running in.

“Here you are!” she gasped. Her eyes were wide, and her hand shook as she steadied herself against May’s shoulder. “Geez, couldn’t have… left a note…”

“What’s going on?” May asked sharply. Something about Manya’s tone got her heart pounding furiously, and she braced herself as best she could for what was coming.

“Trest… the Mayor just got a phone call…” Manya told her. She must’ve ran all the way over here: aside from her voice breaking, her face was flushed and covered in sweat. “Lily… the HQ Lab…”

“What?” urged May. “What happened?”

Manya took a deep breath and raised her head. Amethyst stared into sapphire, and everything froze as Manya continued: “Abyss. They… they’re attacking the HQ Lab.”

To be continued...

[ghoulboyboos]

Shyan Mini Fic - Someone Told Me

For the STMWeek

It’s funny, Ryan thinks, how quickly a good day can become the worst day of the year. One or two seconds, a comment in passing and suddenly I want to go home, curl up in bed and cry like I’m a fucking teenager.

He stares at his computer screen, not really seeing the footage he is trying to edit. There is no movement to his right, no tall, lanky man in his periphery that occasionally glances over, makes a joke or tosses something on Ryan’s desk when he zones out. Shane is filming a video somewhere and normally, that wouldn’t throw Ryan for such a loop. They work together a lot and spend a bunch of their free time together, so he doesn’t miss Shane terribly if they aren’t around each other for a while. Well, he sometimes does, especially when Ryan is stretched out on one side of his bed, still not quite happy with sleeping in the middle, and Shane is crashing on his couch because their weekly movie night ran longer than expected. His crush on Shane has been steadily growing the longer both of them are single and he sometimes wishes life wasn’t so complicated.

In a perfect situation, he would ask Shane out and if Shane accepted, they could start dating and develop their relationship. If Shane turned him down, they could still be friends and Ryan would get over it eventually, too happy to have Shane as his good friend to be bitter over rejection.

But this isn’t a perfect situation, because the world is shitty and very, very complicated.

If Ryan asked Shane out and they dated and it didn’t work, it could ruin everything. Their friendship and their career both, as well as Unsolved and Ryan is never joking when he says the show is his baby. He could never do something that destroyed it.

If Shane rejected him, it would make things awkward, Ryan just knows. Shane of course wouldn’t hate him or be disgusted, he would probably pity Ryan because he’s a kind soul and that would make things even worse. Ryan would probably not get over it, if he’s honest. He’s loved Shane for so long now, he can’t imagine that to fade.

But now, he sees everything crumble in a way that is completely out of his hands. Because Zack mentioned something in passing when they discussed the next season of Sports Conspiracies and without knowing it or meaning to, he had torn out Ryan’s heart Temple of Doom style and dropped it where it shattered into a million pieces. Ryan winces at the thought, he is getting overdramatic and now he really sounds like a crying teenager.

“Oh yeah, by the way, did you know?”

“Know what?” Ryan had paused, about to put his headphones back on because Zack had been on the verge of leaving.

“I kinda expect you to know already but apparently,” he starts, leaning in and lowering his voice. Ryan automatically leans in too and strains his ears. “Apparently,” Zack repeats with a grin, “is one Mr. Shane Madej in love.”

“What?” Ryan’s voice had sounded hollow and distant to his own ears, as if he lost the ability to hear himself.

“Yeah! You didn’t know?” Zack’s eyes had gleamed with the opportunity to spill gossip about the person Ryan is supposed to be so incredibly close to. “Kelsey Impicciche says that while she had her Sims session with him, they chatted during a sound break. She said they mostly talked about playing Sims as kids and she said something about making herself and her crushes so she could play out the relationship she wanted and she asked Shane if he ever did that. So they got to talking crushes and apparently he admitted that he was nursing a crush right now that became full blown love and he wouldn’t tell her who it was so-” Zack waggles his eyebrows. “It’s probably a girl in the office, don’t you think?”

Ryan had nodded, numbly. It made sense. Shane had been a bit distant lately, often busy when Ryan asked him to hang out. He would zone out during work and when Ryan would turn to look at him, Shane would start and quickly pretend to be very busy, sometimes with a noticeable flush to his cheeks.

Suddenly, Ryan felt like an idiot. He should have noticed the difference in Shane’s behavior, he was his best friend for fuck’s sake. Maybe Shane hadn’t told him about his crush because he thought Ryan would make fun of him? He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Sure, he is heartbroken and destroyed that Shane is in love with someone, but he is still Shane’s best friend and he wants him to be happy. He should be supportive.

Ryan worries his bottom lip as he aimlessly switches through the shots of the footage on his computer. Maybe he should tell Shane. It wasn’t exactly cool to admit that he had gossiped about him behind his back, but it wasn’t like he had spread any information about him.

With a nod to himself, Ryan had started the footage again and straightened his back. He would ask Shane about it tonight, after work. Maybe he could help. Just because he was miserable in love, didn’t mean that the person he loved had to be, too.

-

“So, uh, you wanna come to my place and watch a movie?” Ryan asks when Shane turns off his computer. Shane looks up at him, wide eyed and frozen as if caught doing something bad.

“Whu- hum. Sorry, man. I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight, I’m pretty worn out.”

Something sinks in Ryan’s chest. Shane is pulling away again and it’s really starting to hurt. The anxious part of his brain wonders if he has been too obvious in any way, too clingy or too weird and Shane wants to distance himself from that. Despite the worry, Ryan dares to push a little.

“Come on, you can sleep at my place, that’s never a problem, you know that.” He takes a deep breath. “We haven’t properly hung out since three weeks. The closest was the night on location in the haunted cathedral.”

Shane pauses at that, his forehead crinkling in a frown.

“Oh. I hadn’t realized I-” He closes his eyes for a moment and exhales, as if preparing himself for pain. Ryan is about to tell him it’s alright, he doesn’t have to force himself to be in Ryan’s presence, but then Shane smiles at him.

“You know what? Maybe a movie with my best bud and one and only ghoulfriend is a good idea.”

“Yeah!” Ryan says, pretending his throat isn’t clogging up. “Come on, big guy, we can start a Fast and the Furious marathon and see how far we get.”

Shane chuckles at that and Ryan feels warmth in his cheeks that he can’t fight.

-

Halfway into the movie, Ryan pushes the bowl of popcorn aside and decides to breach the topic.

“Soo,” he starts uncreatively, “I heard some office gossip today.”

Shane laughs as he shovels a handful of kernels in his mouth.

“I thought you weren’t much for gossip!” He manages around the popcorn and Ryan rolls his eyes when he sees little bits fly out with Shane’s breath.

“I’m not. But this one was personal. It… was about you.” Ryan only hesitates a little and he sees Shane struggle to swallow the huge bite and reach for his soda.

“Huh. Me?” Shane isn’t looking at him. He chugs his soda, puts the bottle away and stares at the screen, ears slowly turning pink. “Probably that I’m a shaved Yeti or something, right? Or was it Bigfoot? Sasquatch?”

He laughs, too quick and too flat and too loud and Ryan feels his stomach sink.

“No… Shane, hey. It wasn’t anything bad. I just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are we… are we still best friends?”

This time, Shane looks at him. His eyes are wide and surprised.

“What? Ryan- Of, of course we are, what brought that up?”

“It’s just-” Ryan writhes in his seat because he knows his questions will make his feelings pretty obvious. Shane could be oblivious about things but he was a smart guy, he would see right through Ryan. Well, it had to come out at some point.

“I heard from Zack who heard from Kelsey – and I hate how this sounds, believe me – that you might have feelings for a girl in the office. I was surprised because… well, you’re pretty private and it’s obvious why because at Buzzfeed you can’t tell anyone anything.” He chuckles, a little hysterical. “But I thought that if you told someone in confidence or not, I would hear it too? I mean, fuck, you don’t owe me information or secrets because we’re friends but- I care about you. I care about who you like and if you want to be with someone, I would love to help you. I’m a shitty ass wingman but I could at least stand at the sidelines and- You know, cheer you on.”

He throws out his hands, a little helplessly and he hits Shane’s arm that’s reaching across the seat between them. Ryan flinches but then Shane’s hand grabs his and doesn’t let go and Ryan knows that he is going to get visibly flustered by that so he tries to escape for a moment. Shane’s other hand reaches over to cup his hand and he stills, slowly looking up at his friend.

Shane looks sad. His expression carries guilt and regret and also some pain that Ryan can’t quite understand, but then Shane is smiling a little and it’s so soft and friendly that it reminds him of all the times they sat next to or across from one another and he would go on and on about something he loved and Shane would just sit and listen and look at him with that warm, happy smile and clear amusement in his eyes. It was affectionate and sweet, because Shane was that kind of guy with people around him. But now it felt a bit different, maybe it was because Shane was still clutching his hand. Or because he was inching closer.

“Ryan...” Shane’s voice is a little rough and Ryan is sure that if Shane starts crying he is going to cry, too. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to make you believe it’s somehow your fault. That I don’t want to spend time with your or trust you. But… I couldn’t tell you because it would make things weird. Fuck things up.”

Ryan frowns.

“Why? Is it someone I know? Listen if it’s Kelsey or Daysha or anyone of our friends or the crew that’s fine, I don’t- This whole idea of not dating friends is stupid, you should date someone who is your friend! Not like- I mean you don’t have to do that.” He rambles and Shane is slowly starting to smile, scooting a little closer on the couch.

“Well, it is someone you know. But you were wrong. It’s not a girl.”

Oh.

Ryan blinks. That makes sense, maybe. He hasn’t always been so comfortable with being open minded, he had his moments where he shunned physical contact with Shane, where hugs or touches like they were sharing now made him uncomfortable. Part of him wants to get mad, because Shane knows he would never have a problem with him liking a guy. Part of him wants to apologize for making Shane think that.

“I- But I wouldn’t- Listen-” He tries to start over and over and Shane actually laughs a bit, pats his hand and shushes him.

“I wasn’t thinking you had a problem with that. Don’t worry about that. It’s just-”

Shane takes a deep breath, lets his shoulders drop and looks somewhere at a spot on the floor, eyes tired and sad.

“It’s you, Ryan. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Why I couldn’t tell Kelsey more. Because you would have found out. I’ve been trying to keep it to myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. This could fuck up so many things and I’d hate to make you feel weird. We share a bed on location sometimes and you’re already skittish enough about it.”

Ryan is about to protest but Shane brings up a hand to interrupt him.

“Let me finish this. It’s… it’s okay. I still want to be your best friend if you’re cool with that. And I’m sorry for leaving you hanging but I felt I would maybe fuck up when we’re like this.”

He vaguely gestures at the living room and then looks at Ryan’s hand. He lets it go. Shane looks so dejected as he starts rubbing his arm that Ryan feels heartbroken all over again even though on a bigger scale, his heartbreak is slowly but surely healing.

“Well,” he finally manages. “That is actually the best response I could have hoped for. Holy shit.”

Shane blinks and looks at him, a little confused but less pained now.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Ryan says and reaches out to cup Shane’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss. Shane makes a surprised noise against his mouth, but he doesn’t pull back and when Ryan brushes their lips together he sinks into him and kisses back, hands coming to rest at Ryan’s elbows.

When they part, Shane looks still stunned and incredulous but Ryan grins at him widely, cheeks almost hurting with how much he is smiling.

“When they told me you fell in love, I thought I was going to die. Holy shit, Shane, I think I still have to figure out a better way to say it but I really, really like you and I want to be with you and go on dates and all that romantic, sappy stuff. You up for that?”

Shane grins and ducks in to kiss Ryan again. It’s a little harsher than before with a hint of desire and want and Ryan groans softly when Shane’s tongue brushes his lips.

“Hell yeah.” Shane says, imitating Ryan and Ryan bursts into a giggle that opens the plug on all the nervousness and panic and pain he has buried the last couple of weeks and months and Shane is smiling at him with that goofy, adoring smile that Ryan knows so well and it hits him hard when he realizes that it’s not just Shane looking at someone he likes. This is Shane in love. And he’s in love with Ryan.

The giggles become softer as he pulls Shane even closer, movie in the background forgotten, popcorn growing cold and stale as they make out on Ryan’s couch and Ryan already knows that Shane will stay over but definitely not sleep out here. Not tonight.

Not ever again.

[rkxsicheng]

| Rupture |

A Solo | TW; Mention of H*spitals, Coma Mention, Graphic Descriptions of Injury, Anxiety/Panic Tuesday, July 31st, 2018 [1 AM]

 Sicheng has had a pleasant enough day. He’s nervous, of course, to be leader, to have the responsibility of the group’s victory on his shoulders, but there’s also a bizarre sense of excitement that courses through his veins and grows more exhilarating and more strange with each week he makes the cut. 

 He’d stayed quite late, poked around the area a bit after leaving; Seoul never sleeps, and he had been too filled with energy to go home and go to bed, or to walk into the apartment he shared with Mark and have to bear the heaviness that had settled in its halls since Mark had been eliminated. 

 He’s making his way into the subway station when his phone vibrates in his rear pocket. He ignores it for the time being, getting his ticket, only bothering to check it once he’s on the train and on his way home.

 As he unlocks his phone he wonders why on Earth Lucas’s mother is texting him at nearly one in the morning, and then he sees the message.

ᴛᴇxᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ: ᴋᴏʜ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ʟᴜᴄᴀꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴅʟʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɪɴ ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ɪᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛ, ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴅᴀʏꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴘʀᴀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ xᴜxɪ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ.

 A nitrogen chill shoots through him as he tries over and over to reread it, to read it word by word to find the bit he’d misinterpreted, but the words blur together into Cyrillic, into lines and circles, a few of them growing bigger and bigger, their Helvetica towering over him, pressing on him like lead weights. 

CAR ACCIDENT. BADLY INJURED. BADLY INJURED. SURGERY. COMA. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI.

 The terror is slow-growing, blooming in him like rafflesia. It holds him in place, frozen, his thoughts oblivion, until he reaches his stop, and he stands up from his seat, his legs wobbly, a gulp heavy in his throat. 

 Images of car accidents stack in his head as though he’s sorting through old photographs, maimed bodies, missing limbs, lines of cars slowing to a lull so their passengers might catch a glimpse of the carnage beyond the shattered glass that glitters like confetti on the asphalt, death tolls, the voice of the girl in wheelchair who’d come to his fifth grade class to warn them about drunk driving, recounting the death of one of her best friends.

 Lucas was in surgery, Sicheng tries to tell himself, he’s alive, his head can’t be split open like a cross-section model on a clinic waiting room table, or smeared across the pavement if they’re operating on him, but he can’t think that deeply in the moment; the logical conclusions scurry away from him like field mice.

 He loses his breath in the station; there’s no real crowd this late, but there’s still too many voices, and footsteps, too much noise. It echoes off the walls, and he’s dizzy, right? He thinks he’s dizzy. It’s the blue-white of the lights, he thinks. He hates the lights. 

 He tries not to die on his way above-ground, on his way home, but he’s going to die, he’s going to die. He can’t breathe. 

 He has to convince himself he can. He has to logic his suffocation away. 

 He can feel his diaphragm expanding and contracting, his lungs are inflating with air. Breaths are being taken, even if he can’t feel them, even if he feels on the brink of collapse. He is breathing. He’s breathing. He talks himself into believing it as he drifts zombie-like from the station to his apartment.

 The living room lights are on when he enters the apartment, bright in the ceiling, and he hates them. Mark probably left them on so he wouldn’t walk into a pitch black house, but Sicheng wants that right now, he wants to be shut in a shoebox, contained, because right now everything feels too big, too loud, the lights are too bright. He can can barely linger there long enough to close and lock the door, so he hastily brings his bags to his room, which is dark and cool, and drops them unceremoniously on the floor in his haste, tripping on them almost immediately with a whimper. 

 He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where to go, but he wants to move, he wants to leave, he wants to squeeze his eyes shut and shrink into a single pixel, he wants to squeeze his head until it pops like a bubble, and he doesn’t have to think about how he is never going to be able to fucking breathe again.

 Even his room, in its blackness, is too big, the forms of its furnishings eventually emerging in a deep gray as his eyes adjust to the lowlight, and he can’t do it right now. He’s afraid if he does it much longer that he’ll fly off the face of the Earth into deepspace and disappear with a twinkle like this is a cartoon. 

 It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s real. 

 He eventually finds his way into his closet, and closes the door, sliding down the wall to pull his legs in, like he might fold himself out of existence, and only then do the tears come. 

 They’re silent tears at first, but soon he hears his sobs, quiet and whiny and pathetic, and it takes him a second to register that they’re even his own, for a brief moment terrified that he wasn’t alone.

 The outpouring seems to wash away some of the panic, and he’s able to inhale again, and exhale, and inhale, and he almost falls asleep curled up inside the tight, dark space. 

 His phone vibrates, the screen flickering back to life to display a low battery notification, and through the slats of his closet door he can see his room glow pale with its light, and he pulls himself up, making his way to his bed and handling his phone, and once again he unlocks it, and reads over the message he’d received, word by word. 

 It doesn’t make him feel much better, but all he can do is lie there in the dark, the salt streaks on his cheek uncomfortably taut. 

 He isn’t dead.

 He repeats it a few times in his head like a mantra. He’s not dead. Lucas is alive. The coma was induced. He’s not brain dead. He’s alive. And it comes to him through this meditation he comes to know what that the heavy feeling he gets in his chest at the thought of the boy, the strange cross between the pressure of an umbrella opening in his rib cage and a heavy sadness, really is, and that losing Lucas would be the worst thing in the world.

 The boy he’d been trying to quietly distance himself from, tiptoeing away from him like he might past a sleeping parent, ignoring his texts once or twice, making up excuses for why they couldn’t hang out. He’d done it so nonchalantly, too, and now he’s wracked by a sense of guilt. 

 Lucas could have died, and their last interaction would have been Sicheng lying to him to avoid seeing him, because it hurt to see him sometimes, to see his smile, and hear his laugh, and feel the awkwardness that had cropped up between them recently like they’d went down a level in knowing one another; Sicheng wasn’t as much of a masochist as he’d once thought, and the pain, however bittersweet, was too much, and he didn’t want to endlessly wallow in it, he wanted its end, but it was a pain of his own making, really. The other boy had never asked for Sicheng to fall in love with him, he’d only treated him with the same kindness, the same friendliness that he did every one, it was Sicheng who had gone and let this weed take root in his chest.

 Because he’s the worst. 

 These realisations all work their way through his brain with sluggish pace as he toes the line of sleep, like molasses from a jar. It’s all the thing can handle right now, in between producing intrusive mental images of IV drips and bloodstained scalpels and Lucas maimed. 

 There’s no way he can go to Lucas, as much as he aches to, because he doesn’t know where he’s at, he doesn’t want to intrude upon his mother’s heartache and make it about himself, he wants to know that he’s okay, but he can’t know.

 He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally and mentally, and he has been for a very long time, but this has blown a hole through him like nothing had ever quite done before, and the sleep he falls into is heavy as a result, like a fairytale curse. 

 In a strangely merciful twist of fate, his sleep is without dreaming. Only black. 

 When he awakens with the coming of dawn, a good twenty minutes before his alarm is set to go off, the hole is still there, though. Having dried out in the night, it’s grown, even.