#silver rings and sundried tomatoes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

embracethemadmess · 2 years ago

Text

chapter #2 - kimchi burrito

Fandom: Moon Knight

Pairing: Steven Grant x Jake Lockley

Will they date?: Can be read either as platonic or romantic

Summary: Khonshu really craves Jake as his avatar, therefore he makes the decision to divide moon system into three individuals. Marc takes this opportunity to work on his relationship with Layla, Steven tries to build his very own life from scratch. However, when they’re split, there’s a little surprise awaiting for the two of them. Turns out Marc had more than one alter. His name is Jake, he speaks Spanish and wears flat caps. He’s also… hm, a tad like a stray cat at first - wild, unpredictable, scared. Steven convinces him to stay with him and in between Moon Knight’s missions he discovers that Jake is fond of sun-dried tomatoes and toying with Steven’s rings.

You can read it on ao3: https://compress.boo/g/BDP4TYGP

⁺₊⋆˖⁺‧₊ �� ◯ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆⁺₊

“Turns out, it wasn’t about getting 10,000 steps in, you know? That’s the funny part, actually,” Steven mumbled between one bite of a vegetarian wrap and another. It was a homemade vegan kimchi burrito that he’d done for the first time, and it turned out so delicious, he couldn’t stop himself from literally devouring it, even though he knew he was being a bit rude speaking with his mouth full like that.

Especially while sitting so close to his converser, his face was most likely the only thing the living statue had in his view.

He sniffled, took barely a second to glance around at the people strolling by them on the town square, and then took another bite of his lunch.

“All that time I spent trying to stay awake at night to prevent my body from wandering about like crazy, it was just… another me, know what I mean?” he asked prior to continuing his disquisition without waiting for a proper response he wouldn’t get from the man before him, “You probably don’t, but, like, can you imagine? Two mes. Three, even, as I’ve recently learned.” The brunet laughed briefly, shaking head at his own words. He took another bite, at which the living statue didn’t spare him a disgusted look, even though he himself could feel his own breath smelling of garlic. “I thought I was all alone, and in reality I wasn’t lonely at all, I just was too high up my own arse to notice that. That’s amazing and also quite terrifying, to be totally honest with you, mate.”

Nodding at Crawley’s stoic expression, Steven let out a deep exhale, relief slowly flowing in his veins for the first time in days.

Officially, it’s been a full week since Marc flew back to Chicago.

Usually Steven visited the living statue man after his shifts, so mainly on late evenings, when the whole area was only lightened up by colorful lights from the main fountain, and fire from many torches maneuvered by street performers, warming his cheeks from afar. Now he was sitting on the bench beside Crawley in the daylight of a windy wednesday, ten o’clock was the time he had spotted on the phone that had been given to him to take a photo of a lovely couple of tourists a few minutes earlier, and he was squinting his eyes due to the late spring Sun mercilessly blinding him. It was a bit strange, he had to admit, not working at this time of a day. Not working at all.

“Yeah, anyways, it was only me, then it was me and Marc, me, Marc and Jake, and now it’s just me and Jake. Marc wants to rebuild his relationship with Layla, you know. Which is nice, they’re lovely together, yeah, it’s just…” he paused to try and think of a way to explain his feelings, then pursed his lower lip just a tad, when he felt hot sauce stinging in the corner of his mouth. “We’ve barely gotten to know each other, me and Marc. And, you’d think after all we’ve been through at this point, he shoulda wanted to stay in touch, right? I’ll admit, thinking he’d move in with me was a bit silly of me, that’s the truth, but like, the USA?” once again he asked rhetorically, his voice small, barely there. “And Jake, he’s a good lad, yeah, but I can see he’d rather follow Marc than stay with me. Which is fair, of course, between the two of us, Marc is definitely cooler. Handsome fella, very decisive. Good lad, good lad, yeah.”

Rambling, Steven finished his burrito, folded the cooking paper neatly and put it in his postbag, then cleaned any remaining crumbs and sauce on his mouth with a sleeve of his cardigan. Crawley didn’t move one bit, his arms spread as if inviting over for a cuddle, the golden paint on his kind face complimented by the sunlight. It was nice, Steven thought to himself, being able to sit with him once again after all the mad rubbish that had turned his life upside down in a matter of a few days. For that opportunity, he took out a small box of chocolate pralines with caramel flavoured cream and put it in a golden hat laying at their feet.

“I wonder if Jake knows about Marc’s ways of making a living,” he stated curiously, scratching his nose mindlessly. “I mean, he had to, right? With how close he stayed to Marc the whole time before Marc’s departure, he ought to know, don’t you think? But, he seems so… so-hmm…” he paused mid-sentence again, irritated with the way he struggled with words that day. He spat at himself with contempt, head lowered in shame, unable to see Crawley’s sympathetic gaze. “Ferocious? Like, he looks like he could murder in cold blood, but one rapid move of mine is all it takes for him to flinch away to the furthest corner he can find. Like he’s been hurt, but it was Marc taking our mum’s harsh touches, right? So it doesn’t make much sense. What do you think, Crawley?”

If Steven chose to look for the answer to this question on the living statue’s face, he would be met with confusion dancing around baby blue irises, making the red overline of his eyes even more prominent, at the way Steven so casually addressed him by his last name for the very first time. Instead, Steven only sat there, with his back huddled, fingers entwined on his own lap while his feet were barely reaching the ground. Memories of the day he had gotten the sack filled his mind as he was staring into an unspecified point somewhere ahead, and they made him wince visibly - deep lines creased olive skin, paper-thin and marked with a few after-shave scars, as well as countless tiny constellations of freckles. Full lips were left agape while his brows furrowed as the brunet glared suddenly at the golden man, ears almost fuming under thousands of thoughts flooding his lost mind.

“That’s worth exploring, innit?” A certain kind of déjà vu hit them both the moment these words left Steven’s throat, but he couldn’t care less for this odd repetition, as he was already hanging his bag over his shoulder, ready to sprint home. “He’s, Jake, he is the missing piece to our story. Like, if I could get him to trust me enough to feel comfortable around me, we might solve this mad puzzle once and for all. Oh, Crawley, you’re the best, honestly. No clue what I’d do without you sometimes.” With a small chuckle, Steven got up from the bench, brushed some nonexistent dust off warm-brown loose trousers, and then tossed a few coins into the golden hat. “I mean, Jake can trust me, would you agree? I’m far from being a threat, yeah? It’s not like I’m about to play any mind games with him, I just… I dunno, I better jog on,” he admitted the moment he could feel a single tear collecting in his left eye. “Thanks, mate,” he added right away, already leaning closer to the living statue, his arms reaching for the man on their own accord, and before he knew it, he had the golden-painted man locked in a weak hold.

“Cheers!” A cheerful greeting was the last thing Crawley heard before Steven briskly left the town square, almost bumping into some strangers several times during the process. Black cardigan was tousled by the gentle breeze, there might be a little sauce stain on the collar, but that was fine as long as it wasn’t the grey t-shirt

juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu65555555555555555555555555555555555`1killllllllllllllllll233333333333

he might’ve or might’ve not worn for a simple reason that that’s the piece of clothing Steven had seen Marc wearing the last time they had spoken before Marc had started erasing every trace of his presence in Steven’s apartament. So what, if it was a little sappy, it made him feel comfortable and warm, therefore he didn’t care.

It was a really nice day in London city; the sun was shining like there was not tomorrow, it was too early for tons of annoyingly annoyed Londoners to be stuck in traffics, cursing with their windows open, honking at everything and anything as if it could somehow give their cars wings to fly above the rest, right back home after a hard day at work; streets were moderately silent, letting Steven think through every tangled concern. Not that he would actually come up with solutions, oh no, but at least he could focus on what was going on in his very own mind, so the shivers he was feeling tossing his body around finally made sense, in a way. That was something; that could count as a small success.

Right?

As he was strolling down the street, dragging his feet in the direction of an old-fashioned block of flats, his thoughts kept coming back to the discovery of the third alter. It was exciting, after the initial shock, but it also didn’t sit right with him that Jake was so drastically different from him and Marc, in a completely new way. Jake’s flinches in situations he himself found quite normal; Jake’s alarming lack of care for his own needs that exceeded even the one Marc had evinced; Jake’s odd mix of self-consciousness and harshness in his every move.

He wanted to get to know Jake’s story, he needed to know it. He was determined.

Nevertheless, his determination meant as much as nothing in the light of their shared reality in the past week. Their schedules couldn’t be more divergent if they tried - when Steven was wide awake, Jake was deeply asleep and vice versa, during Steven’s sleep time Jake was either treading restlessly across Steven’s flat, or nowhere to be seen. And, in one or two moments they somehow managed to share, Steven could only be biting the inside of his cheeks while Jake only spoke Spanish - a language Steven hadn’t ever even heard aside from some random songs played in the radio that he hadn’t paid any attention, or a glimpse of a telenovela he had come across during jumping through tv channels in the time of lazy mornings consisting of eating too-sweet-for-his-own-good cereal and chatting with Gus and then Fake Gus. So, to sum it all up, Steven could come up with a solid conclusion that he was screwed.

He sighed heavily, buzzing himself in through the door prior to calling a lift probably way older than he was. Shivered at a memory of the day he had first encountered Khonshu in there; how the tall figure covered in ancient bandageshad limped toward him slowly, golden staff banging frighteningly into wooden hall-floor, lights switching on and off and on again, torturous pace Steven’s heart had been thudding against his ribcage, freezing coldness of walls and ground he had met when sliding down, cornered in a small box of a room vandalized by a few generations of rebellious teens, he supposed. Anxiety locked its claws tightly around his neck at just the thought of that moment in his life, and he put his hand close to his chest to try and massage his hurting sternum, his eyes clenched shut, nostrils widening uncontrollably under the pressure of air being inhaled greedily.

“It’s okay, he’s not there anymore, Steven,” he had spoken aloud before he could even register it fully, his voice oddly low and surprisingly deep, so not-his. He knitted his brows as the comforting words hit his ears, still he jerked against his own will, coughed as if to clear his throat, then added, “he’s gone.”

“He’s gone,” he muttered under his heavy breath, already standing in front of door number 502. Blinked away a lonely tear forming in his left eye, took two or three deep inhales before unlocking the entrance to the safety of his own apartment.

Despite weather outside quite literally blinding him with sunlight, that pyramide-shaped studio of his welcomed him with an eternal shadow and raw chill keeping the mess of books and other shenanigans somehow hidden in the background. Even the warmest, brightest of colors got washed away by how dark it was there. Locked out from reality, toned down to plain shades without even a speck of uniqueness, boring. Funny, how even his own place was designed to keep him reduced to an old item, covered in dust, insignificant, forgotten; how it refused to let him shine, show off all the things that could make him special in one’s eyes. Steven lowered his chin at that sudden realization, momentarily aware of how tiny his whole existence was.

“All those windows, and I still am going to get bloody cleaned out when the bills come this month,” he burbled silently, gently placing his messenger bag on the nearest table. Perked up when in the corner of his eye he noticed a lifeless silhouette splayed carelessly in an old lounge chair Steven had found recently at a second hand store.

Clothed in one of Steven’s plain sleeping shirts with a tiny hole right under its collar, as well as the same pair of trousers Steven had been seeing him this past week, was laying Jake, with his head leaned slightly against the backrest, his arms crossed on his chest as if he was trying to protect crucial organs from a sudden attack, and his legs bent in knees so his bare feet could fit in the seat.

Steven let the corners of his lips pull up to a ghost of a gentle smile at that sight, already on his way across the living room area in search of some thick blanket. His every move was almost echoing in the dead silence the flat was drowned into, too loud, too notable, too pretentious for this quiet room in which was a man, a clearly exhausted man, trying to sleep all of his worries away. Having found the perfect soft blanket, Steven stopped in his tracks with arms hanging above the sleeping figure, and for a moment he just looked. Jake looked sick, that much was obvious to him; normally olive tone of their skin resolved to pale paper-thinness, with bluish veins sticking out on his palms and arms, his shoulders seemed painfully stiff as he kept his guard up even when unconscious, and his whole body radiated pure malaise. A flat hat was sitting in Steven’s way to see Jake’s face fully, but even with additional shadow it was casting over that face, the Britishman could easily point out dark circles under his companion’s eyes, and he hated them as much as he’d hated his own during his worst days. His whole posture was drained of life in the most terrible way imaginable for an alive person, he looked so horribly tired, it got Steven thinking he had never in his entire life wanted to hug anybody more than right in that very moment, looking down at a fragile form of his mirror image.

Grievous blend of warmth and ache sent a shiver down his spine, filling his ears with the sound of sandstorm the moment he wrapped the blanket around the weak body and saw Jake intuitively moved just the slightest, nuzzling his nose into the soft light-green fabric. Such a simple thing somehow managed to toss Steven’s heart down to his stomach, causing him to gasp like he’s been just caught red-handed doing something he wasn’t supposed to. For a few seconds he became completely still, just staring at the helpless man curled up in a chair. Couldn’t really stop himself from gracing Jake’s half-hidden face with the lightest of touch, his knuckles barely brushing over the dehydrated skin in the bottom of his cheek, sliding to his jaw with not more than just one finger.

Steven bit his lower lip, then looked around until his eyes fell on an open book laying at the top of a pile, on the coffee table near them. In one swift movement he reached for the book, at the same time gripping with his other hand at an armrest of a wooden simple chair, literally tightening his eyes and wrinkling his nose while slowly moving the piece of furniture closer to the other’s man lounger the quietest he physically could, even holding his breath during the whole process, afraid to wake him up with his clumsiness.

In complete silence, he sat down in his chair, tentatively slid down a little bit, so his head could lean against the backrest in a cheap mimicry of Jake’s position, crossed his legs just the way he preferred, and smeared the book’s random page with his fingertips with the same affection he poured into the touch he’d given the man sleeping beside him.

There was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Sleep well, Jake,” he whispered into the air between them, barely audible but still there, marking the loose atmosphere locked in the grip of a moment. After that, he focused on words written in a small font, a little too small for his sight, but that was okay- he couldn’t really lose himself in the story, anyway, due to a perfect symphony of gentle breathing gracing his ears, flowing down the skin of his arms in the form of light shudders. How could he turn his senses off and block all external stimuli in favor of a book he probably had read two or three times already, even if he’d skipped the ending, when something so pretty in its grace was right there, allowing him to be the only witness? He didn’t even feel bad for stealing shameless gazes.

As it turned out, though, he wouldn’t even have gotten a chance to read in peace if he’d wanted to, because the clock in the kitchen didn’t even manage to count out more than ten minutes before Steven heard rustling on his right, right where Jake was situated in his chair. The smile on Steven’s face widened.

“Well, lookie here. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he chirped cheerfully, but immediately winced, shrinking within himself, when Jake - once again in his presence - flinched at the greeting, with his hands automatically clenching into fists under the blanket. “Sorry, didn’t mean to shook you,” he apologized right away. If it hadn’t been for the way he’d lowered his head, ready for a scold, he could’ve noticed a set of brows furrowed in confusion, rather than anger, though.

Jake blinked at him once, twice. Glanced at the light-green blanket that had brought him a little bit of comfort and soothed backache he’d guaranteed himself by falling asleep in one of the worst poses possible, only once prior to looking back up to the face of a broken man sitting beside him.

Then grunted. It was firm, it sounded aggressive, but in reality, he only cleared his throat. That was sort of a Jake thing to do, a sudden realization appeared among conflicted thoughts in the mess called Steven Grant’s mind. Doing the most mundane things, he left the impression of being the toughest one in the room.

“Honestly, mate, it wasn’t, uh, I did-”

“Gracias.” With that one word, Jake interrupted Steven mid-sentence. The tone of his voice was strong, commanding even, but it also held something Steven hadn’t been expecting - a sense of security. They way he said it, it was as if some higher powers poured the sweetest and stickiest honey all over the inner acrimony.

Steven peered up at him again, faint blush spread across his cheeks while the soft brown of his irises growed sprinkled with brightness that only added another dimension to his already captivating eyes. He nodded, seeing Jake point at the blanket, so he could understand better what he’d had in mind.

“So, pardon if I’m being nosy or something, yeah, but I- I could help but notice you had barely eaten anything ever since we’d arrived from this madhouse of the Ammit hell on Earth,” Londoner remarked shily, with his arm reaching behind his head to scratch his nape there as he was speaking. “And, if I’m being honest, what you ate was rubbish, mate. Like, it physically pained me to be witnessing this horror,” he added, this time more confident in his insights.

Jake huffed at that. “No era tan-”

“Lemme stop you right there, yeah?” It was Steven’s turn to interrupt, and he did it with his finger raised suggestively. “No clue what excuse you were trying to make there, and frankly, I don’t give a monkey’s. I literally saw you eating my vegan sushi I made before Marc took us to freaking Egypt, there’s nothing you can say to make up for it, and believe me when I tell you it’s going to hunt me in my nightmares. You ate rice that could’ve been used for saké, Jake.”

When Steven was finished, he was almost visibly fuming at Jake, who - as if on cue - jerked suddenly, having felt a bile rising to his throat. He barely held it back, but still somehow managed to swallow it right back, so the only issue left for him to deal with was an excessive amount of saliva accumulating in his mouth. Steven, of course, didn’t let it slide.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel every time it crosses my mind,” he rebuked, sighing heavily. “It happened a few days ago, though, so I take it you, once again, haven’t eaten anything ever since then, am I right?”

Generally, Steven’s apartment was quite cold, hence why Steven often got the flu. Jake usually tried to avoid it, either by making sure Steven wore warm clothes, or increasing temperature to a bearable level, and then sliding a few notes to Steven’s wallet, so the man didn’t have to worry about the bills. Nonetheless, the apartment tended to be cold. For some reason, though, right then Jake felt his cheeks burning with heat that certainly hadn’t been there before, and it had him toss the blanket away, almost suffocating. It was a shame eating at him, he knew. And Steven must’ve known, too, because he just stood up, shaking his head with disapproval.

However, he was back from the kitchen before Jake could swallow the rising bile down for the third time in a row. Hated that feeling, but couldn’t actually say he wasn’t used to swallowing much worse liquids than that, so it was fine, really. For him, definitely not for Steven, that much he could easily read off of the Englishman’s face. And, additionally, from some amazing smell that hit his nostrils as soon as Steven crouched down on the floor right ahead of him. Jake barely kept his eyes open when put in the spotlight like that. Discomfort crept its way up his head under his skin, and it took all his willpower not to let it show, so his companion wouldn’t have to worry.

“I made us burritos in the morning, hoped you’d eat it by the time I came back home, but…” Grant purposely paused to give Jake a few seconds to fill the gap himself, then he finished what he meant to say, so it wouldn’t go unsaid out loud, “Suppose you inherited the death wish from Marc.” Jake only glared at him, though there wasn’t a single bad intention behind that, he just didn’t know how to respond to such accusation, especially when they both knew there wasn’t really a way out of this one for him. He sighed, and Steven replied with a smile the other deemed cheeky, before the mentioned burrito was pushed into his palms.

“I made kimchi on my own, since the ones at stores are based on seafood, so… You know, it’s a no no for me. Hope you like it,” at that, Steven’s smile turned shy, and Jake quickly came to the conclusion the previous kind of smile suited Steven more. He didn’t comment on it, instead, he gave the burrito in his hands an unsure look, mainly because hunger had made him a little bit too sensitive to the concept of food itself, hence the bite he took was tiny, and the movement was so slow, he could see how self-doubt was entering Steven’s system seeing him do so. “If-if you don’t, which is perfectly fine by me,” it wasn’t, Jake knew, “I also have, well, bread and some other stuff in me fridge, I can make you sandwiches. Or, or we can order pizza, even. I just-just thought that-”

“Kimchi?” Jake queried, not an ounce of regret for interrupting Steven this time, knowing full well the Londoner was already in his head. And fortunately, he got the response he was counting on, with Steven gaping up at him again, instead of directing his sight at everything and anything but him out of embarrassment, before letting himself info dump the curious man that Jake sometimes was. “‘s not a poison, so you can veg-out, yeah?” he replied, another shy smile graced his face for Jake to appreciate. “It’s just cabbage with some wicked ingredients that truly make it taste bomb. You like it?” There was about a ton equivalent of hope, both in the tone of his voice and on his entire face when he asked that, and how could Jake give him a negative response to that question? It was impossible, even if the burrito was the worst thing he had ever put in his mouth willingly. Which wasn’t the case at all. Jake chewed at it for a second or two, then swallowed.

He hummed, and Steven pouted at that.

“Dulce,” he replied with, and chuckled briefly when Steven rolled his eyes, visibly getting irritated, then swiftly corrected himself with, “sweet. Why is it sweet? Cabbage isn’t sweet, is it?”

“Oh!” They both flinched at Steven’s unexpected exclamation. Grant smiled apologetically. “So you do know English. You got me worried for a second, cuz I can’t say a word in Spanish to safe my arse, yeah, and I’d like to talk to you more, now that I know you exist, but I- it wou- ogh, I guess I could try with phrasebooks, right? It would take ages, though, to actually chat even about some codswallops like weather and all that” he half-said, half-chucked it all, and Jake didn’t have to ponder too long to decide he liked the sound of it. “Thank fuck you know English, seriously, mate. Woulda been easier with French, as I know a little bit of it, but Spanish… Oh, great heavens-” “Steven,” this time, Jake hated the fact he had to interrupt. He hated those mood swings if you asked him, but sometimes, he noticed, Steven had a tendency to blow hot air when asked about something. Like right then, dragging the subject far too far when there wasn’t need for it. Hence, Jake snapped his fingers to catch the other one’s focus. “Kimchi. Sweet. Why?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he replied, already lowering his head in embarrassment, which put a wince on Jake’s face. Mood swings, horrible stuff.

“Don’t be.” Was the only response, but Jake smiled at him in an encouraging manner, then nodded for him to continue, so Steven did.

“Apple,” he stated as if it was obvious. Giggled at the man sitting in an armchair after noticing pure confusion dancing around his rough features. “I added some apples to break through the spiciness of onions, ginger and gochugaru paste, which is basically a fermented hot pepper. You like it?” he asked once again, a slight sign of impatience shining throughout his curious facade.

Jake sighed at that, then took another bite, this time much bigger, earning Steven’s huff with that. It was nice, he had to admit, to be able to tease the other man; to finally be seen after all those years of living in the shadows, doing everything he could not to make his presence known. A little bit overwhelming at times, but overall nice. He nodded slowly.

“I like it. Mucho”

“Well, of course you do,” Steven mocked, a frivolous laugh ripping from his throat before he could even finish what he’d started, “it’s basically spoiled food, lad. Right up your alley.”

Jake leaned against the backrest more comfortably, the light-green blanket suddenly landed on Steven’s head, and he watched the Londoner getting all riled up while he himself focused completely on enjoying his burrito.

It was nice.

⁺₊⋆˖⁺‧₊ ☽ ◯ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆⁺₊

The way Steven had lowered his head, ready for a scold, was the only thing he had before his eyes, drilled into the brain of his as he was straddling his target tight, golden crescent darts shining beautifully when raised in several sweeps before being pushed right back into the bleeding chest. The way Steven had huddled up tore once or two grunts from his throat, hyping him even more to hit onejhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnvfffffffffffffffb

that human trafficker one more time, two more times, harder, deeper, cutting through ribs smoothly like in a soft butter. The darts were sharp on all sides, designed for throwing rather than close-quarter combat, but that was fine, he could deal with that kind of pain, he wanted to feel the skin on his palms break with every strike. He simply couldn’t really stop himself from wishing for that belt Wendy had used on them also had been sharp on all sides, not just the one that marked their skin, so she could have felt the same pain, could have faced the same troubles hiding cuts and bruises under itchy clothes, could have know what it had felt like to hurt repeatedly to the point of screaming, fainting even. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been here, achingly aware of contemptuous thoughts Marc had of him, of untrustful looks he had sent him the day he had decided to try and live a normal life without them, without him. Although he knew it, his heart still was Marc’s place, despite aching days and gray lonely nights.

“Enough.” Voice holding the weight of whole centuries of serving vengeance rumbled loudly, whether for everyone to hear, or only in his insignificant head, he didn’t really care. One of his hands stilled, holding what remained of his target’s throat, the other stopped mid-way down to what was left of his ribcage, golden dart catching the warm light of a nearby lantern.

“Yes, Netjer.” The Moon Knight bowed his head obediently. Yet, he struck one last blow, right to the shreds of his target’s lungs. Awful stench of blood mixed with vomit penetrated every remnant of fresh air around him, even his mask was useless at that moment, yielding to it, letting it poison him slowly, ruthlessly.

“You have proven yourself as my avatar once again, Jake Lockley.”

“Thank you, Netjer.” With those words, he lazily dragged one of the darts across his target’s cheek, carving a crescent moon in skin purely for a little bit of fun.

“You are now dismissed. You did well.”

“Thank you, Netjer,” he repeated, the tone of his voice exhausted but grateful.

He took his time getting up, swayed dangerously mid-way, to then trip over the definitely dead body, too busy glaring at torn bandages on his palms, stained with dark blood from already healed wounds, left with silvery white scars only. He sniffled, brushed nonexistent dust off his suit, and blinked multiple times in a weak attempt to focus on the exit of the dark alleyway, back to his car. Moon Knight suit unhurriedly, as if to mock him, unwrapping, giving way back to his normal clothes that consisted of Steven’s sleeping shirt, some old pants he didn’t even remember getting, and his favorite faux leather jacket Marc had purchased almost a decade ago.

He got in his car with a single grunt, recited the only prayer he actually knew to ensure a safe ride back to Steven’s flat, and eventually started the engine.

He wanted nothing more than to be at home already, Steven’s home, perhaps also Marc’s home, if he could dare to admit it without consequences. He wouldn’t dare to call it his home, too, though. That was a forbidden fantasy. That was his pain threshold.

⁺₊⋆˖⁺‧₊ ☽ ◯ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖⋆⁺₊

Darkness welcomed him about forty five minutes later as he crossed the threshold of Steven’s apartment. Nothing new, he thought to himself, it was basically this place’s characteristic at this point. 09P —---p

Eternally nestled in the shadows, such a familiar feeling. Who would’ve thought he would find a place so perfect for him, yet so not intended for him. The most painful paradox.

In this darkness, though, there was a single, small source of light in the form of a reading lamp laying abandoned on the bed, right next to a sleeping silhouette buried in thick bed sheets. As Jake walked up to the bed, he could hear panting, and there was a thin layer of sweat shining on the skin of Steven’s calm face, all the way down to his chest. He looked as if he was suffering the slightest bit, with the way his chest was heaving like a stormy sea at night, and with how tense he seemed to be, even though his eyes weren’t tightened, and he wasn’t tossing around. Strange mixture of signs that could only mean one thing, and one thing only. Jake let out a resigned sigh when he came to that realization, shook his head as he leaned forward to carefully, doing his best not to wake Steven up from his slumber, untangle his limp body from the too thick bedding. When he did that, a sight he’d been expecting was revealed to him - Marc’s precious Steven, the innocent alter, the british angel and the cheekiest little piece of shit of the three of them, the grown-up man, contrary to his clothing habits during the day, was drowned in layers over layers of different fabrics; from his standard pyjamas, so a t-shirt and a pair of thin pants, to a thick cardigan and his winter socks, to a velour dressing gown with the hood thrown over dark curls that had lost their volume due to caging them like that and letting them get soaked with sweat, to the cursed bedding, way too thick for Steven’s own good in a season like late spring and early summer.

Steven breathed freely at the new sensation of being freed from the tropical hell he cooked for himself, visibly relieved then. Cool hand pressed to his forehead to comb a few damp strands back, and Grant unconsciously chased after it when Jake pulled it away, causing him a ghost of a smile to tug at the corners of his lips.

Then he sat on the floor by the side of the bed, making sure the other wouldn’t pull the bedsheets back on himself in his sleep, because he was already dressed thick enough for a night without any blankets, that was for sure. The one awake barely held a grunt back at the glimpse of another pair of socks protruding from underneath the winter ones; he looked up to the ceiling for a second or two, his mouth clamped in a thin line, an enormous amount of air being let out through his nose - all that prior to reaching, with great resignation, to the british man's feet to then take his winter socks off. After that, he pressed his back into the bedside, exhaled with fatigue even greater than any other negative feeling that was ruining him from within at that moment, and leaned his heavy head against the mattress, more than ready to drift off into the land of Morpheus at last, when something behind him stirred, momentarily bringing him back to the world of the living.

“Mira eso” Jake muttered under his breath. “Buenas noches, La Bella Durmiente,” he added mockingly, hoping Steven would somehow dig out the playful tone from underneath the exhaustion. Luckily for him, Steven seemed sober enough to catch that joke, judging by the light movement of his arm across the mattress, nearing Jake’s head.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Steven complained, and Jake couldn’t really help but huff at his offended voice. “Where were you?” he asked then, at which the other sighed.

“At work,” he replied, glancing in the direction of his own palms, pretending he could see, aside from feeling, all those fresh scars he’d decorated the insides of his hands with. Pondering how he would explain them to Steven, when the other man would notice. If, also. “I’m a cabbie,” he beat him to it in explaining his career path before the Londoner could’ve asked. A hum was then heard, filling the silent space between the two of them. A question was trying to squeeze itself in there, too, Jake could feel it in his veins. And he was right, he quickly discovered, right after Steven exhaled heavily.

“Would it be okay if I touched you, Jake?” There was an unpleasant hesitation crawling under the tone of Steven’s voice, so small, so quiet, barely audible, yet betraying a sense of desperation.

He didn’t answer, only nodded slightly, but that was enough for the other man to gently brush his knuckles over the side of his neck, up into his hair, fingers straightening on the way. They were gone sooner than they arrived, though - vanishing in the exact moment Jake allowed himself to indulge in that touch, with his eyes shut and breathing steady. He opened his mouth to ask for the fingers back, but then he felt them being replaced with something thin, metal, creating an enlarging circle, and so so good, it almost ripped a pleasant purr out of him.The circle shrinked in a matter of second, only to enlarge again, and again, sending the good kind of shivers down his whole body, like and electric stimuli running through all of his nerve endings on his scalp. He had to admit, fortunately only to himself, that it felt amazing, that it felt like nothing he had ever felt before, and he was glad Steven didn’t want him to form a cohesive opinion on that, because he doubted he had the right words in his dictionary to fully express how much he liked that feeling.

“I just- I…” Steven hinted something, but paused mid-sentence, and Jake could sense the same embarrassment he had already seen in the other’s graceful form earlier that day. The one sitting on the floor sighed encouragingly, begging in silence for him to stop feeling so ashamed in front of him; he was only Jake, at last, there was nothing to be ashamed of there. If anything, Jake was the one who should be ashamed. “... had this weird feeling that you’re hurt. Couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard I tried. Sounds silly, I know, I’m sorry,” he finished, and it left Jake breathless for a minute. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though, it felt right, felt like a much needed time to gather their entangled thoughts and to put them into the right words- something they both sometimes needed help with, needed support. That was the aspect of their personalities that clicked just right with one another, Jake had realized it a long time ago, and it seemed Steven was starting to realize it, too. Such a clever man he was, that went without any doubt.

“Yeah,” Jake said eventually, still completely lost in that crazy sensation Steven was granting him, “could feel you were feeling scared.”

“I’m glad you’re home now. That’s all that really matters.”

Jake didn’t answer. He wasn’t in a mood to lie any more than he had already lied, so he didn’t say anything. What could he say to that, honestly? That whole sentence was false.

Steven wasn’t truly glad.

This wasn’t Jake’s home.

Nothing about Jake really mattered.

“You hungry..?” his voice was so weak when he asked that question, so sleepy, so tired, Jake almost pitied him. Still, he let out an even weaker chuckle when he heard it. And then Steven chuckled as well, equally exhausted. It was nice.

“No, Steven, I am not,” Jake responded, barely able to let out a real voice. He felt like he was floating, the feeling amplified by the other’s ministrations.

“I’m just sayin’. Don’t come to me tomorrow, complaining of nausea first thing in the morning.” There was a spark of a fight in the way Steven said it, Jake noticed. But, he also noticed the way Steven’s hand stopped massaging his scalp, so he had to be the one waving a white flag between the two of them.

He shook his head gently, still feeling the thin metal circle in his hair. Sighed one last time, in an unexpected harmony with the man laying in bed behind him. This was also nice.

“Duerme tranquilo, Stevie.”

#silver rings and sundried tomatoes #moon knight fic #steven grant x jake lockley

0 notes

jungshook69 · 4 years ago

Text

Love is a myth :: 01

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 4.1K words

MAIN PAIRING: musician! Yoongi X waitress! female reader

SIDE PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader ; Taehyung X female reader

GENRE: FWB! au ; Strangers to lovers! au

WARNINGS: Implied smut (Forgive me cuz I suck at writing it, no puns intended) ; Mentions of alcohol and smoking (I do not condone smoking) ; Profanity ; Mentions of infidelity ; Heavy angst ; Self loathing (Namjoon’s about to wack me in the head with his slipper) ; I apologize in advance if there’s any spelling errors.

SUMMARY: "You covered your bare form with the silk sheets beneath you, as you watched him walk out your door without a word." // "Love is a myth. All that existed between you two was pure lust." // "The last rule was if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off."

SERIES MASTERLIST: Trailer » Meet the cast » Chapter #1 » Chapter #2 » Chapter #3 » Chapter #4

STATUS: Complete

You lay on your bed, chest panting, as you tried to catch your breath. Your hooded eyes fluttered open to meet the familiar sight of a white ceiling fan rotating at a painfully slow speed. Your forehead and bare chest were lined with beads of sweat as you felt the mattress dip beside you. You turned your attention to his presence, as you were met with the sight of his bare back sitting upright, his hands working hard to put his white t-shirt back on. You watched as he pulled on his boxers, followed by his jeans and walked over to your side of the bed.

You covered your bare form with the soft silk sheets underneath you as you watched him come closer to you. No, he did not lean in for a passionate good bye kiss. No, he did not bend over and embrace your petite form against his warm chest, and run his calloused fingers along your naked back. None of that was part of what you both had come to terms with. Your curious eyes followed his movements as he bent down to grab his beanie off of the floor next to your side of the bed.

He slipped on his beanie and his jacket which was strewn across your chair, not moments ago. Without a word, you watch as the man’s dark figure retreated from the shadows of your bedroom. You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding, as soon as you heard the front door click. Being too tired to get up and wash up, you let your tired eyes take control, as you drifted into a deep slumber.

You awoke to the sound of a woman’s high pitched voice yelling, contrary to most people waking up to the sound of a disturbingly loud alarm. You immediately recognized the voice to be the sound of your neighbors engaged in a routinely loud domestic argument. Maybe this time her husband accidently burned an egg on the stove, or maybe this time her toddler broke a vase, the possibilities were endless. In your time living in your apartment, you had heard your neighbors engage in a variety of arguments. The daily bickering of your neighbors, your parents’ marriage, and a certain someone from your past, were the exact reasons why your take on love was the way it is now.

Was love overrated according to you? Nope, that wasn’t the case. You just didn’t believe love existed at all. You believed that love is a myth.

You had higher priorities in life, like maintaining a proper work ethic, to earn for a living. You were one of the lucky ones whose day didn’t start at 6 in the morning. Instead your job required for you to be present quite later, at around 11 in the morning. But, to be fair, your job extended further into the next day, as far as 2 or 3 in the morning sometimes. But you did prefer your current work schedule better, as you were kind of a night owl.

You freshened up, and had a hearty breakfast composed of a buttered toast and some chai tea. Yes, unlike the people around you, you were one to prefer tea over coffee. You couldn’t count the number of times you’ve had this discussion with your colleagues. You soon got dressed in your uniform consisting of a tight white blouse, a black pencil skirt that hugged your curves, paired with classic black pumps. You didn’t forget to put on your silver ring with a black J carved into it, the one you’d taken off the night before, when you were engaged in a scandalous activity with a certain someone. You grabbed your purse and your warm grey winter coat, as you stepped out the door, ready to start your day.

The bus ride wasn’t too bad, although you wish you had enough strength to pull the window which was stuck, close, to stop the cold winter breeze from grazing your bare calves. But as soon as you entered the warm ambience of your workplace, your coat long forgotten, your mind focused on getting the job done. You walked across the rows and rows of empty tables and chairs, your heels making minimal noise against the rich carpet, as you made your way through a pair of steel doors, tying your apron around your waist. You grabbed a checklist attached onto a clipboard, and detained your responsibilities as the senior head waitress.

“Okay, do we have the 5 kilograms of sundried tomatoes from Tony’s farm?�� you’re sharp voice rings through the hustling and bustling of your colleagues. “Yes ma’am!” you here a response over the ruckus of boxes being unloaded. Doing inventory was a hassle, but you were determined to complete the responsibility laid on your shoulders. About an hour of screaming later, you were wiping off the sweat that had accumulated across your forehead. “Good job today guys, we did inventory, 30 minutes early.” You said, a small smile tracing your thin lips. Although you were stern, you knew how to appreciate your colleagues work. They all gave you small smiles as they headed off to freshen themselves up, to get ready for opening up for business in 30 minutes.

You were in the washroom, touching up your deep wine lipstick, when the door flew open, followed by the click of heels against the marble floor. You caught her reflection in the mirror as you turned around and greeted her. “Hey Maria…” you said, not a trace of enthusiasm in your voice. If there was one person who you could stand the least in your workplace, it was Maria. Contrary to you, she was born with a silver spoon. She was the restaurant manager’s niece, and had been given a job here, despite her inexperience. You never had a problem with that, but it’s when she ran against you for the post of senior head waitress, you grew envious. But fortunately, the manager saw beyond just blood relations, and fairly granted you the promotion, as a result of all the blood and sweat you had put into it.

“Hey…” she mumbled, plainly as courtesy, and no real kind intention, as she walked towards the mirror and began brushing through the strands of her short black bob. Unbothered by her presence, you began to tie your long brown locks into a low braided bun and brushed your outfit free from any existing wrinkles. Your eyes drifted to the adjacent female’s form and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. You were pretty proud of how you looked. It’s just that you failed to be confident about your body, unlike her, who flawlessly flaunted her curves. Before you could overthink you left the washroom.

10 minutes left to opening time, you were setting folded napkins down by the pristine glassware and silverware on a table, when you heard the small bell chime, alerting you of someone entering the restaurant. You look up and immediately lock eyes with a man with deep brown feline eyes, his hair a pale mint green, contrasting with his all-black attire. Min Yoongi. The same man who was hovering over you last night, the same man whose throat was voicing your name out loud, the same man whose teeth had left evident marks on your body, multiple times in the last 2 months. You shifted your gaze onto the butter knife in your hand, and all you could think about was stabbing the man in front of you senseless, and then stabbing yourself, for doing what you did. But then again, lust was a dangerous greed in your mind.

You walked away to a table farther away from the entrance, while your eyes carefully watched as he uncovered his guitar from the case, and began setting up a mic on the center stage, right under the spotlight. “Hey, do you need help setting up?” you heard Maria ask him. You caught from the corner of your eyes, her figure bending over to his seated one on the chair, her hand landing on his shoulder. You were pretty sure his unwavering gaze was fixed down her shirt. “No I’m good.” He huffs and gets back to working on the speaker settings for his performance. You let whatever feeling was building up in the pit of your stomach subside as you left the two, making your way back into the kitchen.

Before you knew it, the whole day had gone by with you running in between tables, jotting down orders on your little notepad, and running back and forth between the loud and chaotic kitchen and the quiet and luxurious ambience of the seating region. This was your life, maintaining a calm composure, fit for a classy 5-star restaurant accompanied by casting several missed glances at a certain musician playing a beautiful rhythm.

You placed a martini at a table with a family of 4. You observed the man to be wearing a rich tuxedo finished with a neatly tucked pocket square, the woman was adorned with elegant pearls and dressed in a midnight blue gown, a small girl, embezzled in what appeared to be her mother’s gold jewelry and dressed in an obnoxious pink frilled dress. A small boy of around the age of 5, who was seated right next to where you were standing, cast you a nasty glance as you watched his hand topple the glass, spilling all the contents onto your skirt. You audibly gasped, but remembered to lower your voice and not make a scene, luckily your skirt was black. The woman at the table said nothing, her eyes fixated upon her rich manicure, while the man glanced your way and muttered a small “sorry”.

You were used to being treated this way. You were used to seeing families like this, all adorned with a picture perfect image on the outside, while you knew that their souls were writhing on the inside. You whispered a small “its okay sir” and worked on cleaning up the mess at the table. The small girl reached out to pick up a napkin and just as she was about to hand it to you, probably to help dry your skirt off, you felt her mother’s cold glare harden on her daughter, as the small child dropped the napkin and sheepishly returned her gaze back onto her lap. You sympathized with this little girl you barely knew, because you too were once in her place.

Your parents were just like the many families you had encountered at your job over the years. They maintained a perfect image on the outside while no one knew the hell they put you and themselves through inside the doors of your home. You remembered every time your mom had scoffed at you for helping someone with a lower status than yours. You remembered those endless nights of bickering when your mom and dad had lectured you on how you couldn’t let your proper image waver when you had told them that you wanted to pursue your true passion of playing the piano. You remembered the night that you watched your father slap your mother across her face in his study, the talk of divorce ensuing. You remembered being frightened and packing your bag, stuffing a roll of cash in it, and jumping out the window and escaping.

You were jolted back to reality as you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders. Maria’s disgusted face appeared as she whisper-shouted in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing? Stop day dreaming and get back inside the kitchen, I’ll take their order!” You were about to correct her for the manner in which she talked to you, her superior, but decided to do yourself a favor, and leave the room before any more humiliation could follow. Although you remained unaware of a certain pair of eyes sharply watching your movements.

You entered the bathroom and worked on getting the stain off of your skirt. As soon as you were done, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your attire still remained remarkably presentable, but the dark circles etched below your eyes, were beginning to uncover from underneath the heavy concealer. Your eyes drifted towards the empty bathroom stall behind you, and you couldn’t help but form a tiny smile. You remembered the time, a week ago, when you and Yoongi had occupied the stall in a very risky endeavor in between his 10 minute break, and had almost been caught by the head chef, who had come in there looking for you.

You knew what you and Yoongi had was toxic, but so was your whole take on love. Everyone from your parents to your neighbors and just about everything in your life had convinced you, that true love didn’t exist. You only believed that a greed called lust existed. And all you thought was that you needed relief for the same. About 2 months ago, when you were getting drunk off your ass for getting promoted, you had run into Yoongi. He had been playing at the restaurant, alternating between piano and guitar, for just as long as you had been working there. He had always caught your eye, and if you were being brutally honest, you loved watching him do something that you couldn’t do, play piano.

No sooner had the words “Wanna get outta here?” been spoken, you had ended up, about 20 minutes later, squirming underneath him, grasping his shoulders and moaning shamelessly, your cries contained inside the walls of his bedroom. What was commendable though was that you both had managed to keep your word so far. You both had devised a set of rules, no cuddling, no sweet goodbye kisses after doing the deed (making out before doing the dirty wasn’t counted), no going on dates, consent was always necessary, no leverage, meaning you both were free to engage in personal affairs with other men/women as long as you promised to remain safe, and the last impending rule being, if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off. You knew these rules sounded ridiculous, like you were writing your own constitution, but it was necessary for a relationship, where you both were doing this purely for relief, for lust.

You shook off your smile, and headed out of the washroom. You continued doing your chores, till it was finally closing time. The rest of the hour until midnight passed by as you and your colleagues worked on going through the gigantic pile of dishes. Of course it wasn’t part of your job but you’d rather spend time here with your colleagues than sit alone in the darkness of your humble abode. You also didn’t want to deal with any sort of unnecessary feelings arising, when you saw Yoongi leaving the room, Maria clinging by his side.

“Hey wanna join us for a beer?” said Mark. He was one of the few kind friends you’d made at this job, along with his girlfriend Jackie, and another girl Maya. “Sure what have I got to lose?” you say, grabbing your coat. Before you knew it, your 3rd beer bottle was hooked to your lips, as you gulped the liquid down, drowning your worries.

“Man, Maria’s a bitch huh?” Jackie spoke up. You loved her spunky personality, and she was straight forward like you. “Yeah lol” you say.

“Don’t be so mean Jackie…” Maya speaks up, only halfway through her first beer bottle. She was shy and timid, contrary to Jackie, but she was too pure for this cruel world.

“You’re just saying that because she’s never been mean to you.” Jackie stated matter-of-factly. “Amen” her boyfriend Mark said clinking his bottle with her’s.

“I never saw her be rude to you though” Maya says innocently. “Does her shoving her chest into my boyfriend’s face on purpose in front of me count?” Jackie says rolling her eyes and scoffing.

“I swear I was so freaked out.” Mark said laughing. “If it weren’t for Jackie ‘accidently’ shoving her face into the cake, I don’t know how far she would’ve gone to seduce me.”

“That was the best day of my life.” I said laughing. “Guys don’t be so loud, she’s right there” Maya whisper-yelled.

Everyone’s eyes turned to follow Maya’s line of sight and the image before you made your heart clench involuntarily. You watched with disgust, as you saw Yoongi’s tongue literally down Maria’s throat, his hands running up and down her form.

“She won’t be able to hear us bitching about her over the loud music anyways so it doesn’t matter…” Jackie said breaking your gaze away from the pair. “By the way, guitar guy is hot innit?”

“Yeah he’s pretty cool, he has good taste in music based off of the songs he plays” Mark says. You were not surprised to see that Mark didn’t get jealous over his girlfriend calling another man hot. You only wish you were so secure about your relationships.

After a moment of silence excluding the loud club music you spoke up, “I think I’m gonna head home now guys” you said looking at your watch. “It’s 2, holy shit!”

“Yeah we should get going too actually…” Mark said, getting ready to lift Jackie up. “Maya how’re you gonna get home?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

“Oh actually… my boyfriend is gonna pick me up…” she said timidly. “You have a boyfriend?” Jackie yelped.

“Yeah… see you guys…” she said rushing out of the place before any questions could follow. You bid Mark and Jackie goodbye, not wanting to wait for the war of tongues that was yet to ensue. You glanced over once again only to find a certain pair missing. You tried to suppress the unbeknownst feeling bubbling inside you, as you headed home with a heavy heart.

You weren’t too drunk as you had a high tolerance for beer. You decided since your apartment was only a few blocks away, you would walk. You were used to walking on the streets alone at night, as your job required for you to stay back quite frequently.

Along with the familiar click of your heels on the concrete, you heard a periodic scruff of shoes on the concrete behind you. You turned around to see a man, head hung low, hood covering his face walking at a pace similar to yours. To be honest, you weren’t afraid of things like these. At least that’s what you told yourself to brace your inner coward self. But living alone all these years, basically living with just scraps from when you were 16 years old and had escaped, had prepared you for a lot of conditions for the best. You decided to walk faster, the streetlights casting a warm yellow light across the two of you, highlighting the game of cat and mouse you were playing.

About a minute later, the steps of your apartment came into view, which gave you some new found confidence. You halted and turned around swiftly and yelled, “You gonna follow me up to my apartment or are you gonna make your move any time soon?”

The man walked a few steps forward and uncovered his hood, revealing his pale face under the moonlight, his shocking green hair catching your eyes. “Min Yoongi…” you said rolling your eyes.

You ignored the man and went up to the steps leading up to your building and took a seat. You watched the man linger not far behind you and finally make it to you, as he stood beside you, laying an arm on the rails. “Why were you following me?” you said, obvious annoyance laced in your voice.

“It’s 2 in the morning… I felt like taking a walk…” he said nonchalantly.

You huffed and fished out a cigarette and a lighter out from your purse. Lighting it, you brought it up to your lips and took in a huff of smoke. You leaned your head back, letting out the puff of smoke into the night sky, your head feeling light. “Seriously why’re you here? Do you want sex?” you said rolling your eyes.

“Not everything is about sex Y/N…” Yoongi spoke up, his deep raspy voice sending an untimely shiver down your spine.

“Between us it is…” you say softly.

“It doesn’t have to be…” Yoongi replies almost too immediately.

“We made the contract mutually you dumb fuck” you say huffing in another breath from the cigarette in your hand.

He walked around you and took a seat next to you on the cold steps his hand extending forward. “Who said we can’t talk like normal friends?” he says as you knowingly pass your cigarette into his willing hand, watching him, as he took a puff too, before crushing it underneath his boot.

“Sure” you say sarcastically rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you have your hands full with a certain friend already” you scoff.

He raised his eyebrow at you only to have you roll your eyes again. “Maria seems like a pretty good friend… ya know how she lets you shove your tongue down her throat, anytime you want.”

“Ahhh… So you were at the bar huh?” he says, although you remain suspicious of the fact that he knew of your presence beforehand.

“Yeah, and I for a fact know, that no one can be friends, without any pure intentions of lust hidden behind it.” You state.

“Then what about Mark?” he says looking at the empty street before you both.

“Yeah he’s the only male friend of mine, without any intentions.” You scoff.

“You never know…” Yoongi murmurs.

“He’s dating Jackie for Christ’s sake!” you say annoyed, clearly understanding his tactic.

“Oh…” he says an unnoticeable trace of guilt hidden in his voice.

“Were you seriously trying to make me jealous by hooking up with Maria in front of me, just because you thought me and Mark had something going on between us?” you ask in disbelief.

His silence confirms your suspicions. “Oh lord! Were you dreaming when Jackie and Mark got caught making out in the store room?”

“Hey, I don’t know what the hell goes on beyond those steel doors okay? I get in, play music, and get out… I don’t have a social life at my job like you do!” he huffs out.

“I’m sorry…” you say, although it hurts your pride.

“I’m sorry too, for the whole Maria thing… call it even?” he says giving you a small smile.

“You don’t have to be sorry… it’s part of the deal… you can engage in personal affairs with anyone else, it’s your choice… I have no say in your life…” you say staring at the ground.

“Well I’m sorry for following you like a creepy stalker… I was just making sure you got home alright… call it even now?” he says a small giggle leaving his throat.

You didn’t try to question why he was worried about you walking home, because you knew that argument wouldn’t lead anywhere sensible. “Call it even.” You respond looking into his eyes, returning his smile.

The gaze grew uncomfortably long before you spoke up, “I should get going…” You stood up brushing your skirt. You didn’t know whose cursed soul possessed you, but your heart took control of your actions before your head could stop you, and your hand landed on his shoulder before you pulled him in for a short kiss. You backed away to meet his wide eyes, which was expected as you, the strict rule enforcer, had gone back on the rule, ‘no sweet goodbye kisses’.

“I-I’m sorry I’m drunk…” you blabbered.

“No it’s okay… I didn’t mind…” he mumbled out the last part, too soft to hear.

You panicked and immediately tried to draw attention away from your actions. “Eeeww I just indirectly kissed Maria.” You whined.

Yoongi broke into a loud laugh “Ayy I made sure to rinse my mouth off before I followed you here”.

“Oh… were you expecting to sleep with me?” you ask confused.

“N-No not at all… I know you’re tired tonight.” Yoongi said rubbing his neck and backing away. “Well I should get going… friend” he said smirking.

“Alright, see ya… friend” you said returning his devious smile with a smirk of your own. With that you went up to your apartment and went to bed with a not as heavy of a heart as you expected.

«Previous :: Masterlist :: Next»

A/N: Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69 for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

TAGLIST: -

30 notes · View notes