#so there was a struggle to match it ����

[earpskeeper]

Leaving London felt like breathing for the first time in months.

You leaned your head against the train window as the city blurred past, the weight of Arsenal’s crest finally peeling off your chest. For now, anyway. No more shared glances in the hallway at London Colney. No more questions about your grief or your family. No more being referred to as ‘mini mead’ or ‘Beth’s little sister’. 

This loan was your shot. Your own pitch, your own squad, your own story. It wasn’t glamorous, rather the opposite. A struggling club in desperate need of cover after a spate of injuries, but it was yours. You could play ninety minutes without being compared to someone else. Without the ghost of England’s golden girl shadowing every touch.

You exhaled, eyes drifting to the half-empty carriage, to your phone screen lighting up with Beth’s name for the third time that hour. You let it go to voicemail again. The texts could wait.

You’ll smash it, Bubs. Just keep your head down and work hard. Proud of you.

Beth meant well. She always had. But ever since Mum died, her ‘love’ felt more like surveillance. Like a full-time job trying to prove you were fine. That she could stand on her own two feet and fulfil the mum role in the family now. 

You tightened the grip on the handle of your kitbag, trying to shake the thought. That was London. That was grief. This was something else. This was the start of your real career.

You had talent, you knew that. You just needed minutes, space, and someone willing to let her be. At your best, you could make defenders look stupid, slice through the midfield like it was nothing.  

The training ground smelled like damp grass and petrol fumes.

You stepped off the minibus the club had sent, your boots slung over one shoulder, her duffel bouncing against her hip. It was all a bit sad. The pitch was uneven, the gym barely more than a converted storage room, and the physio table looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Euros.

But you kept your chin up, shoulders square. First impressions mattered.

The manager, a wiry man with deep-set eyes and a permanent frown, gave you a quick nod as he pointed toward the changing rooms.

"You're starting Sunday. Left wingback. Don’t need you flashy, just need you fit. That alright?" 

Though you knew it was not a question you could refuse, so instead you forced a smile. "More than alright."

He didn't ask about your fitness history. Just turned and walked away. You watched him go, the nerves in your stomach twisting, not from doubt, but something colder. A flicker of knowing.

They weren’t here to look after you. They were here to use you, but somehow you didn’t seem to care as much as you should. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur of iced joints and tired smiles. You played every minute, made every sprint, even when your body screamed at you to slow down. The club doctor handed out painkillers like mints, didn’t ask questions when you winced putting on your boots, and barely blinked when your post match urine test showed signs of dehydration and a bit too much alcohol.

“Stress relief?” he’d ask, too casually, and you would just shrug before replying. “Something like that.”

The pills helped. At least enough to train. And at night, when the adrenaline wore off and her knee pulsed with fire, the drink helped more.

The loneliness, you didn’t talk about. The growing ache in your body, you ignored. The way the doctor’s hand sometimes lingered too long during treatment, you forced into a corner of your mind and locked it up tight.

You were playing. That was what mattered. You were scoring, assisting, making headlines - Bailey Mead shines on debut, loan youngster rescues point with late equaliser. For the first time, they were using your name, not Beth’s.

So when the stiffness in your knee got worse, you didn’t say anything. When the bruises didn’t fade, you covered them. When your body stopped feeling like her own, you told herself that this was what pushing through looked like.

You’d come here to be more than a shadow.

You just hadn’t expected it to cost this much.

The morning it finally happened, it didn’t come with a bang. Just a gentle shift.

A missed step in training. A sudden crack of pain through your knee like someone had taken a crowbar to the joint. You dropped to the turf, breath caught in your throat, vision spinning as the world tilted off its axis. For a moment, no one moved. Then shouting. Whistles. Hands touching you everywhere.

You waved them off.

“I’m fine,” you lied, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood.

The manager didn’t look convinced, but the doctor gave a slow, tight-lipped nod. “Rest tonight. Ice. I’ll give you something stronger to get through tomorrow.”

No scan. No second opinion. Just another pill shoved into your palm, no questions asked, and you swallowed it dry. 

That night, the pain was unbearable. So you drank until it dulled, just like you always did. One glass turned into two. Two into four. You woke on the sofa, aching and disoriented, the TV blaring some late-night rerun, your phone buzzing nonstop on the table.

Five missed calls. Three from Leah and two from Beth.

You blinked, confused. Then remembered, England’s youth camp was next month. They were checking in.

Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t go back like this.

You couldn’t let them see you like this.

So you replied with a thumbs-up, a white lie, and took another pill.

Beth didn’t think much of it, not at first.

You’d always been a little moody. Hot and cold. Independent to a fault. She figured the space was probably good for both of you, maybe even overdue. And with the chaos that followed Mum’s passing, she had enough on her plate.

She was too busy sorting through various forms, trying to get Dad to eat something that wasn’t toast, remembering to cancel Mum’s old prescriptions, and chasing her own form after training to prove she was still sharp enough for selection.

Everyone grieved differently. That’s what people kept saying. Maybe this was just how you did it - away from home and away from her.

Still, Leah noticed.

It started with the little things. At first, nothing she could put her finger on. Just… changes.

You stopped replying in the group chat. Missed a couple of voice notes. Posted to Instagram but left Leah on read. When you did reply, the tone was clipped. Flat. Off.

Then came the matchday footage. A grainy stream Leah had half-watched on her phone during the car ride to St. George’s for camp. Your team got battered, but you looked good, technically sharp, decisive in possession. And yet…

Something wasn’t right.

You flinched after contact. Backed away from a challenge you’d normally snap into. Sat on the floor for longer than necessary after a foul. It was subtle - enough that most people wouldn’t catch it - but Leah did.

And the eyes.

Your eyes were empty.

So, she brought it up.

Beth had just sat down with her dinner at SGP when Leah sat down beside her and dropped the comment, casual but deliberate. 

"Bailey okay?"

Beth didn’t even look up. “She’s nineteen, on her first loan and just being a little shit.”

Leah frowned. “I mean… maybe. But she’s not replying to me. She looked off in her last game.”

Beth let out a breath through her nose. “Leah, you’re overthinking it. She’s fine. Just finding her feet. She wanted to leave, remember?”

“She looks like she’s in pain.”

“She’s just dramatic.”

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “Beth…”

“Leah, I appreciate it, but I think I know my sister.”

And that was the end of it. At least, for then.

Leah didn’t push, but something in her expression lingered, concern etched just beneath the surface.

Leah didn’t let it go. Not really.

She sat with it, chewed on it during warm-ups and quiet moments in camp. Her gut wouldn’t settle. Something about the way Beth had brushed it off didn’t sit right - too quick, too defensive. It wasn’t like her. Not when it came to you.

So a few days later, she tried again.

She pulled up the old match footage on her ipad in the players’ lounge, the screen propped against her knee. She watched you chase down a loose ball, win it cleanly, then limp three steps before forcing yourself upright like nothing had happened.

Leah zoomed in on the way your left knee buckled ever so slightly every time you pivoted.

She didn’t imagine that.

Still, she didn’t send it to Beth. Not yet. She knew how it would go - another brush off, another tight smile, another ‘she’s just pushing herself’.

And maybe that was true. Maybe it was nothing. But she also knew what it looked like when someone was barely holding it together, and your eyes in that post-match interview, the ones that darted everywhere but the camera, looked too familiar.

She’d seen it before. In herself. In teammates. In friends who waited too long to say, “I’m not okay.”

You barely remembered the last time you didn’t feel like a zombie.

Not because of the pain, though it was always there, but because everything was starting to blend. The pills took the edge off, but they also blurred the world around you. Made everything feel ten seconds slower. 

Like you were watching yourself play from somewhere outside your body.

It was an end of training 7 aside game when you had scored, again. A cut-in from the flank and a low drive to the far post. They’d cheered. Your teammates had swarmed you. The manager gave a rare thumbs-up from the sideline.

But you couldn’t feel it. Not really.

Your body hurt, your head buzzed, and all you wanted was for the noise to stop.

After training, the physio slapped some tape on your knee and told you to be smart. You nodded like you understood what that meant, then downed two more pills in the changing room when no one was looking.

Back in the flat, you cracked a beer to chase them. Then another. 

Then something stronger.

When Leah finally confronted Beth again, it wasn’t calm this time.

They were walking back from a team meeting at SGP, the sun already setting, boots slung over their shoulders.

“She’s not just being dramatic, Beth.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jesus, are we still on this?”

“She’s injured,” Leah said flatly. “And hiding it. I’ve seen it before. She’s playing through something. Could be serious.”

“She’d tell me if it was.”

“Would she? When was the last time you had a proper conversation huh? When was the last time where she messaged you at a normal time of the day? I know you are busy taking care of everything but she is struggling too, and she doesn’t want to be a burden on top of your dad.”

Beth froze.

Leah knew immediately she’d hit too hard, but she didn’t back down.

“She’s slipping, Beth,” Leah said, voice quieter now. “I can see it. You might not want to, but I can.”

Beth looked away, jaw clenched. “I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“I know,” Leah replied. “But she’s your little sister. And she’s barely holding on.”

Beth didn’t respond. Just walked ahead, stiff-shouldered, like she could outrun the truth.

But later that night, she scrolled back through your messages. Looked at the gaps between your replies. The times of the texts - 2:41am. 3:56am. A photo from training with eyes that looked bright but vacant. A video from your last match with a wince she’d missed before.

And her stomach dropped.

She wasn’t sure when she’d started mistaking distance for independence.

But she was starting to realise, maybe she didn’t know you half as well as she thought.

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part xv

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons and/or events

series: part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv

bonus: one, two, three

July 7-8, 2025

[Excerpt: ATP and WTA Stars Take On "Nearest The Pin Golf" Challenge]

Y/N L/N steps up to the small green and then turns to the camera. "I just want to formally apologise to Lily in advance for messing this up."

The first few balls disappear into the water, but at least she's launching them in the right direction. Some of the other tennis players ironically struggle with even hitting the ball, or keep sending it far away from where it needs to land.

"Ugh, please tell me Casper didn't get this in one go," Y/N references one of the few tennis players that is pretty decent in golf. "I feel like it's almost impossible?"

Then she's asking if she can call a helpline. "It can't be a professional golfer, but it can be someone who thinks they are a professional golfer?" She grins slyly, then proceeds to call Carlos Sainz Jr.

"You know who is going to be so mad? Lando, for calling me instead of him," he can be heard saying in the background, before Y/N shows him the challenge. "I'll make it up to him, don't worry."

With another try, and some additional tips from Carlos, she manages to get the ball to bounce onto the lonely island with the pin on it. "I guess that's the best I'll do. Did I win? What did I win? Eternal glory? I'll take it!"

July 9-11, 2025

[Excerpt: Post-Semi Final Press Conference]

"ESPN here. Of course it's never fun to lose, but is there a part of you that feels relieved perhaps, knowing you can now fully focus on your individual tournaments?"

Jack shifts forward. "I mean there was only one other match to go. I'd have been more than happy to make that sacrifice and see if I could win two titles, instead of just the one."

Y/N nods along. "If we hadn't wanted to take this all the way, we wouldn't have committed to the tournament altogether."

"Hi, I'm with SkySports. Jack, you'll be facing Carlos Alcaraz next in your individual semi-final. Considering Y/N's history with Alcaraz, have you asked her for any tips on how to best handle him?"

There's some huffing in the room, and Jack seems to be slightly lost for words. "I - uh, no. I have not asked her for advice."

"And who will you be rooting for, Y/N?" The interviewer continues, making Y/N all but roll her eyes. "I think you know the answer to that, seems pretty obvious to me. But I'm mostly rooting for us to get better questions."

Another interviewer waves their hand. "Hi, I'm with Tennis News. Y/N, you could be just one step closer to your Season Slam if you manage to win this week. How do you switch between this loss and the next potential victory?"

Y/N smiles at that. "Well, I credit my team for it and my family and friends, first of all. But also, if you really want to be a champion - you have to learn how to take the losses. I think in this sport, but also probably in others, that to be a true professional athlete, it means you need to become good at losing. You can't be precious about them, or too superstitious or anything. Because you'll lose so much more than you'll win across your entire career. So if I couldn't deal with losing, I wouldn't be able to fight for the wins. Or at least, that's what I try to tell myself. I'm not always successful at it, but so far I haven't smashed a racket here," she jokes. "Thanks for the lovely question. More of that please."

A/N: pleased to share i have now caught up with the race weekend and have seen the video of lando walking into a wall, and it will 100% make an appearance in this fic at one point 🙃 next chapter features Lando at the Wimbledon final (obvi) and the aftermath or perhaps afterglow?? who knows?? :) :)

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012 @sadiemack9 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @its-elias-world @sarah-thatstings-ann @jessicanotta @fairyjinn @destinyg237 @verogonewild @annimausi @taetae-armyyyyy

[chronicdelusionistsart]

Never seen this mentioned but isn't it just really cool that Bernard is a foil to Tim himself by being a funhouse mirror of Early Tim and his motivations. Obviously he figured out Tim's identity by himself which is the gimme but it goes deeper than that

He's a Robin Superfan like Tim was a Batman superfan

(Yes I think a picture of Tim's stalker wall would be better here but then all of Tim's panels would be Stalker Wall pictures) He notices that Tim is off balance the same way that Tim noticed that Batman was off balance

He concludes from this that Tim needs to let people help him, though of course instead of trying to get someone else to do it first he skips straight to helping himself

Obviously they have a much different dynamic on account of being the same age and it being a romantic entanglement instead of a mentoral-to-familial one but isn't it just neat how Tim's arc in Urban Legends and TD:R about struggling over what the Robin identity means to him is supported by every aspect of the work like this. How the guy he likes is in many ways an echo of a younger and more idealistic Tim. How he's internalized the thing he pushed against - the Solo Batman I-Don't-Need-Anyone-when-I'm-having-a-breakdown thing - so hard that he has to have someone do for him what he insisted on doing for Bruce.

This is what it means to have a civilian cast that has meaningful thematic integration with their superhero. I've joked before that they matched freaks but they REALLY match freaks! On purpose! Lois Lane type of character

[v6quewrlds]

Blurb of wifey making Joe do the tend of telling his friends goodnight please?? 😂😂

author's note⠀⁎⠀feat. zacciah & justin because i wanted to try something new.

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

"Why would I call my friends just to say goodnight?" Joe questioned her, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as his eyes focused on the TV mounted on the center wall of the living room. His hands were busy, full of her calves as he massaged the tightness from her muscles after a long day standing and walking around the clinic. It had been a heels day; full business professional attire instead of her sneakers and scrubs, and it showed in the knots that had formed.

She, relaxing with a half-smile on her face, sat up from her lounging position, her head tipping to the side as she studied Joe expression. "So you don't watch the TikToks I send you?" she questioned, her eyes squinting in mock disbelief.

"Only the funny ones," Joe defended himself instinctively, a hint of a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "This is a TikTok prank?" He asked in an effort to clarify, his thumbs still working their magic on her legs.

"It is," she confirmed. "It'll be funny, I promise," she assured him.

With a sigh, Joe set her legs down and reached for his phone. "Alright, let's get this over with," he muttered with a playful edge in his tone. He scrolled through his contacts, searching for the most unsuspecting victim to play along.

"Zacciah?" Joe asked, glancing over at her to see if she approved of his choice. She nodded eagerly, and he tapped the call button. Zacciah, one of Joe's closest friends, answered with a simple 'Hey'. "Hey, man," Joe began, trying to keep a straight face as she giggled quietly beside him. "What are you up to?"

"Just about to crash," Zacciah replied, his voice hinting at the end of a long day. "Why? You need something?"

Joe took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the absurdity that was about to unfold. "No, just wanted to call and say goodnight," he said, his tone unusually gentle, almost comically so.

"Goodnight?" Zacciah echoed after a few brief moments of silence, clearly taken aback. "Is… everything okay?"

She stifled a laugh with her hand, watching Joe's internal struggle as he maintained the facade. "Yeah, just thought it'd be nice," Joe replied lightly.

There was a pause on the line. "Okay, goodnight then," Zacciah said, sounding a mix of confused and concerned.

"Sleep tight, buddy," Joe said, trying to match the tone of a heartfelt bedtime story. "Sweet dreams and all that. Love you."

On the other end of the line, Zac's confusion grew palpable. "Joe, what…?" he began, but Joe hung up before he could finish his question. She burst out laughing, the sound echoing through their living room, as Joe gave into the amusement and chuckled along with her.

"Alright, who's next?" he asked, his eyes scanning his contact list.

"Oh, we're excited now are we?" She teased, watching Joe with twinkling eyes as he found his next target. "Try Justin."

Joe raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, but tapped the contact without further comment. The call connected and Joe waited for his friend's greeting. "Aye, what's up, man?" Justin's voice came through the speaker.

"Nothing right now. Just checking in, seeing how your night's going," Joe replied, his voice filled with feigned innocence. He watched her, whose lips were pressed together in an attempt to stifle her laughter. She nodded encouragingly.

"It's cool, you know. My moms was just askin' about you actually. What's up with you?" Justin said.

Joe paused for a beat before responding. "Just had a thought that it's been a while since we talked," Joe began. "So, I figured I'd call and say goodnight."

"Goodnight?" Justin's tone was disbelieving, almost as if he was offended. "Where's your girl? She would make you do some shit like this."

She couldn't hold it in anymore and her laughter spilled out, full and unrestrained. Joe rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, she's right here," he admitted, holding the phone out for her to speak. "And she says goodnight, too."

"Oh, you think you funny, huh?" Justin's voice held a note of amusement. "Goodnight to you too," he called out.

"Night, Justin. Tell your mom I said hello," she responded. The laughter in her voice was infectious, and Joe could hear Justin chuckling on the other line.

"This is lowkey nice as hell," Justin said. "We could do this every night. Say goodnight and shit, I like it."

"Fuck no. Goodnight J," Joe said quickly, cutting off Justin's proposal for a goodnight ritual. He ended the call before the wide receiver could protest.

[roanofarcc]

THE PAST MEETS THE FUTURE

pairing: congressmen bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: bucky wasn’t so naive as to believe is past was behind him completely, but he didn’t think he’d pull you down with him

warnings: mentions of Hydra. violence against the reader but nothing overly descriptive. reader is kidnapped. hurt/comfort. ANGST with a happy ending. some slight bucky barnes self-loathing. 

word count. 4.1k | masterlist

Bucky Barnes didn’t believe in a higher power or that everything happened for a reason; he’d been delt enough shitty cards to know that couldn’t possibly be true. Yet, he sometimes felt like you stumbling into his office, soaked to the bone from the rain with two soggy coffee cups and a resume printed in red ink, was some sort of divine intervention. 

You were a whirlwind of chaos in a never-ending brigade of meetings, conferences, and hearings. You had six alarms set because you had trouble being on time. You sometimes dropped the professional lingo in front of the wrong people. And on more than one occasion, your notes for his briefing were illegible. 

He’d been asked why he kept you around and not trade in your wide-eyed gazes for a more polished assistant who always wore matching socks and never traded in his usual coffee order to force him to ‘branch out.’ The thing was, you were far from bad at your job. Even if he couldn’t read your notes, they were more than thorough. You kept his desk clean when it started to match his scattered mind. You made sure he ate and was somehow more timely with his life than your own. You always showed up, rain or shine, like the world was still some bright, shiny thing to you. 

Most importantly, you cared. You cared about everything. From the spider who lived in your house plants to the strangers you passed on the streets. You cared about doing good and still believed that the world held a lot of it. 

Before Bucky hired you, you made coffee for men who were too good to remember your name and smiled at women who rolled their eyes when you spoke. You weren’t naive either; you knew of those things. You knew that you were bad at juggling too many things and always forgot an umbrella when it rained. You knew that there were bad people and things you couldn’t fix with a smile and upbeat attitude; that didn’t deter you, though. You couldn’t save the world or rid it of evil, but you would try, and you wouldn’t let that shake your optimism. 

That was why Bucky kept you around. Each time you waltzed through his office door, it was like the sun emerging after a terrible thunderstorm. A breath of fresh air, a gentle reminder that despite whatever skeletons he had in his closet or evil that lurked in the shadows, there would still be people like you. That was who he was doing it for, suffering through political jargon and torture in the form of galas and networking opportunities disguised behind words like ‘charity’ and ‘fundraiser.’ 

“Cinnamon or blueberry?” were the first words you said that morning, pushing the door open with your foot as you held two cups of coffee. 

Bucky glanced up from a document he’d been mulling over since he arrived just ten minutes prior. 

“Who would put blueberries in coffee?” he asked, slight humor playing in his tone. 

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you strode up to his desk and set down one of the cups. “Cinnamon it is,” you said. “And to answer your question, a genius.” 

With a light chuckle, Bucky reached for the warm cup and felt himself relax just slightly. The world of a congressman was more social than he had anticipated. He worried about spending so much time with people, his patience and social ability pulled to the brink of snapping. On top of that, when it was suggested that he get an assistant, he felt pre-annoyed at the thought of spending his only alone time with someone sharing his office. But you proved to be a nice break from his pandering and polite nodding. It wasn’t a struggle to share a space with you; it became a relief. 

When he was able to retreat to his office or kick off his day there, he looked forward to your presence. 

“A little birdie told me you won over the favor of Senator Jones,” you said, taking a seat at your desk. 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. If anything, he doesn’t loathe me, which is progress.” 

“I don’t think anyone loathes you.” 

“Trust me, they do, but the feeling’s mutual.” 

You eyed him for a moment before shaking your head. “I don’t think people like what you’re doing, that’s all.” 

Bucky eyed you back, the document forgotten on his desktop. “Yeah? What am I doing?” He didn’t ask it to challenge you, but rather for you to remind him. Bucky often felt lost, like he had joined Congress in a stupid misstep and mistake that he thought he could right his wrong in a different way. 

The world had always been ruled by the iron fists of politics, but the grasp only got tighter. He had felt it was either join or be squeezed to death by it. Maybe he could loosen the reins, make a difference even if it was small. But the more he got to know most of the people in the political sphere, the more he feared he had just become another cog in the machine he’d never escape. 

“Trying to change things for the better,” you said simply. “Which is more than what most of these people are doing. A lot of them have only known full stomachs, lined pockets, and a world made by them for them. But you? You know how bad things can be. And maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but that’s a good thing. People will see that, eventually.” 

He tried to let your words soothe the ache in his brain, patch the doubt in his bones, but even your sugary optimism had a hard time breaking through. 

“If they could look past my rap sheet.” There was enough blood on his hands to paint the white house red, inside and out. He’d done terrible things, not all of which could be waved away because he wasn’t in control of his mind. People had a hard time looking past that. They had just enough to elect him as he tugged on the public's adoration of veterans while running. But their support had been weakening since more eyes were on him, meaning more hands dug into his past. 

You shook your head. “When people are hung up on the past, you gotta make them focus on the future.” 

Bucky smiled, soft and comfortable. He didn’t know where his political career would lead, but he knew that, if you’d have him, he’d keep you along as long as he could. You were light and shook the gloom from his mind, which wasn’t an easy feat. 

It was odd, and maybe a little unprofessional, that he enjoyed your presence so. But you were more than just an assistant to Bucky. A friend, perhaps. Someone he could think clearly with and not throw up some mock, veiled version of himself. 

“You’ve been hanging around the speech writers?” he said, teasing. 

You laughed, a pretty sound that drowned out the drone of the city. “Maybe.” 

On your way home, you bundled your jacket close to your body, shoes clicking along the sidewalk as you strode down the familiar path. You walked the same way every day, past your favorite coffee shop and taking a turn by the little family-owned bookstore that stood strong as the city continued to grow around it. 

The walk to your apartment wasn’t too bad, something you could walk in your sleep. 

In your pocket, your phone buzzed. Picking it up with a smile at the caller ID, you answered, “Miss me already, Congressman?” 

On the other line, Bucky let out a small laugh, which you always took as a victory. 

When you first heard of the job opening for James Bucanan Barnes' assistant, people butted in with every rumor and grueling detail of the man’s complicated past. That didn’t deter you, though. If anything, it made you more interested in the position. 

You expected some brooding, short-tempered, and intimidating man to greet you when you arrived. And perhaps some people would have seen him that way, but you had a habit of noticing the little things about people that others often ignored or overlooked. 

Sure, Bucky had a resting expression that bordered on brooding. But you saw the hint of amusement in his bright eyes when you cracked an ill-timed joke or brought him some fancy flavored coffee. You noticed the way he turned his chair when the sunlight of the day peered in through the window of his office, as if he was basking in it, savoring it. You picked up on how the soft hum of the radio untensed his shoulders after a long meeting and how he abandoned the work that stressed him when you started babbling on about something only slightly more interesting. 

Despite what others said of him, or the past that haunted him, you saw a man just trying to do good and wade his way through the mountains of bullshit others set in his path. You saw someone tired but determined, and you admired that, which is why you not only stayed at the job but enjoyed it. 

“I’m looking for the print-out of Director Dean’s proposal, but can’t seem to…” Bucky trailed off, followed by rustling papers. “Find it.” 

“Did you already look through the pile on the right-hand side of your desk?” Bucky hummed in response. You thought for a moment, searching your brain for where you had set down the documents. 

As you did so, a shoulder of someone walking opposite you knocked into yours. You stumbled, but shook it off, only to be yanked back as the person passed you, a hand tugging hard on the purse resting on your shoulder. You yelped in surprise as you were spun around on the quiet sidewalk, on a nearly empty side street you knew like the back of your hand. 

Bucky said your name, but you were too distracted by the towering man with his face half-hidden by a dark colored hoodie. Before you could tell him to have your purse, keep whatever he wanted, and avoid any trouble, he grabbed your other shoulder and shoved you hard against the side of a building. 

You still had your phone in your hand, pressed against the side of your face with white knuckles. “Bucky!” you yelled frantically, a tightness in your chest as panic took hold. 

The man tore your purse from your arm, kicking it away along with the hope that he was just there to rob you. The last thing he seemed interested in was your belongings, which made your skin crawl as his dark expression blocked out the soft rays of the setting sunlight. 

You heard Bucky ask you what was wrong before repeating your name, but the man ripped your cell from your hand, using his other hand to grab your throat, applying enough pressure to make your panic burn like a wildfire through your veins. You kicked and thrashed, trying to break free, but he was strong, too strong. His finger squeezed your throat, cutting off your air. 

Tears fell down your cheeks, but you didn’t give up your struggle. You dug your nails into his hands, peeling back the skin and making him bleed, but he didn’t even flinch at the contact. He was tight-jawed and dead-eyed, choking you out on a street that had once brought you a sense of familiarity and comfort. It all vanished so fast as little black dots peppered your vision. 

Despite your efforts, you lost consciousness, succumbing to the inky darkness of the inside of your eyelids. 

Satisfied as your body slumped forward, the man dropped you onto the ground before speaking into your cell phone. “Soldat,” he said, voice low and dangerous, promising a harsh reminder to the man on the other side of the call. 

Bucky paced back and forth across Sam’s office, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

On the computer, Joaquin worked as quickly as his fingers could type to track down your cellphone, while Sam dug up any information on the man who took you. And as much as Bucky wanted to assist, he felt useless and as if every nerve in his body was firing off in the utmost uncomfortable of ways. 

He just couldn’t understand how it happened, how he could let something like that happen. 

“Bucky, you’re wearing a hole in my carpet,” Sam said. 

“I was on the phone with her, Sam,” Bucky said, stopping his pacing only to drag his hands down the length of his face. “And just a block away. I don’t understand-” 

Sam placed a warm hand on his shoulder, his face calm in the wake of Bucky’s panic. “Listen, we will find her. We know that whoever took her is only interested in using her to get to you.” Bucky scoffed, Sam’s words only sinking him further into a pit of restlessness. “Which means,” Sam continued. “They will keep her around and drop some kind of hint that’ll send you on their tail. They want a trap, but they don’t know that we know that.” 

The rational side of Bucky knew that Sam was right. The people who took you only targeted you to lure him, or rather the Winter Soldier, into whatever scheme or trap they had set up. Yet, Bucky had no idea what they’d do to you in the meantime. Taking you alone was enough to swarm him with guilt, but if they hurt you in the process? He didn’t know how to handle that in a ‘congressman’ fashion, only in a Winter Soldier-like fashion, and he had a feeling that was what whoever took you wanted. 

But, God, he was angry and worried and couldn’t stop thinking about how bleak the world- his world- would be without you in it or if that traumatizing event bled the optimism right out of you. 

“I think I got something!” Joaquin shouted, peaking around his monitor. 

You were in shock; that was the only real way to describe it. A numbness coated your body, not even allowing panic to break through. You just felt nothing, which you weren’t sure was better or worse than panic, fear, and something even worse. 

Binds cut into the skin of your wrist and ankles, holding your hands behind your back and legs together. The concrete floor was cold, pressed against your cheek, a conflicting temperature to the sweat on your trembling form. 

You didn’t know where you were, and only half remember how you got there. From lazily dragging your eyes around as much of the place as you could without moving your head from where it rested on the ground, you knew you were in a room, dark with no windows, and all concrete. It smelled damp and old, and there was a door on the far side you knew had to be locked. 

A part of you begged to try it away, to let yourself at least try to find a way out. But the numbness was debilitating, keeping you in place. You were scared that if you moved, the numbness would break and you’d feel the full surge of panic. 

You hadn’t seen anyone, which was probably a good thing. Yet, you itched to know where the hell you were and who the hell took you. And why? 

The questions replayed in your mind on a loop, again and again, until your thoughts were interrupted by sudden commotion coming from the other side of the door. The boom of voices intertwined with gunfire shattered the numbness and wrapped you up in a panic that bled into your bones. 

You shook, heart beating so fast in your chest it was hard to breathe. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to sit up, but crying irritated your bruised throat, only making you cry harder. 

Once you were seated upright, you kicked your feet and pushed yourself back to the far side of the room until your back hit the wall. 

The noise grew louder, getting closer to the door before it rattled. 

Something between a sob and a scream tumbled from your lips as you struggled against the ties on your wrist. Each movement hurt, and something wet started to drip from your wrists down your hands, but you didn’t stop, trying desperately to get your hands free before whoever was on the other side of the door entered. 

But the binds were too tight and refused to give away as someone broke through the door and stumbled inside, resulting in another, more guttural scream from you. 

You were crying too hard to see much in the darkness of the room, terrified of what was going to happen to you. 

However, instead of the long list of horrible things you expected to occur next, a soft voice said your name. Soft and familiar, you realized, as they said it again. 

Blinking back some of your tears, you cleared your vision just enough to see a head of black hair and baby blue eyes come level with your eyesight. 

“B-Bucky?” you croaked out. 

He nodded, close enough in front of you to touch, but his hands remained at his sides as he kneeled. “It’s me,” he said, reassuringly. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.” 

You crumbled at his words, crying harder, but not because you were scared; you were relieved. He slowly reached out, setting a warm hand on your knee. “I’m going to cut your legs and hands free, okay?” He didn’t make a move until you nodded and tried your best to stay still as he pulled a knife from his pocket. 

Bucky cut you loose, first your legs, then your hands. The second you hand control of your limbs again, you turned to face him with a tear-streaked face drenched in gratefulness, too. Without hesitation, you hooked your arms around his neck and pressed your face into his shoulder. To you, in that moment, he was the safest place. He had found you, came for you. He told you that you were safe, and you believed him without hesitation. Your thoughts were only solidified as his arms wrapped around you, firm yet carefully holding you. 

After you had calmed down a little, Bucky had helped you out of the building, bidding a brief thank you and goodbye to Sam and Joaquin, who stayed behind to take care of the ex-Hydra operative who still had unfinished business with the Winter Soldier who lay dead in the warehouse. They wanted to ensure he was working alone and had no other tricks up his sleeve, allowing Bucky to accompany you back to your apartment. 

Guilt chewed at Bucky as he took your spare key from your shaking hands and opened the door. The bruise around your neck was more prominent in the light of your apartment, molted reds and growing blues in clear hand prints. Dried blood circled your wrists like sick bracelets, and you hadn’t stopped shaking since he found you. 

And it was his fault. Every mark on your body was his fault, and it made his stomach churn. You were only taken because you were close with him, and the ghost of his mistakes still clung to his shadows no matter how long he’d been fighting for the light and freedom from the Winter Soldier. 

That part of him was rid from his mind, but not from the world. There were still people out there who either wanted the Winter Soldier to pay or to bring him back to do their bidding. Bucky could handle that, though, or he thought he could. But it had never dawned on him that they could use the few people he, Bucky Barnes, had grown close to as a weapon against him. 

If he had known that, he never would have grown so fond of you, never wanted to have placed you in even the smallest amount of danger. And he should have known better, but he became too captivated in a life semi-normal- as normal as it would get for someone like him- to realize he still had skeletons clawing to get out of his closet. 

He felt so guilty that it made him nauseous. 

Bucky helped you onto the couch before he glanced around your kitchen, spotting a clean rag folded beside the sink. He soaked it in warm water before returning to you, kneeling in front of the couch. 

Wordlessly, you gave him your hand and he, ever so carefully, cleaned up the dried blood from your wrists, muttered an apology each time flinched. 

Once he was done, Bucky stood up and turned just slightly to step away, but you caught his wrist. There was a startling fear in your eyes, something that struck him violently, bringing even more of an ache to his gut. “Don’t leave,” you whispered, voice as shaky as the rest of your body. 

God, Bucky didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want you to quit. He didn’t want to ever not see your bright and shining face every morning for as long as he could keep you around. But that wasn’t fair to you. It was selfish, and he had been proven just how selfish in one of the worst ways possible. 

He gently squeezed your hand. “This…” he began, but trailed off, the words caught in his throat for a moment. “This was my fault.” 

“What?” You didn’t let go of his hand, only held it tighter as if keeping him in place. 

To the best of his ability, he explained, guilt weighing him down with each word so heavily he thought he’d fall right through the floor. He knew you, and most people, knew of his past- the little ugly bits and pieces. And while the Winter Soldier was dead, there were people out there who would never accept that, going to measures as extreme as plucking the people he cared for off the street to add weight to Bucky’s conscious. He told you how your connection to him, despite it being nothing but a job, put you at risk, which he should have calculated. 

He said he was sorry, maybe too many times, but it couldn’t make up for the tremble in your figure or bruises on your skin. 

Your silence cut through him, hot but understandable. He had already started to picture his office without you, dark and too quiet. He had already started to picture his life without you, drab and cold. You were like the sun, and he was already saying goodbye, giving you up because not only could he not fathom ever putting you in danger again, but because there was no conceivable way you’d stay after that. 

“Bucky,” you said his name too softly, he had to look away, distract himself with a spot on your wall. But then you said his name again and tugged on his hand that you, for some reason, were still holding. 

“You found me,” you then said. 

He shook his head. “You should’ve never needed to be found in the first place,” he countered. 

“Would you still have looked for me if some random person who didn’t know you at all took me?” 

Bucky looked at you, brows furrowed and confused. “Of course,” he answered like a reflex because he’d look for you no matter what or when or where. 

Despite your puffy eyes and bruised neck, your lips quirked up in a small smile. “I don’t blame you, Bucky.” 

“You should.” Because it was his fault. 

But you shook your head and stood up, body unsteady as you clutched onto his hand before taking his other. “You found me, and I’d trust you to do it again.” 

Bucky stared at you. He couldn’t understand the words you were saying. Trust was earned, and what had he done to earn yours? 

You let go of his hands, and for a moment, he thought you had come to the same conclusion he had; he didn’t deserve it, not after what had just happened. But then you hugged him, holding tight with your head on his chest. His hands hovered, shaking just slightly, before he hugged you back with such delicacy. 

“I trust you,” you muttered into the fabric of his shirt. “But…” Bucky's breath hitched, expecting the next words from your mouth to confirm his own thoughts. “But I need you to trust me too.” He felt his heart tighten as tears started to dampen his shirt. “And I need you to stay, please.” 

There was no world in which he could’ve said no to you in that moment. Not when you were crying and holding onto him. 

With his heart drumming in his chest, and guilt retreating just enough to let him nod his head. It wouldn’t leave, not for a while anyway, but it released its hold enough for him to whisper, “I will.”

[technicallyastar]

I need more 1x4 x y/n posts💔💔💔

Idc if it's NSFW or SFW JUST PLEASEE IM HUNGRY💔💔

Reunion

1x1x1x1 x Admin! Reader

Summary, After being forsakened, you are summoned into a match against a ghost of your past... The ghost decides you both have much to catch up on.

(I do not like summaries...)

1x1x1x1 hatefuck fic when??!

Dirt was kicked up in a cloud, grass uprooted and flung as the entity rushed at you and you abruptly turned and broke so quickly into a sprint that you nearly tripped over your own feet, staggering into scrambling on all fours before clumsily pulling yourself back upright mid tumble.

You could hear them behind you, panting heavily, shaking the ground with each step-

That terrible fast paced rhythm, that repeating, two beat drumming of doom steadily advanced, and no matter how hard you ran it seemed to grow nearer and nearer.

Then a laugh carries over the thunderous pace, bellowing, mighty, reedy and callous.

Ice rushes through your veins as quickly as the sound reaches your ears, spurs you to run faster while also threatening to reduce what strength you had in your wilting legs to jelly.

Something about it sounds familiar, in that sound which is equally horrible as it is amused, but through the panic you could not currently place where or how. It bellowed again, not with a roar of laughter, but a name; your name.

You recognized the cadence, but the tone was unfamiliar- it was too exuberant, joyful to belong to the one that you usually associated this voice with. But you would not get the opportunity to rightfully place whom was calling your name, as you felt a great force slam into your back, and the ground ripped out from under you.

Soil, grass, and artificial sky cartwheel around him, a blur of color, the agony of a great weight crushing you into the ground, and the taste of dirt in your mouth. As quickly as you were sent rolling, the thing that had stalked you, chased you, and that now pins you to the ground. There is no wet grass, no cold dead night sky, no sound in your ears. There is only darkness, the burning sting of dirt grinding into the skin of your cheek, and the agony of what feels like a pickup truck sitting on your back. You can feel your body screaming, every bone in your crippling form bending- threatening to snap and collapse entirely under the pressure. You wants to scream but you can only squeak out a pained, laborious exhale. Breathing, now was the greatest effort you had ever given in all your time in this realm, in your entire existence. Dirt spat from between your lips, grinding against your teeth and sticking to your tongue. You coughed on inhale as some of it jumped down your throat, and with a sputtering cough you ended up swallowing the offending chunks down instead.

“I thought you would be harder to catch. Pathetic for a admin.” Came that voice from above, the one you could not place but felt you knew for years. It was muffled, as your skull was crushed between the ground and the person sitting on you, both of your ears were effectively plugged, loudly ringing from the pressure.

“But then again, what good is your weak viscera against the might of a god. I want you to know I was holding back, I didn’t even break out of a jog. Do you want to know how fast I move when I jog, down to the numerical value?"

You could only muster a muffled grunt, wheezing as you struggled to inhale.

“Sixty-five point six miles per hour. That’s with some rounding. In some parts of the world, they would have measured that as one-hundred-and-five point five-seven-three kilometers per hour.” You felt him inhale, threatening to crush you further into the ground, before roughly huffing in displeasure over something. "I... will give you credit... You've made it this far.”

A sardonic laugh rocked the behemoth upon his back, sending a fresh, excruciating wave of pain rushing through your compressed bones. You could not do much but whimper, you couldn't even muster the strength to struggle against the immense weight.

However, you had figured out who exactly was speaking to you. It was them- It, one by one, The fucking adversary. 1x’s voice was coming from behind you crushing you into the ground.

No more were they saying ‘Never for me!’ this and ‘I hate you!’ It made you wonder what exactly 1x did during that long period of quite after being forsakened, before you arrived too join the rest of the merry band of damned.

But under the current pressure, it was difficult to muster the ability to question anything at the given moment.

Another sound rumbled from 1x. It purred like an engine revving past redline, like a cat in the throes of rapture

It rippled through your prone, compressed form like an earthquake, and for a moment he wondered if this was it, that you were going to be crushed under this weird edgelord.

This was the moment the creation had finally tipped itself over some unseen point of no return that before this point in time Ted could not have fathomed.

“Eugh, perhaps I shouldn't give you the gift of acknowledging your quite dumb luck."

1x was right. You did simply get by on dumb luck, but you wouldn't admit that not ever infront of her. But for better or worse, you could not spare the breath to voice your rebuttal, and you were in too much pain to voice your repudiation, so you decided completely against your own too simply listen too this one-sided conversation.

“I could not believe it either at first, All that chatter about another admin being forsakened. I should have known by how evidently the light left there eyes when they figured you're not here too save them.”

Your body screamed in pain once again as you felt the immense weight upon you rock to the side, and something, maybe a finger, poked you sharply in the side of your already overloaded ribs. “I could not wait too see you. Despite everything..."

The weight rocked back before it returned onto you fully and settled again, and this time You could not help but squeak from the searing rush of full body pain. You would have screamed, but the pressure had forced the air you needed for that right out of your lungs before you had the chance. However there was something new about the pressure now, it felt like a different part of 1x's anatomy was pressing on you. You could feel every breath they took, the rumble each word and syllable she spoke. You could feel the mass above undulate, swallowing as if it had gotten too worked up and managed to make excess spittle in its excitement. You had to be under their throat.

Your compromised position aside, from the pressure placed on you, this had been no different than when 1x had visited you before-, before being consumed by hatred, before becoming forsakened. She would ramble and rant to you then, like he did now, although this time it was to relay scornful wish and scrutinizing critique- with hateful jabs at you dispersed in between, while having their immense bodybsitting on your back. If this was anything like what they did before, 1x would eventually tire of bending your ear and retreat back to their origin.

You thought that would be the case when you noticed another subtle rock in pressure off of your back, momentarily giving you a slight reprieve without letting you up fully.

“But enough about me... Let’s shift focus to you.”

That line alone was enough to send a chill through his veins. If it were not for that precise, restraining pressure on your entire body, you would have tried to get up and run then and there. Even if you would not have a chance to escape 1x entirely, you would have settled for giving them a few minutes of struggling, making them put up an effort to catch you. Instead, you could only listen, wait, and try not to imagine what 1x may intend to do to you. The weight moved once again, lifting this time, and you felt air on the nape of his neck. There was the soothing caress of a cool evening breeze, and then a rush of hot, damp air.

Breath, his breath steaming up the skin on the back of you neck, curling your hair, sending a shiver down your spine.

You could anticipate well enough what 1x could be thinking to do without pondering it in detail. You heard her, felt her inhale again, something smooth and oddly warm pressing against your skin, then sighed like steam jetting from a broken pipe. You tensed, preparing for the worst.

It was strange, being able to actually, physically contact you again. This was the first time, in years of 1x's entire existence, that it could actually hear and touch you with crystal clarity. Not muffled under the oozing poison of hate that so coated it's past memories in a vile, viscous contempt.

Yet, they could not help but find themself torn. It still churned with hate, it still wanted you, their past companion, their bestfriend as you so vainly called yourself. She could certainly turn the conversation towards how you were the last man standing, how you no longer had any shoulder to lean on, no one to share your suffering as you were subjected too whatever 1x saw fit. He could drive it into your puny brain that this was your eternity forever after. But, there was a part of the creation that thought that would be a waste. There was so much more potential here outside of mere psychological torture.

A smile crept into its tone and spread across their maw, something about that fact was oddly amusing,"Just so you know, you have reincarnated ten million two hundred fifty-two thousand seven times. I have watched you burn, and bleed. I have seen your bones poke through your wounds, your guts pulled out, I have heard your screams- every type of scream you make. But it is such a lackluster experience. I felt so detached from it all. But now, that can change. Now that you're here.”

1x could feel you tense up under him, the rub of the texture of your clothing against its metallic armour. Strange, that. She had never felt the texture before, it made her involuntarily twitch as the wool tickled sensitive buds of her clawed fingers seated onto your back. The portions of the shirt that touched him were oddly soft in comparison- your attire would be investigated in time,

Right now, they really wanted to investigate you in general. It's truly been too long.

adjusting their posture where she lounged, pinning you under powerful limbs and its heavy barrel chest.

This was a juggling act that he just now had a chance to practice in person. Certainly she had analyzed and considered what exactly she needed to do in order to keep your pitiful form pinned to the ground, crushed without popping organs or breaking bones, keeping you teetering just on the edge of smothering without making you suffer true asphyxiation. But now, 1x walked a careful tightrope of maintaining a precise amount of pressure, while still allowing them to manipulate you as he pleased, and without killing you.

Her nose ducked down, eyes taking in the beading sweat upon the back of your neck- what little of it could be seen between the collar of your shirt and the bottom of your hairline. 1x tilted their head, appraising the way those beads glistened in the low light, and took a few snuffs- letting the smell fill their nasal cavity, lighting up every receptor available to properly experience, to analyze. It was sharp, sour, enough to make his nose crinkle and her lip curl. The tip of her tongue slipped from between its lips soon after, rasping over your damp, clammy skin.

Salty, warm. Intriguing, as they licked their lips, it spread the flavor of it around her mouth to better analyze this sample.

There was a thoughtful hum as if appraising what it had tasted before it continued, "how... Dubious" They mused, deciding not to pay any heed to the muffled whimpering beneath them. “The best way to know the world is to experience it, to touch it, taste it, smell it, hear and see it all personally. To experience you, personally...”

Flattering as it should be from someone other than 1x to you to be chosen, to be desired to explore- perhaps not so much out of choice but a lack of choice, you did not seem too eager to know what the adversary entailed. You tensed up as the assailent got in close again, smelling your hair, your clothing, tasting them, pondering the way the strands of hair stuck to her tongue, sampled the stench of your fear.

Cloth rasped against his tongue, equally void black and with an outline of that poisonous green that surrounded the rest of its form.

They moved, adjusting their posture and position so she knelt behind you, sitting on your legs so they were pinned beneath her bulk, but your torso was pinned by a large, strong hand wrapping around it. The other had quickly snatched up the your wrists and pinned them above your head in compensation for not being unable to press you into the dirt like they wanted.

Her lip quivered, baring metallic, blade-like teeth. Again he shifted posture and position, lounging and pinning you to the ground like a oversized cat with its prey partially pinned beneath its body and under its paws. Their breath rolled against the back of your neck again, but this time, there was a quiet parting of your skin. It was not a large wound, no larger and deeper than a mild paper cut, but it drew a pained squeak from you all the same. Fascinated 1x watched as the layers gave way to crimson, vessels severing under its scalpel-sharp mouth and oozing ruby droplets that grew heavy and rolled down your skin.

He quickly caught them on his tongue, immediately lighting her senses up with the salty metallic taste. An urge rose up within her, a tug within her chest where her cold rotting heart would be that she had not had nor felt before. A sensation that danced up his spine and raced through their form, restless, and suddenly it took effort to stay put. They wanted more from you, they wanted to slice open more than a little cut on the back of your neck, it wanted to tear you open. They wanted to shove their nose into your guts and taste your steaming innards, to feel that hot crimson cover their face and your organs rupture and spill their viscous fluids into their throat.

“Please, stop.” you squeaked,

Instead, Teeth tore and twisted your skin, drawing scream after pained scream. Each bite felt like razor blades slicing into you, like you had been fed to a garbage disposal. From the back of your head to your hips, you had felt 1x dig into your flesh, and yet did not tear into them all the same. It lasted for what felt like an eternity, as 1x found new, fresh areas of you that had been left unmarred. Then, the adversary took his time in tearing, cutting, slicing open your clothes and carefully, methodically worrying the skin upon your back until it popped and bled. She busied herself like this, waiting for older wounds to coagulate and scab, only to tear them open so they bled freely again, and digging a little deeper each time. The creation never went far enough to hit anything vital, it avoided the routes of his veins and arteries, focusing on the smaller, safer vessels close to the skin. It never broke the skin layer too prolong this heart-warming reunion.

[trashytracktales]

Heyy there loved your latest post about the reader’s struggle with mental illness and it hit so close to home, you wrote it beautifully. I especially loved how lando mentioned it would be a process to help her heal, because it truly is. It made me want to see a follow up of their lives after her struggles where out, I think Lando would definitely hover over her and be afraid whenever she isn’t close. I also think that the fact that she kept it a secret for so long and the thought of what could’ve happened if he didn’t get there terrify him. How about you write a continuation where he is so intense about it that the reader gets upset and they get into a fight where lando reveals his concerns and how he has been feeling after the revelation and the reader realizes how much this has been affecting him. I would totally understand if you don’t want to continue this fic since the one you wrote was very complete and well written, however I think it would be amazing to show how it feels to love someone that suffers from depression and how painful it is.

Aftermath | LN⁴

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘

*can be read as a standalone, but I reckon it makes more sense if you have some background story

🤍 summary ──── In the messy aftermath, they are forced to realize that healing isn’t about going back to who they were.

🤍 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🤍 rating ──── mature

🤍 word count ──── 3.5k

🤍 warnings ──── 16+, heavy angst, emotional distress, references to self-harm and feelings of worthlessness, mentions of guilt, codependency, and emotional burnout, swearing, sexual references, depiction of a supportive but emotionally intense relationship dynamic, comfort after pain.

Please prioritize your well-being while reading, my lovelies. If you click on the link to SEASONS CHANGE, you’ll find at the warnings section some (I’d like to think) useful resources.

🤍 date ──── Jun. 3, 2025

🤍 a/n ──── Listen. In theory, I don’t do part 2s. But clearly, I love emotionally wrecking myself (and all of you), so here we are. Please take this as a gentle threat and not an invitation to request multiple parts, because if it tickles my brain even slightly, I will spiral (and write it when you least expect it).

I am once again begging you on my knees to check this song out after finishing reading (not because ATL is one of my favorite bands, pfff 👀). But it brings me to actual tears has such good metaphors + it fits sooooo well from Lando’s POV ♥︎

SHE KNEW LANDO would change after what happened. She expected him to, but only to a certain extent. What she didn’t see coming was how incredibly fast he did it.

She noticed it in the smallest things at first. Like the way he asked her if she’s eaten, not like he used to, with a teasing grin and a slight suggestion to order takeout, but like he was checking a box on a list; like there was a right and wrong answer.

His kisses didn’t taste the same. He held her hand, brushed the hair behind her ear, and each move, without a doubt, was carefully measured.

Lando used to be spontaneous and loud around her, messy in a way she loved. Watching him was her favorite pastime, no matter what he was doing. Sometimes his socks weren’t matching, his texts were full of typos, and he used to laugh at her in the sweetest manner if her hair looked funny after napping or her shirts were stained with coffee or make-up.

Now, he’s precise. Hesitant. Clean and controlled. His texts look edited, manicured and made to reach a level of seriousness so uncharacteristic of him. He walks on eggshells around her, like any sudden movement might crack her open and reveal her darkest parts. He feels like someone who read an article on How to Support Your Mentally Ill Partner and took it to heart.

It simply breaks her.

Her new Lando opens doors, gently asks how she slept, brings her tea when she looks tired. Candies when she’s pissed off for whatever reason. He gives her space when she seems out of place and asks if she wants to talk when her voice is too quiet.

He was doing those things before, but now every action holds a different meaning. She knows it should make her feel cared for, but all it does is make her feel guilty.

Ashamed.

High maintenance.

The worst part is that she is aware that Lando is trying. She knows he’s doing it because he loves her. Because he’s worried. Because he’s new to this. Because he doesn’t want to take a step in the wrong direction.

But watching him tiptoe around her like she’s fragile doesn’t make her feel loved. Quite the opposite. It makes her feel like a burden, and it makes her want to scream. In his face. Loudly. With a megaphone, perhaps, to make sure he hears her loud and clear.

All she wants is for things to go back to normal — their normal. But every thoughtful gesture and every careful word is a reminder that they can’t go back there anymore. That she changed things. That she made him this way. And sadly, she doesn’t know how to tell him that his kindness is hurting her and all his trying is making her feel more alone than ever.

She catches Lando looking over his shoulder with pity.

She feels it in the way he touches her with more intent when he holds her hand, in how his fingers tighten ever so slightly when they intertwine.

She notices it in the way he hesitates before leaving, before heading to the airport and she’s not with him.

Her boyfriend is no longer the carefree, easygoing person she fell in love with. He’s tense, always on edge, always watching. He doesn’t sleep properly, doesn’t laugh the same way, as if there’s something stopping him.

It’s her that’s stopping him.

At least, that’s what the voice inside her head tells her.

She never wanted that. Never wanted him to lose himself in the mess of her mind, where things are rarely quiet. Lando is supposed to be the one and only thing in her life untouched by her ugly side, the one place where she doesn’t feel like she needs to pretend.

It makes her sick that every time she looks at him, she sees how much he’s carrying, and how much of her weight has settled onto his shoulders. It isn’t fair, and it makes everything worse than before.

Their night out was supposed to be a break from everything. An enjoyable excuse to forget about everything that happened, and just let go. That’s what she had told herself when she agreed to go out with their friends. It was supposed to be normal. Just a couple of drinks, a lot of laughter, a few hours where she could trick herself into believing that their lives are this perfect all the time.

She had wanted to see Lando relax, even just for a little while. But he hadn’t.

Instead, he had spent the entire night guarded. Not in the way he used to when they were going out, stealing glances across the room, his eyes lighting up when she caught him staring. This time, he had been tracking her, every movement, every shift in her expression, every time she excused herself from the table, and every sip of alcohol. It made her want to scream right there, in the middle of the crowded bar.

So, they left early.

Back at their apartment, the silence is deafening.

She follows him into the bedroom, their movements mechanical, as they start to change. Lando pulls his sweater over his head, tossing it onto the bed at the same time she unzips her dress, the fabric slipping off her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

“All good?” he asks in the same careful tone she’s already used to; the same tone she hates.

She nods, even though he’s not looking at her yet. “Yeah. You?”

The dry exchange of words makes her cringe. It’s like they don’t even know how to talk to each other anymore.

“‘Course. Why wouldn’t I?” he tries to shoot her a smile over his shoulder, but it’s weak and she doesn’t buy it.

“Maybe because you looked like you were being held hostage most of the night,” she shrugs.

Lando chuckles, “Was I?”

“I don’t know,” the girl replies. “You didn’t look like you were having fun. You had that face on, you know? The same one you’ve been wearing a lot lately,” her voice is laced with sarcasm, but there’s a sharp edge underneath, and he knows it’s meant to cut deeper than the surface.

Lando’s smile fades away as he exhales through his nose, clearly fighting his inner demons to keep his tone level.

“Well, I was having fun,” he insists, finally turning around. “It was nice to just be out with everyone for a while. With you.”

“You sure?” she shakes hear head in disbelief, her eyes wide. “Because it felt more like you were trying to monitor me than actually enjoy yourself. It’s suffocating,” the words are harsh, but she can’t stop them from leaving her mouth in a frustrated manner. More than that, she doesn’t even want to.

Lando’s hands pause at the hem of his shirt that he wore underneath, “What?”

Irritated, she runs a hand through her hair, while struggling to get her shoes off. “You haven’t stopped looking at me like...,” her voice trails off for a quick moment. “It’s like you’re always one step away from putting a leash around my neck. It’s suffocating,” she repeats.

His expression doesn’t change, but Lando looks genuinely curious when he asks, “Can you blame me?”

She laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “No. I am blaming myself,” she admits it out loud.

Lando finally gets rid of his shirt, throwing it next to his hoodie while keeping his gaze on her, and all she can see behind his eyes is more fucking pity. So, she closes hers for a second, channeling every ounce of patience that’s left inside.

“I just wanted one night where I didn’t feel like some soft thing that you have to take care of.”

“I’m your boyfriend. I signed up to take care of you, and I love doing it,” he reminds her like it’s the most obvious thing.

She exhales slowly. “I’m better, Lando. I told you I am.”

Lando nods, unconvinced. “Clearly,” he says, slightly annoyed. “You promised you’ll talk to me,” he points out, “But then you started acting like nothing ever happened. Excuse me for being vigilant.”

His affirmation hits her like a slap.

Vigilant. Adjective. Carefully observant or attentive; on the lookout for possible danger.

She swallows, forcing herself to meet his gaze once again. “Yes, because I’m a ticking bomb that can go off at any moment, aren’t I?” her voice is cracking towards the end, tears flooding her eyes.

“Come on, baby. No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he insists. “Wasn’t I clear when I told you I’m all in? All I asked—”

She shakes her head, throwing the shoes on the floor, cutting him off in the process. “I am asking you to stop. I know you want to help, and I appreciate you for it. But right now, I just want to go on with our lives, and forget for just a couple of hours how extremely fucked up in the head I am. I never wanted you to change for me.”

“Yeah, but I had to!” his voice rises, irritation boiling over. “You think I can just go back to who I was, knowing what I know now? I can’t allow myself to be that blind again and just act like nothing happened. Baby, I can’t,” he says, pressing his hands together in a desperate gesture, as if he’s praying. “I won’t.”

Her jaw clenches. “It’s fucking bullshit. We were good before all this.”

“No,” Lando contradicts her. “I was good, because I had no idea you were at your lowest point, until I found you on that balcony. I was good,” he repeats, pointing at himself. “You were struggling. With me next to you, you were struggling. Do you understand how fucked up that is?”

The silence between them stretches for too long, and they both know that is about to snap at any moment. She can’t say anything right away, though. Can’t even look at him without bursting into tears.

“I get it,” she hears him speak again. “You didn’t want to worry me with all the stuff I have going on at the moment. Fine. But do you know what that feels like? To know you were falling apart and I didn’t even notice?” asks Lando, his own voice cracking now. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“This isn’t about you,” she points out, finally looking back at him.

“It is,” Lando contradicts her.

Her mouth opens at his audacity, but he keeps going, words tumbling out too fast for her to put an end to it.

“Because whenever I struggled, you were there. Every time I felt lost or panicked or like I couldn’t breathe, you stayed and made sure I was cared for. You always stayed,” he reminds her, his chest rising and falling quickly. “And when it was you? You hid it from me. You smiled through it. You lied to my face.”

His accusations makes her feel like a fraud. Like everything they built over time is cracked because of her silence.

She trusts him more than anyone. But somehow, the way it all played out, it doesn’t look like trust. It looks like deceit. Like fear. And that’s the part that stings the most: the idea that he might believe she didn’t let him in because he wasn’t enough, when the truth is she didn’t let him in because she was afraid she wasn’t.

And that’s what fear does to people: forces them to shut down. Isolates them.

“I never lied to you, Lando,” she says it more like a warning, stepping forward now, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

“You never told the truth, either.”

Suddenly, every bone in her body softens. They’re both half-naked, standing in the fragile quiet of the bedroom, the air thick with his dizzying scent and her sweet perfume.

Lando brushes a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch gentle. She leans into it without thinking, and his palm, broad and warm, cradles the side of her face lovingly.

“You were fighting for your life, and I was out there talking about work and planning stupid trips,” his words drip now like honey, unrushed yet accusing. “That’s on me. My fault.”

She shakes her head vehemently, “Baby, stop saying that,” she whispers, but Lando doesn’t stop.

“I missed it,” he continues, as if he’s mostly talking to himself. “You were right in front of me and I didn’t see you. What kind of person does that make me?”

“The kind who couldn’t have known, because I didn’t let you,” she replies without hesitation, taking a small step back.

“Yeah, because you’re so smart, is that it?”

“Lando,” she warns him, but he doesn’t seem to want to listen to her nonsense anymore.

He turns away at her subtle attempt to put distance between them, pacing toward the window and gripping the back of a chair like it might keep him steady.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he admits, and it almost makes him laugh; the man who thought that he can do anything, has no idea how to save the only thing that matters most. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like if I look away for one second, I might lose you for good,” his voice has a different inflection, caught between defeat and the irrational urge to beg her to never leave him.

She can see how much he’s struggling to make her listen to his side, and even though she acknowledges it, she can’t accept it without denying hers.

Slowly, she walks to him and wraps her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the heated skin of his back. He’s warm and solid under her touch, and it makes her feel so safe. She closes her eyes, holding him tighter, like if she stays there long enough, she can absorb some of the ache he’s been carrying solely because she threw it at him in a moment of weakness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, but isn’t sure what she’s sorry for at this point.

Lando turns around to face her, and the look in his eyes scares her now; it’s too raw, too painful. “You think I have a choice?” asks Lando, his breathing ragged. “I wake up every day wondering if you’ll ever going to let me in again. And I walk through the door every time wondering if you’ll still be here when I come back.”

Even in the dim light of the room, she can see how his eyes are now sparkling with tears; another dagger to her heart.

She sighs, knowing this is her only chance to make him understand. “I love you,” she says, the affirmation forcing Lando to look away and shake his head, knowing love won’t help this time. “But this isn’t helping me, Lando,” she cups his chin, redirecting his focus back on her. “And if I’m being honest, it’s making it worse.”

Lando exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “Alright. Good. Then what do you want me to do? Because I sure as hell won’t pretend I’m not fucking terrified all the time. Or is that what you want?”

“For fuck’s sake, Lando!” the word bursts out of her before she can stop it. “Yes! If you have it in you, lie to me. Pretend. Because every time I see you like this, it just reminds me of why. And I hate it. I hate that I did this to you. You fucking pity me,” she accuses him with disgust in her voice. “You treat me like I’m a child. You don’t act the same way. You don’t laugh anymore. You don’t even kiss me like you used to. And you sure as hell don’t fuck me the same way either.”

The words hang in the air like a bullet caught in slow-motion, and he freezes. She wants to push him away, but Lando wraps his arms around her waist, making sure she’s not running anywhere now that she dropped so many bombs on him.

His face twists in hurt and anger, disbelief flickering all at once. “You think this is about pity?”

The girl nods once, but determined. “I feel like I’m not your girlfriend anymore. Like all of this has become just an obligation to you.”

His arms tighten harder around her. “Yeah? You think I don’t want you?” he spits the words, incredulous. “That I don’t crave you all the fucking time?”

She has to swallow the lump in her throat before shooting her response at him, but Lando beats her to it. His jaw clenches against the side of her face, and for a second, he just breathes her in. Then he presses his lips to her cheek, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low enough to send shivers down her spine, blistering with certainty.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he warns her. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. You have no idea what you do to me. Even now.”

She tries her best to win her right to conversation once again, but it’s like he’s casting spells, and his despair never sounded more beautiful.

“I’ll kiss you until there’s no air left in your lungs. Until you forget every single voice in your pretty head that ever made you doubt yourself,” he says it with enough confidence that it actually makes her believe him this time. “And if that’s what you need, I’ll fuck every insecurity out of you. Repeatedly, until you’ll beg me to stop. Do you understand?” his last question sounds so melodic in her ears, and all she can do for now is simply nod, lips slightly parted and palms traveling up his flexed muscles until they end up around his neck.

She pulls him in, and the second their lips meet, everything else is put in time-out. The kiss is tender, sweet, a little hesitant even. It’s not rushed or rough; it’s the kind of kiss that says I know you see me, I see you too.

By the time she pulls back, her lungs are indeed burning, and his forehead rests against her, breathless, with the ghost of his mouth still lingering on hers.

Then, as if there’s someone out there that could hear them right now, Lando speaks in a whispered voice, “I watched you sit on the edge of the balcony and I didn’t know if I’d be fast enough. That was my first thought, and then my mind went blank.”

She’s breathing hard now, so is he. But not because of the kiss anymore. It’s the weight of reality that makes them both stop and realize the gravity of the situation.

“I’m so sorry, Lan,” she whispers back.

“I lose sleep because I’m having nightmares about it,” the knife keep twisting, putting hole after hole in her heart. “I don’t fucking pity you,” says Lando matter-of-factlty. “I love you. But I am scared. That’s it.”

That’s it. The simplest way to put it.

“So stop trying to push me away,” he continues, his eyes locking onto hers with intent. “I told you then, and I am telling you now: I’m not leaving. I don’t care if we have to figure out a whole new way to be together, or if we have to relearn how to do this.”

She exhales slowly, the kind of sigh that carries months of silence and years of ache. Her eyes hold his, glassy with tears, as if she’s still trying to catch up with the weight of everything he’s just said. Every word he’s poured out tonight folds into her chest, and only once it settles does she speak.

“I know that most of the time it doesn’t look like it, but I am trying,” she says. “Even when my own mind tries to convince me it’s not worth it,” her fingers graze his jaw, tentative, like she’s afraid she doesn’t deserve the contact. “I can’t promise I won’t fall back into it sometimes, you know that. But I can promise I won’t let it win. Not like that. Because you mean more to me. Always.”

For the first time since they got back, she sees an authentic smile on his face. It’s small, but it’s there, and it gives her all the strength to continue.

“Like, promise-promise, pinky promise?” asks Lando, tilting his head, searching her face. He sounds like a little boy asking for reassurance in a world too big. It makes her want to cry and laugh all at once.

Instead, she lifts her pinky between them.

Without hesitation, Lando hooks it with hers like it’s a contract written in unicorn blood and stardust and glitter. And then, without warning, he grabs her by the waist and lifts her off the ground, making her yelp before he drops her gently onto the bed, her laughter breathless and real for the first time in what feels like forever.

He hovers over her, curls falling into his eyes, the smallest grin playing at his lips; there’s so much love behind his piercing gaze.

He kisses her then.

And she lets him in, again and again, even though they know it isn’t over. Not even close.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[creati-bunny]

"IF YOU LOSE TO KARASUNO, YOU WILL GO ON A DATE WITH ME."

You smirk triumphantly, standing tall and proud while staring up at Ushijima—who just looks at you dead in the eyes, unblinking. He merely raises an eyebrow at you, thinking you are a fool to be making a deal with him; even taking the side that will obviously be in his favor no matter what.

And even though he acts indifferent and stony towards you, his teammates knew there is something under that cold exterior of his. Tendou knows that the only way that his captain will know is when he finds it out by himself.

Ushijima wants to convince himself that going on a date with you is not something he looks forward to.

“Ridiculous, we are the strongest team.” He walked past you, merely scoffing at your statement. “If you plan on making a bet, at least propose a side that’s in your favor.” Ushijima gave you one last glance before heading back inside the gymnasium.

You sigh at his cold response.

Well, either way, you still like his coolness with every remark you quip at him. For some reason, you feel as though you have chosen the correct one.

Ushijima blankly stares across from you, while both of you lounge in a café. You nervously bite your straw, struggling to take a sip of your milkshake.

You were not really expecting the volleyball team to lose; either way, whether he wins or not, you will still find a way to force him to go on a date with you. Still with his consent.

You gulp very loudly, sensing the brooding and moping aura of Ushijima. The last thing he probably wants to do is go on a date with someone like you, the one who has been pestering him for months on campus as a typical annoying fan.

“Are you not going to order anything else?”

You yelp, too focused on your own thoughts to even notice that Ushijima bothers to even pay attention to your well-being.

A chunk of shaved ice has somehow gotten stuck in your throat, making you cough slightly. You rubbed the back of your head, flushing with embarrassment and shame. “I—I was not expecting you really to come, Ushijima-san. I figured that you would want to be alone after your match…” Your last words turned into a mumble, your eyes looking down on your lap while feeling so much guilt.

Ushijima takes a sip of his cappuccino, unbothered about what you said. His match with Karasuno stung for a while, yet he knows that he has to move on—after all, he has promised to beat them next time.

“A deal is a deal. Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes another sip of his cappuccino, looking at you. Your energy dimmed at the tone of his voice.

“You sound as if you were forced,” you quipped with a listless voice, depressing lines hugged your figure.

“Because I was.”

Wakatoshi looks at your lonely order in pity, a blank strawberry milkshake with nothing else to chew. “At least fill up your stomach.” Ushijima takes notice of the tremble in your body, wondering why you are being fidgety right now.

As if you were not so bold to propose a deal with him.

It is not that he does not appreciate your attention on any matter that concerns his well-being; being in a deeper relationship with someone is not really his priority—though, you provide a bit of amusement with your determination to get a reaction from him.

But right now, were you getting cold feet?

Ushijima was not done being confused when he saw you standing up abruptly and bowing deeply. “I’m really sorry, Ushijima-san. I should not have forced you to make a deal with me—this is just… ugh… stupid…” you proclaimed with a guilty voice, almost about to whimper and sob.

You act as if you are the one who defeated them on the court, Wakatoshi thinks.

“I too, did not expect the outcome. But I am also not expecting this kind of reaction from you.” He looks up at you, up and down, judging your posture, movement, and the way you carry yourself.

Your fingers hugging the straw tightly as if it would escape from your grasp; he lets out an amused huff before continuing. “Is it because you do not take your bets seriously?”

He reads you too well, you have concluded.

“It’s not that..”

Ushijima tilts his head at you. Fluttery feelings arise within you when he only stares at you. The way his attention is solely focused on you, like you’re the only one and nothing else matters, makes your body slightly heat up; in truth, the poor guy was only trying to guess if you’re feeling well enough to be here with him.

You really are a victim of highschool love.

You give him a dry smile, “Let’s just order some soufflé, Ushijima-san. I’m getting quite hungry.” No, he just needs to shut up for a second. You fish out the small red coin purse in your bag, seeing the waitress handling out your bill. Your eyes pretend to scan for different kinds of soufflé; there was only one kind.

The soufflé came, bouncy and jiggling on your plate as you stared at it in hunger. With your fork, you quickly took a bite and slipped it in your mouth—you let out a pleased sound, enjoying the way the flavors melted in your mouth. “Ushijima-san, you should try this!”

It is bewildering to see how your mood changes quickly just because of a dessert. Ushijima takes note of this peculiar behaviour of yours in the future.

Ushijima blinked. “It’s fine, I do not want to—“

“Don’t be a sourpuss, just try it!” You failed to realize that the fork you used is the same one being enclosed by the crevices of your crush’s lips; with your hand gripping his chin, almost about to shove the pastry down his throat, he looks at you in shock at your audacity.

“…”

While his tongue enjoys the blessed heaven taste of the soufflé, his mind wanders to every single part of his brain to know why on earth his heart skipped a beat.

You shared an indirect kiss with him.

Ushijima’s eyes wander around your face, watching it contort into a pleasant one. You are not that sharp as he thought, with the way your eyes crinkled, too busy enjoying your soufflé. “Doesn’t it taste good, Ushijima-san?”

For a while, Ushijima contemplated doing something out of his character.

“Wakatoshi.”

“Huh?”

You look at him. Ushijima grunted as not to act awkward in front of you. He does not want to focus on such tempting thoughts; he distracts himself by splitting the bill with you, even though you were the one who invited him. “Call me Wakatoshi. If we are going to keep doing this, I suggest you call me by my first name next time.”

Ushijima glances at you with his usual expression, giving you a what is supposed to be a reassuring nod—you find it a privilege to call him by his first name; your mind spirals out of control. I-I can call him Wakatoshi, you mentally giggle in success.

His fingers itch to do something about the powdered sugar at the corner of your mouth you are unaware of.

Next time, huh? You already feel jittery thinking about your next date. Does it mean that there is a chance for him to reciprocate your feelings?

You are getting way ahead of yourself.

“Oh, I see…” You chuckled forcefully, sensing a little tension between you two. A moment of awkward silence covers between you two, your eyes looking everywhere except him.

For some reason, he does not appreciate it.

“You have something here..”

You blinked, getting caught off guard when he suddenly stands up and leans close to you. His thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth, wiping off the powdered sugar from the soufflé—his thumb gently rests on top of your plump lips; you stare at him wide-eyed at his bold move, your attention taken away by force.

Ushijima thinks he does not regret meeting up with you anymore. His olive-colored eyes drank in the sight of your body almost about to explode; his thumb sending signals over to his brain about your increasing body temperature—he feels the desire to squeeze you in his palms. He adores to see that kind of reaction one more time.

Breath heaves its way out of you, seeing Wakatoshi stifle his smirk in failure. He knew what he was doing.

“Toru, you look so stupid. I’m actually vexed to be here right now.”

Takeru watches his uncle in disgust, who stalks the two of you in a black hoodie and goggles. The latter immediately shushes his nephew as he watches Ushijima leave the café; Oikawa is one of the unfortunate witnesses of Ushijima’s date with a girl.

“I need to upload this on social media. Asap! How dare this Ushiwaka bastard still manage to fool around with a girl?!”

“Toru, please shut up.”

reblog if you like it :)

[mi55delulu]

lovie ………………. what have you done to me? 😭💖 i’ve reread this review so many times and i feel like every time i do, i unlock a new level of gratuity in your words and kindness. like you are not real lovie!!! im the one that’s in awe of your beautiful brain, heart, and soul. everything that i write and hope that my readers will catch, you do and you break down my words and intentions further than what i can even comprehend. you’re really so special, lovie!!! ty ty ty ugh

and i’m so fortunate for your help with the banner. it was the perfect touch and whenever i’d lose sight of the story, i always go back into my camera roll to look at it. i honestly was in shock of how much the banner matched the story and its essence. like you had gotten minute details from me and you still captured it all based on feelings. just like how you do with your writing 😤

but okay let’s get down to some of the things you pointed out in your amazing review 🙂‍↕️

you have such a magical way with words and this was just another confirmation, in the form of one of the best fics i’ve read this year, if not ever.

im fr gonna combust from this comment. like what am i supposed to do with myself!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭 how am i getting this from YOU

… loved seeing jungkook as the one to pine first and being absolutely whipped until the very end

i’m a HUGE fan of pining and pathetic yearners as a certified lover girl myself. i think it was important for me to make sure that jk stayed genuine and kind with his feelings/actions for oc. even in his past relationships, he emulated kindness and respect (as he should). wanted to show that despite being afraid of getting hurt and rejected in the past, he doesn’t have to be a bad person just bc love was cruel to him. i really could’ve done a 180 on him really and this story wouldn’t have been as healing ahahaha now that’s an AU for sure

… THE TENSION … phd in yearningology … crazy about the first time jk let himself be touched …

oh the tension is ALWAYS so fun for me to write. i love the build up yes yes one of my most fave scenes in the story 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ and yes on jk letting himself be taken care of for once!!! im sure you’ve already picked up on this, but he’s afraid of people leaving him once he gives away that part of him. like there’s nothing left he could offer that’ll make his partner stay afterwards. so he holds out, depriving himself of that intimacy. 🥺 was important that the first time he experienced something was that oc gave it to him not on his request or own efforts, but just bc she wanted to be the one taking care of him. also it was just hot to write too so i had fun as well and miss lovie … if i got a phd in yearningology then it must’ve been from the university of lovie cuz you’re the main blueprint!!!!

YOUR ENTIRE ANALYSIS ON OC!!!!

IM SO GLAD YOU LOVED AND APPRECIATED HER. i can understand on the other side how she can be seen as unlikable or dramatic … but truly? she’s a complex and deep character imo cuz she tries really hard to be this unbothered girlie and leader, but she’s also struggling a lot too (like you mentioned, the ugly and insecurities). when she tries to show that she’s not hurting or struggling, she burns a path everywhere she goes and it further crumbles her persona she’s built all her life. like a candle that’s burning on both ends sort of thing and it can only stop if she learned that multiple realities can exist at the same time. she’s a great leader but also horrid at tackling personal feelings/issues. doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or unworthy of love and affection.

… i will be signing up for drum corps

HEHEHE THIS MADE ME GIGGLE. you would be so lovely in drum corps, lovie. honestly?? in another life, you and i would be spinning together in colorguard yes 🤭

i can’t thank you enough for this amazing review, lovie. you’re fr a gem 😭😭💖 i’m going to be thinking about what you’ve said all month long and possibly even longer. i can’t wait to see what’s in store for you and i will gladly give you your flowers and much more!!! you never need to live up to expectations bc you are the standard. one of a kind. ty 🥺

also??? your music taste??? immaculate and totally the vibes of those two lovebirds. UGH

i am thinking about the moodboards as we speak!!! and would like to see your vision to see if they match up too 🙂‍↕️

i also like to share … oc and jk are the epitome of this pic:

toss up

synopsis: friday night football games, all day marching band competitions on saturday, and sunday schoolwork catch up — the schedule you’ve religiously maintained throughout high school and now college. that is, until you found respite in jungkook’s company.

☼ pairing: tenor drummer!jungkook x colorguard captain!fem reader

☼ wc: 26.5k

☼ genre: marching band/college au, fluff, angst, smut, romcom

☼ cw: jk as loser stuck in a hot body, uptight oc (not too much on my girl ok? i love her) past misunderstandings, miscommunication (i know i hate it too), negative family dynamics, yearning, pining, jealousy, lots of nickname usage, marching band terminology, physical injuries, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, mature language, sexual tension, dirty talk, switch jk & oc, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, brief nipple play, spitting, praising, cum eating, semi-overstimulation, oc gets teary from the good o, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

☼ a/n: little miss liar here 😌 got ahead of my editing schedule, so might as well release early. anyway! happy bts month!! we are so back, bangtan babes 💜 here’s a very niche fic inspired by real life events. it’s been over 10 years since i’ve marched so pls be easy on me.

banner by the lovely @lovieku *･☆ i also wanna dedicate this fic to her bc she rly gets me so excited to write! nicest person ever like you don’t even know 🥹💖 (pls come back n also open commissions)

”FIVE, SIX—FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!” 

No matter the number sequence, your body always knew when to move. 

Having done colorguard since you were 15 years old, you took pride in being section leader for the third year in a row at your university. The band director typically picked their section leaders based on seniority, but skill sets may outrank that on very rare occasions. Everyone was shocked when Director Lee selected you, a first-year at the time, over another fourth-year colorguard member. You would be too had you been in their position.

Except, you weren’t.

You put in the extra hours when no one else did and arrived on time to every practice. To you, that was the bare minimum. 

Being a good leader, now, that was the hard part. 

You took what you’ve experienced from your past captains: stern in how they led practices, soft in how they uplifted the team during difficult times. Director Lee immediately recognized those qualities in you. Older members rebelled against the decision, but eventually followed suit or left the university marching band due to graduating. 

Colorguard was a sport — you’d argue that it rivaled football. Because who could toss a flag, run 20 yards on the field, and catch between your legs? Yeah. An athlete. Above that, colorguard was a form of visual arts — the storytellers of the marching band. You had a love-hate relationship with colorguard, but the final results were always worth it … be it through winning competitions or feeling a sense of accomplishment. It’s the start of the field season and you’re currently at the ‘hate’ part.

“Shit!”

The music and band members come to a halt after Hoseok signals the band to stop. Everyone’s visibly upset, sunburnt, and probably dehydrated. This was the sixth time in the last hour of practice the band was forced to stop and reset for a mistake, which meant another five push-ups got added onto the post-practice punishment. 

You squint your eyes down the field and realize the commotion involved one of your colorguard members and someone from the drumline. 

Fuck. 

“JUICEBOX!” Director Lee yells from his megaphone in the stands. “Fix it before I do!”

You’d assume he was yelling for a beverage, but no. It was common to have nicknames in marching band. One could acquire a nickname for the following reasons: long name, director hated you, director loved you, or memorable moment. Unfortunately, you got yours when Director Lee witnessed you chugging down five apple juiceboxes after your first tryout. Memorable moment … at least he didn’t hate you, so you think. 

You spot Yuri, your colorguard member, arguing with Jaehyun, a tenor drummer. 

“Dude, you fucking hit me with your flag and you want to complain that I was in your spot?” Jaehyun seethes.

“Well, like I said, it wouldn’t have hit you if you weren’t in my spot!” Yuri huffs and drops her flag in frustration.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” You jog over.

“Mr. Irrational over here is pissed off because he walked into my toss. But look, my drill told me I’m on the 40. Not my fault I need to cut through them to get to my spot.” 

Sometimes the drills didn’t mesh well with the choreography. It wasn’t the end of the world, just annoying to fix. From behind, you hear instruments shuffle — specifically another set of tenor drums.

“Juice.” 

You sigh. Not from the nickname, but from the person saying it. 

“Set #10 shows Yuri with the baritones on the left. She’s not at the wrong spot, but she shouldn’t be cutting through the tenors, instead going around us. There’s 16 counts in this set, so she’ll have plenty of travel time.”

Jeon Jungkook, third-year, lead tenor drum player. You haven’t gotten the chance to know him … how could you when there’s over 200 members, 18 of which belonged in your section. Based on what you’ve heard and witnessed, he’s an average drummer. Nothing noteworthy. And because of that, you don’t understand why everyone fawned over him. Sure, he’s tall and conventionally good looking. Had a nice head of hair and a distinct laugh that’d grab anyone’s attention. Maybe that’s why? Jungkook was like any other boy in college … the only difference was that he knew how to play the tenor drums. 

To be clear, no, Jungkook wasn’t a section leader. That was Yoongi’s role as center snare. Which makes you wonder why he’s trying to resolve this with you when you should be hashing it out with Yoongi. Ignoring him, you walk over to Yoongi to confirm the coordinates.

“Yeah, Kook is right.” He nods after reviewing the drills. From the side, you see Jungkook beam from the acknowledgment. 

“Ha! See, you were wrong,” the other tenor player says to Yuri as he sets his drums down.

“Jaehyun.” Jungkook’s stern voice catches you off guard. 

“What? It’s true!”

“You were two counts early to the spot. Wouldn’t have gotten hit if you were on time.”

Jaehyun scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Noobie ego. If you didn’t nip it early on, it was going to cause issues in the future. You had a few of those in your years of being a captain; consequently, you left some unchecked and those became the biggest lessons for you. 

You look at Yoongi with your brows raised, silently asking him, ‘You gonna take care of that?’

He merely stares back with a look that said, ‘Too tired … it’s my last season. Give me a break.’ 

Yoongi wasn’t lazy. He’s one of the many section leaders you respected and enjoyed working with. He remained factual and cleaned up things before they became a problem. Most importantly, Yoongi was fair and reliable. You’ve got a lot to learn from him before he graduates this semester.

“Alright,” Jungkook stuffs his sticks back into the side pockets. “Tenors, give me ten.”

The other two tenors groan and take off their drums and harness. Jaehyun, along with the tenors, drop to the ground and begin their push-ups. What surprised you was Jungkook also going down to do the push-ups too. You've always been a firm believer of the saying ‘when a ship sinks, the captain will go down with it.’

They’re back up within seconds. Jungkook looked like he barely broke a sweat outside the sweat lines on his shirt caused by his harness.

“All good?” Hoseok, the drum major, calls out from his stand. You and Yoongi throw a thumbs up.

“Reset! Take it from the top.” Hoseok calls out to the other band members. 

Director Lee waits till everyone gets back into position before turning on his megaphone. “You all wasted seven minutes of practice, so add another five push-ups.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ended two hours later with 75 push-ups. Not bad, but also not good. At least it didn’t hit the triple digits. Jungkook always saw push-ups as a way to condition his body.

Long hours of practice with his section, ensemble, and individually filled up his day. A wonder how he manages to juggle marching band and school at the same time, but he gets it done. Jungkook knows he isn’t the best, but he’s a hard worker. He loves a good challenge and what better way to challenge himself by playing tenor? Sure, he could’ve stuck with a single bass drum, but tenors had four drums. How cool was that?

You certainly didn’t think so.

Never once batted a single eyelash in his direction in the last three years he’s marched with you. Jungkook exhales deeply after finishing his Gatorade. “She hates me.”

“Who?” Jimin asks while rolling up his flag silks. 

“Your captain.” Jungkook pouts. 

“Juicebox? Nah.”

“Then why does she always look like she smells something bad when she’s around me?”

“Rude, what if that’s just her face?” It wasn’t. In all his years of spinning with this school, Jimin has a good idea of who you are. You’re strict, but a sweet person underneath that tough exterior. 

“She’s just …” Jimin follows Jungkook’s line of vision where you’re laughing with the woodwinds section lead, Kim Namjoon. “Anyway, maybe it’s because you do smell.”

Jungkook scoffs. He knows for a fact he doesn’t smell. Everyone gets a little musty after practice, but Jungkook prides himself on good hygiene. Literally the bare minimum to shower after every practice and reapply deodorant throughout the day. Unfortunately, not the case for certain band kids. 

“Just kidding. You know the smelliest title goes to Ryo,” Jimin teases, “need to start gifting him some body wash this Christmas.” 

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi chimes in. “This is his last field season. Let the man live a little. Saves you a couple bucks too.” He finishes locking up the instruments and bends down to tie his laces.

“Cap,” Jungkook deadpans, “don’t you think she hates me?”

Yoongi stands up and squints at Jungkook, “I think you need to worry about cleaning up your solo in the opener. JB is the least of your concerns.”

“But—”

Yoongi sticks up a finger to Jungkook’s face. “More drumming, less JB fixation. Gotta bounce to a section leader meeting. Catch y’all later.” With that, Yoongi joins the small group of people at the front of the band room, you included. You look back to where Jungkook and Jimin stood. Jimin waves at you and you wave back. Jungkook does the same and receives a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, she hates you.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“So as you all know, this year’s show is a spy theme, specifically Mr. & Mrs. Smith.” 

Hoseok stands at the front of the lecture hall, the projector displaying the mood board Director Lee had him make. He wasn’t at the meeting, but he trusted Hoseok enough to get his message across. It’s not that he didn’t want to be here, but he preferred a more hands off approach — thinks it’s building your communication and teamwork skills. Though, Namjoon theorizes that budget cuts to the performing arts department was the driving factor and Lee hasn’t been able to hire any instructors or technicians to help out. Nonetheless, this brought you all closer together. 

“I swear, Lee sees one movie with his wife and gets inspired.” Minji, one of the assistant drum majors, says. 

“Agree. Last year he had us do Pirates of the Caribbean because he went on a cruise with his wife.” Namjoon cackles and the rest of the group joins in.

“Alright, alright. Reel it back in,” Hoseok claps.

“He wants to tell a story … said there has to be an opposite attracts meets forbidden love kind of thing. So I’m going to really need to lean on visuals for this.” Hoseok looks in your direction and you are unphased. The visual part of the show was just as important as the music. Where band members held a stoic expression during the show, colorguard told a story using their body, face, and equipment.

“I’m thinking Juicebox can be one of the spies, but we need one from the band. Any volunteers?” Hoseok looks around the room. 

Namjoon raises his hand. For a moment, you thought he was going to volunteer. “Think me and my section will have to pass on this one. Almost got taken out by Jimin’s sabre last season.”

“That’s cause you were supposed to catch with your hands and not with your head,” you retort. 

“I blame the wind,” Namjoon grins. “Anyway, since sax did something last season, woodwind folks should have immunity.”

“Eh, let’s check in with our sections and see if there are any takers.” Yoongi suggests.

The hour goes by quickly with some distractions here and there. What do you expect from a bunch of college students? Still, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

To your luck, no one volunteered. As a result, Namjoon begrudgingly offered himself to the task. This was his final season, so he thought he’d go out with a bang.

And indeed, he did. During practice, you demonstrated a toss you planned to do in the show. Upon turning your back to get some water, Namjoon thought it was a good idea to mimic what you did … unsupervised, which landed him in urgent care with two fractured fingers.

“Shit … I’m sorry, Joon,” you say after the doctor left the room with the aftercare summary. A minimum of three to four weeks to heal. You know it was no fault of yours. He’s technically not out for the season, but missing a bulk of practices will be too much to catch up on. A duet with you is out of the question. 

“Ha … this was on me. What I get for undermining what you guys do on the field.” He jokes. It was true to some extent, people think all you guys do is twirl around a flag. It was always so much more than that. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Juicebox. Now we have to find someone else for the duet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on healing. Our first halftime show is in about three months. So you’ll be back on the field at least.” A small part of you worries about not finding a replacement in time. There’s about another 180 band members to ask — one was bound to volunteer, right?

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

snare lord [10:28 p.m.]: Duet position with JB is open. Lmk if you still want it. DON’T be weird. 

Jungkook drops his sticks on his drumming pad and sits up from his bed, eyes widening at Yoongi’s message. He waits about 30 seconds before typing up a response so that he doesn't come off desperate. He threw a mini tantrum when Yoongi (deliberately?) failed to mention that the spy duet was with you, but Namjoon had already volunteered by then. This will be a good chance to get to know you and figure out if you truly disliked him. Plus, he’s always been interested in colorguard — interested in you. 

Jungkook [10:28 p.m.]: waaaat? wat happened to joon?

Jungkook panics when 10 minutes pass and Yoongi doesn’t respond. Fears that he missed his window and someone else said yes to the part. Perhaps playing nonchalant wasn’t for him. 

snare lord [10:41 p.m.]: Injured :/ Do you want to do it or not? Jungkook [10:41 p.m.]: yes snare lord [10:42 p.m.]: 👍👍 I’ll give her your contact and you guys can chat more. 

This entire ordeal felt surreal, like a fan finally meeting their idol. Simply put, Jungkook admired you. Your work ethics, facial expressions … oh, and flexibility. Yeah. Sure, Jimin can do the splits too. Well, 90% of the folks in your section can, but there’s something so captivating about how you’d slowly drop down into the splits like it’s second nature.

Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Hey. Is this Jungkook?

He nearly falls out of bed. It’s you. Has to be.

Jungkook [11:01 p.m.]: yours truly. juice??? Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Yep. Yoongi told me you’re interested in the duet. When’s your first class tomorrow? Jungkook [11:02 p.m.]: 8 😬 why? 🧃 [11:02 p.m.]: Cool, meet in the band room at 5:30am tomorrow. Wear comfortable clothes you can move in. Thanks for volunteering btw. 

He reacts to the message with a thumbs up, smiling as he locks and sets his phone down on his nightstand. Jungkook has never been this excited to wake up early.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Early morning practices were not ideal. Having Jungkook as a partner? Not your first pick either, but it’s too late into the season to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve got a limited time to train and teach him a routine. You arrive at the band room by 5 to stretch and Jungkook comes through the door by 5:16, eyes and cheeks still swollen from sleep but he greets you with a warm smile. He’s in an all black attire: gym shorts and a fitted long sleeve. His physique doesn't quite match up to Namjoon’s, but you know he’s strong. Got to be when he’s carrying those 35lb drums the entire show.

“Morning,” he sets his backpack to the side and sits in front of you to stretch.

“Hi,” you greet, while going down lower in your butterfly stretch, “thanks again for volunteering.”

He smiles softly with a nod. “So what’s on the lesson plan for today, Cap?”

Today’s practice only involved the basics: ballet positions, floor work, and equipment overview. Nothing crazy. And yet, Jungkook finds himself drenched in sweat an hour into practice. Who knew jazz runs would require him to use all the muscle groups in his ass? 

“Remember to turn out. Do it again.” You say with your hands on your hips. 

This was the 10th time you made him start over. Jungkook was frustrated. Didn’t realize how stiff his body was from drumming all these years. Also didn’t realize how nervous he’d get under your watch. Jimin warned that your serious mode competed with Hoseok’s. He never doubted this. Jungkook wants to crawl into a hole every time your face fights a scowl when he forgets what to do next. He thought you’d be a little more lenient during the first practice. Was Namjoon subjected to this too? 

Practice ends a little before 8 to allow him to cool down and get ready for class. Jungkook watches you put on your hoodie and fix your hair. He didn't think there was a single hair out of place before, but what did he know about perfection when he’s been a total mess the entire practice?

“Good work today,” you say. 

“Don’t lie, that was rough,” he jokes before grabbing his stuff. 

“Yeah, it was.” You agree and Jungkook’s stomach churns from your bluntness.

He goes on with his day in classes, half thinking about the show’s new drill, half thinking about ways to impress you. Would he earn your approval if he came into practice remembering all the 27 points on the flag? Was this desperation? Possibly. He returns to his dorm room later that evening. Sits on his desk chair and mindlessly drums his hands on his thigh. Wonders if he should ask you if practice was going to be that early every time because he physically doesn’t think he can do that again. Jungkook fishes for his phone in his pocket and sees a couple of notifications, but the only ones that mattered were yours. 

🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: No one’s good the first time. Just keep practicing. 🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: Also don’t forget to stretch. You’ll be sore tomorrow.  🧃 [7:25 p.m.]: I know drumline has practice on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Let me know if Wednesday evenings work for you.

Jungkook didn’t care much for the days of the week, but Wednesdays became his favorite. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Weeks go by and Jungkook has made significant improvements. He’s still somewhat stiff, but his passion makes up for what he lacks. The show is about a third written. Homestretch, as Director Lee would say.

“CUT!” Director Lee yells from the stand, “Juicebox, Jungkook, the work looks fine but I’m not feeling the energy. Don’t know what it is, but fix it. Let’s do a 10 minute water break and we start from the ballad.”

“So … how’s working with Jungkook?” Jimin asks. He’s shirtless and unfortunately sunburnt — almost all the band members are. Hard to avoid when it’s blazing outside. Field season essentials were sunscreen and aloe vera. 

You knew Jungkook needed some whenever he’d flinched from your touch during a specific part of the show. Maybe you’ll give some to him after practice today.

“It’s fine.”

You look over at Jungkook. He’s with the rest of the drumline, gulping down his water and letting some drip down his neck. Yeah. Definitely hotter today. The weather, that is. 

Yuri sighs. “Is it too late to swap, Cap? I don’t mind being Mrs. Smith …” she twirls the ends of her hair and watches Jungkook put on his harness. 

“You wanna toss a six on sabre while spinning under it?” Jimin snorts. 

Yuri immediately shakes her head and you laugh. You had no doubt that Yuri could do it. She’s an exceptional dancer, but lacked the stamina and confidence when it came to weapons. She knows this too and rather have a special part of the show be done by someone more consistent with their catches. 

Jimin turns to you again. “Only asking because Lee has been on you guys for looking … odd.” 

There’s a small period of adjustment when it comes to dancing with someone new. Jungkook was … different. Makes you feel weird how he looks up at you in his kneeled position. Makes you feel weirder every time he tenses when you need to sit on one of his thighs for part of the choreo. Bad enough to where you forgot two counts and you never forget. 

“Choreo is still fresh for the both of us. It’ll take some time.” You reason. “Anyway, can everyone come over here?” Your section huddles closer. “First show is next week. It’s crunch time, so I need you all to stay an extra hour after the ensemble to clean our work.”

There were some complaints, but no major protest. Everyone knows how important the first show of the season is. It wasn’t like homecoming or anything, but everyone will be there — football parents, band parents, and students. 

Director Lee sounds the buzzer on his megaphone and everyone jogs back into position. Jungkook smiles at you in passing and you nod in acknowledgment. His smile drops a little and you feel a small rush of guilt. Maybe you’ve also been difficult too. You think back on Jimin’s question … you know what he’s hinting. You and Jungkook were an important piece of the show. The routine was good. What lacked was chemistry and you knew it was your fault.

How do you go about being more natural with Jungkook when you’ve been holding a grudge? An age old grudge that anyone should’ve forgotten by now, yet you’re reminded of it every time you see him. 

You’re on autopilot as you dance around Jungkook during this run through for the evening. This was the part where Jungkook moved his hands at the last minute so that you could pierce the ground with the sabre. Not realizing you were a count ahead, you pierced his hand instead. 

He hisses in pain. Minji spots the accident and immediately signals Hoseok to stop.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you apologize frantically. Hands were a big part of a musician’s career and you’d be damned if you were responsible for hurting Jungkook. 

“It’s fine, think I just need some ice,” he winces and holds his hand close to his chest. 

“Jungkook, Juicebox, take care of things off the field,” Director Lee calls out, “everyone else, from the top.”

You and Jungkook walk to the bleachers where Director Lee stood.

“Let’s see the damage, kid.” Director Lee holds his hand out. Lee was multifaceted. Truly jack of all trades. The university got really lucky with him … band director, golf coach, and physical therapist. He’s no longer in practice, of course, but he brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to the university. Plus, he’s able to treat folks with minor injuries. You hope this was a minor one. 

“That’s a big one,” he turns Jungkook’s hand to one side, pressing down on the top of his palm to inspect the bones. Jungkook grimaces and pulls his hand back.

“Flex and clench your hands,” he hums, “okay, there’s still mobility. Will bruise and hurt for a few days, but I recommend checking with the school nurse tomorrow if you can’t close your fist. Ice up for the rest of practice.”

You jog to Minji’s special cooler for situations like this. Injuries happened to band kids more than you’d imagined. It is, of course, still a sport. You return to Jungkook with a tied bag of ice. He massages his hand and winces in pain when he gets to the center of the injury. As you near, he masks his pain with a smile and you feel even more guilty. 

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the bag. He exhales at the icy touch. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, “I was a count early and I didn’t realize your hand was there,” It’s one thing to be in the wrong, it’s another to admit it. You’re only as good as your pride. 

He shakes his head, “I knew you hated me but I didn’t think you were trying to take me out the season too.” He tries to joke to lighten the mood, but regrets it when you frown. 

“Uh, my bad,” Jungkook apologizes. “That wasn’t—”

“I don’t hate you …” you admit softly. 

He pauses, leans against the bleachers, and exhales through his nose, “I know.”

You and Jungkook watch the show from the bleachers. It’s interesting seeing gaps in your respective sections. The show will still go on, but your absence does not go unnoticed.

“Ah, Jimin dropped his flag. That’s another five push-ups.” Jungkook whispers to you.

You snort and chuckle. Jungkook looks shocked for a moment then softens. You’ve always been closed off around him, strictly choosing to discuss the show as his duet partner. This was different.

He likes this side of you. Hates to be those guys who say a woman looks better when they’re smiling. True and false in your case. Cause objectively, you’re an attractive woman. Finds you super cool when you’re expressionless and in the zone. 

Jungkook always hated the sun — spent his early years in life constantly running away from it whether it be staying indoors or under a tree. He had the choice to pick between taekwondo or marching band. As much as Jungkook hated the sun, he picked the sport with the most time spent in it. Thinks he can make amends with the sun now. 

Because as you smile, Jungkook never thought he’d be so easily swayed at the sight of sunlight hitting your cheekbones.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ends with 30 push-ups. You get down from the bleachers to complete yours — not without scolding Jungkook to remain seated since his hand wasn’t in the right condition to do anything strenuous at the moment. He pouts, but adheres to your orders. 

Yoongi checks up on Jungkook after he sets his drums down. He whistles at the gnarly bruise and shakes his head at you, mimicking something close to disappointment. “First Namjoon, now Jungkook? You’re actually an undercover agent trying to sabotage us huh, JB?”

“You would’ve been my first target if that were the case.” You shrug. Yoongi chuckles and turns back to Jungkook, who looks at you both peculiarly like the cogs in his brain are slowly piecing something together he doesn’t quite favor. 

“Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll have one of the guys put away your drum. Just head home.” Yoongi pats Jungkook’s shoulder as he leaves the field.

Before running to get your equipment, you turn to Jungkook again. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

“If you’re gonna apologize again, I’m gonna make Yoongi have you put away my drums instead.”

You sigh. “Fine. I can reschedule our practices if your hand still hurts. Just let me know.” You part ways from Jungkook to wrap up practice with your section. From afar, you spot a hoard of band members gathering around Jungkook to either check on him or admire the injury. He’s cared for by many. If he was anything like the version you’ve conjured in your mind, you don’t think people would be so concerned for his well being. 

People change and maybe your perception of Jungkook should too.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Juice? Uh, what are you …” Jungkook looks shocked to see you at the doorway of his room. Didn’t even think you’d know where he stayed, but here you are in all of your glory looking up at him like you shouldn’t be here too. It’s Wednesday, the day after you accidentally stabbed Jungkook's hand, but also the day you’re both supposed to be practicing. Jungkook texted you this morning asking you to reschedule practice because something came up. You had a feeling he was lying about his injury to spare you from guilt. 

“How’s your hand doing?” You try to look down, but he has it hidden behind the door.

“It’s alright,” he answers quickly. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“Yoongi.” You rock on your heels and look awkwardly around.

“Oh.” He’s unsure why he feels uneasy about this answer. You could’ve just asked him.

“Is there something you need?”

“Not particularly?” God. This was uncomfortable and a part of you wants to apologize for bothering him and leave. 

“Would you like to come in?” He looked back at his room to make sure it was presentable. Other than some laundry on his bed he’s been procrastinating on folding and some music sheets on the floor, it’s not half bad.

“Yeah, just for a bit, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

He opens the door wider for you to walk through. No turning back now. His room was utterly plain. Navy blue fitted sheets, spotless desk, and no posters or wall decorations in sight. It’s as if his only use for the place was to sleep. Jungkook gestures over at his desk chair for you to sit. You set your backpack down, not before grabbing a small jar of ointment out. He sits on the edge of his bed and peers over with curious eyes. 

“Let me see your hand.” You nod your head at his injured hand. He reluctantly pulls his hand to the front and your eyes widen. 

“It’s not as awful as it looks …”

“Jungkook.” 

“Okay, yeah, it’s pretty bad.” He chuckles.

You roll the chair closer to him to examine the bruise. Bruises were common in colorguard — in fact, you’ve got plenty on your forearms and legs. The one on Jungkook’s hand tops them all. You unscrew the cap of the ointment jar and scoop a dime sized amount on your finger. Your other hand holds his from the bottom while you carefully dab the medication on the injury. With years of tending to your own wounds, you’ve learned that you should never rub a fresh bruise, but it always speeds up the healing process when you warm the area. Soft in your ministrations, the ointment quickly melts from the warmth of your touch. Jungkook never expected to receive this sort of treatment from a classmate let alone you of all people. This was expected from someone like his mother — someone that cared for him.

Do you?

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know where he should stare at. Doesn't know if he should feel the way he does. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” You don’t look up, strictly focusing on the task at hand.

His hands were much larger than yours. He kept his nails cut short and clean, palms calloused from all the years of drumming. Yours were no different. Manicures weren’t a necessity as you preferred to keep them short. Despite the roughness of your hands, there’s an unexplainable softness in your touch. 

A couple of minutes go by and you’re quite impressed Jungkook has gone this long without talking to you. The silence makes you wonder if you should say something. After all, you did barge into his space to apply ointment out of guilt. 

“Are you and Yoongi close?”

“Who’d you march with in 2010?”

You and Jungkook look up at one another after asking a question at the same time. 

“Yoongi?” Your brows furrow.

“Yeah,” he relaxes at your touch. Your fingers pull at his to release any tension and Jungkook has to fight the urge to moan.

You think for a bit. Were you close to Yoongi? He was one of the few that didn’t give you shit or questioned your capabilities when Lee initially selected you as captain. The bond you shared was built on mutual respect. You suppose that’s one of the important foundations of a friendship. But you wouldn’t say you were too close to him on a personal level. He’s a friend nonetheless. 

“Sort of? Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” His shoulders drop. “And 2010? Was still marching in high school.”

Obviously. You internally roll your eyes. Perhaps you need to be more specific.

“Summer 2010. Have you done drum corps?”

Drum corps were independent marching band groups. Similar to intramural sports, people from all over the country tried out for these groups and only the best got selected. Certain groups had an age cap. After that, you “aged out” and joined other groups that accepted all ages, typically less rigorous and accommodating to a wider age range. The circuit you’ve marched with was more competitive … maybe because there was a time constraint to be young and good. 

“Summer 2010 …” he repeats back to himself. “Ah! I tried out for Red Angels.”

That was all the confirmation you needed. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” You mimic his answer and refocus on your ministrations. 

He's lost. One moment you seem fine, but now it feels like you're shutting him out. “Did you do drum corps?” He tries.

“Yup.”

Jungkook lights up. He’s always been a fan of drum corps. Didn’t know you’ve done them too. Though, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You’re very good at what you do. Hell, half, if not all, of the band could be marching in drum corps, but it was rigorous and costly. After getting cut from auditions back in high school, he hasn’t tried for drum corps again.

“What? I didn’t know that. Who have you marched with?”

“Phantoms and Red Angels.” You recount. 

“No way! Wait, Red Angels? When?”

“2010, 2012.”

Jungkook pauses. He doesn’t recall seeing you, but then again, he didn’t make the cut after two weeks of tryouts to remember any faces. 

“Alright, I think this is enough,” you say, unsure if you meant the ointment or the conversation. 

He’s learned so much more about you in these couple of minutes than he has in the weeks of practice with you. Feels a bit disappointed as you release his hand to grab your stuff. 

You place the jar of ointment on his desk. “Make sure to rub some on every night, but be gentle with it. Should speed up the healing process.”

Jungkook is in a daze as he thanks you and walks you out. He’d like to think the tingles on his hand were from the ointment worked into his skin and not from you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You designated Sundays for schoolwork. Because you were rarely home, you preferred working from your apartment, but on rare occasions you’d be forced to go on campus. Today was one of those days. Your internet was down and you had a virtual call scheduled with all the section leaders later. Coffee shops were not ideal due to all the coffee grinding and foot traffic. When in doubt, you head to the campus library to grab a private study room or table. You should’ve known that it would be obsolete, especially on a Sunday. That’s when everyone’s trying to study or get their assignments done. You opt to sit outside instead. Except … the connection was awful and it was warm out. This might be the driving point for you to upgrade your home internet package. 

“Come on ...” You try to move closer to the facilities for a better connection. But you keep getting that circle of death on your screen. Maybe you also need a new laptop? 

“Juice?”

“Oh, Jungkook. Hi.” You wipe away some of the sweat from your hairline. 

Jungkook looked casual in his slides, t-shirt, and sweats. You personally wouldn’t have picked to wear sweats in this weather, but you assume he was just here to pick up his food from the dining corner judging from the greasy brown bag in his hand.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks. 

“Homework. Er, trying to at least. Think I’ll go somewhere else … Internet connection is pretty bad out here.” You place your bag on the bench and begin packing.

“Would you like to study at my dorm? Got air conditioning and the connection there isn’t too shabby.”

You want to say no. That night where you helped him with his hand was to absolve your own guilt for physically hurting him. A one off. But you’ve already driven all the way here and you’re not sure where you would go if not just back home. Plus, gas was expensive. ‘Just this once,’ you tell yourself. 

He looks at you with eager eyes, smiling wider when you nod. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook was on strike two at the 30 minute mark of studying in his room. The first time was when he started practicing on his drumming pad. The second was when he started humming all his parts in the show. He didn’t lie though — the wifi speed was great here and the air conditioning was nice. Since you occupied his desk, he took his spot on his bed. The times you bent down to get something from your backpack, you’d sneak a peek at what he was up to. He had his earphones in and drummed on his stomach with his hands. The color of his bruised hand looks infinitely better. You’d like to think it was thanks to your ointment, but you know a big part of it was because he was diligent with your instructions. Him and his cooperative nature. He was a good listener — valued what you had to say. 

Jungkook turns and catches you staring. You immediately turn back to your laptop. He sighs, “can we talk?” 

“I know you said you don’t hate me,” Jungkook starts, “but I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Did I?”

“You didn’t.” Half truth.

He doesn’t buy it. “Come on. We’ve been working together and it feels like there’s always this wall—”

“Jungkook,” you run your hand down your face, “has it ever crossed your mind that not everyone’s compatible as friends?”

His face falls. Jungkook was kind enough to offer his space for you to study and here you are being an asshole. Hell, he’s been nice all season from offering to take on the duet after Namjoon’s injury to showing up to all the practices on time. You’re not being fair at all. You don’t understand why you’re like this. Well, no, you do. Maybe if you talked about it, it would give you some closure too. 

“You tried out for Red Angels that one summer.” You mumble.

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Yes.” It comes out as a question.

“I remember you.”

“Okay?” He sounds a little frustrated and rightfully so since you’ve been dancing around the topic of you and Jungkook in circles. You also feel a bit stupid now that you’re finally expressing what’s been bothering you.

“I overheard you talking to the other drummers that time. You said something about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band.”

“I did? Juice … I promise I’m not trying to be dismissive, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

You know he’s not. This shit was over five years ago. It’s dumb and the more you talk about it, you realize how stupid of a grudge it was to hold over Jungkook for something that happened to you in high school.

“During my freshman year of high school, I dated a senior,” you reveal. 

“Yikes. I’m sorry.”

“I know, big mistake.”

Jungkook internally tries to correlate the two pieces of information, but comes short. He’s confused. So you tell him. Told him how your ex was the drum major of your high school marching band. Told him how you thought he liked you a lot. Told him that you lost your virginity to him one month into dating and how he broke up with you the following week.

“Asshole.” Jungkook mutters. 

You smile, “right?”

You clear your throat before continuing, “he said some shit about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band. Was a dig at colorguard and cheerleaders. Like that we’re ‘easy?’” 

“I guess … I was upset when I heard it again at the Red Angels tryouts. Fuck, is that stupid?” You palm your forehead. You weren’t expecting to drop your past lore to someone, let alone Jungkook.

“What? No! First off, fuck him. I’m sorry he treated you like that.”

You soften at his words. You don’t really talk much about the things that happened in high school because … honestly, the only good thing that happened in high school was colorguard despite the situation with that senior. Outside of being a pubescent teen, you never cared to reminisce about the past. Found it odd knowing people who called their high school years “the glory days.” You initially decided to go to this university because of their marching band program, but also, you wanted a fresh start. Seeing Jungkook was a reminder of the past. 

“It was the past. I associated that situation with what you said at tryouts. We obviously didn’t know each other and I didn’t know I’d be seeing you again in school.” You shake your head.

“Juice,” he says softly. 

“In hindsight, it’s stupid. I know. You’re probably a nice dude and you’re free to feel what you feel about people in colorguard—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts. “Fuck that dude. You didn’t deserve that. And no, I don’t think of you or anyone in colorguard that way.”

“But you said …”

Jungkook exhales, “this is going to sound dumb, but back then I thought the saying meant that colorguard were the highlight of the marching band performance … kind of like the fact that cheerleaders are the highlight of football games. I honestly didn’t know there was another meaning.” He mumbles. 

“Oh.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other with pursed lips now that everything has aired out.

“I’m glad you told me about your past. That explains some things …” he looks to the side, “I hope you know I’m not that kind of person. And I understand what you mean about people just not being compatible. Friendships can’t be forced and I won’t force that on you either.” 

You nod, “thank you.” You’ve been difficult all this time and now that Jungkook was respecting your boundaries, you feel out of place. 

“Don’t you have a section leader meeting soon?” He nods at his digital clock. 

“How did you know?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yoongi complains about it in the group chat. Says it’s overkill.”

You snort. “It is, but Lee thinks it’s good for us.”

“Yeah, well … I’ll just be here,” he puts his earphones back in his ears and lays back on his bed. Your stare lingers before you turn back to your laptop. You’re a little embarrassed about how this transpired in the last couple of minutes, but there’s relief in knowing you were wrong about Jungkook. More than that, you realize why people appreciated him. 

Your virtual meeting starts and you assume it’ll be a quick one, that is until Hoseok gets to your updates. “Sooo, Juicebox. Lee has this crazy idea …”

You tilt your head. Whatever Lee wants, Lee gets. Just the matter if he’ll give you enough time to execute it. 

Hoseok smiles sheepishly, “last time, we had Namjoon catch a sabre tossed to him. What if we had a band member toss AND catch something? Jungkook, specifically. Lee was thinking … a five. Is that unreasonable?”

Unreasonable was an understatement. Namjoon’s catch was different … for one, it was just a triple, three rotations in the air. Second, Jimin was the one that tossed it to him. A five? There were people that have spun for years and never reach a five on a weapon. Not that they were bad, but people had different strengths and skill sets. Jungkook was just your partner in this show. You’ve only taught him the basics in the event Lee wanted something extra. You weren’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if it’s possible. I can try to train him, but no promises.” 

“Don’t think it’s a good idea,” Yoongi interjects, “Jungkook is lead tenor. I need him in top condition … if he gets hurt again …”

“Not saying it’s a must or anything. Let’s explore that idea and if it’s a no go, we won’t move forward with it.” Hoseok says. 

Everyone on the call reacts with a thumbs up. The call shifts over to the topic of a fundraiser. “Rehearsathon,” as Namjoon calls it, involved each band member reaching out to sponsors for donations to pledge they’ll rehearse for 12 hours straight. It sounds ridiculous, but Namjoon swears it works. Raises money for the band and everyone gets in extra practice time — hits two birds with one stone. He thinks it’ll be a great opportunity to chat up with some folks at the upcoming football game to get some sponsors. 

Having ended the call an hour later, you think you’ve overstayed your welcome. You pack up and mentally prepare to tell Jungkook you’re leaving. 

“What’s not possible?” Jungkook straightens himself up on his bed. 

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Guilty,” he confesses, “can’t blame me … I’m literally two feet away and these earphones aren’t exactly noise cancelling. So, what’s not possible?”

“Lee wants to add another wow factor into the show.” You get up and Jungkook stands up as well, “wants you to do a five on weapon.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s worth a try.”

You put on your backpack and look at Jungkook incredulously. “Namjoon got taken out for a couple weeks by accident.”

“Okay, but you’ll be teaching and watching me, right?” He looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes again and you wonder to yourself if you both aren’t as compatible as you deem. 

“Fine. We’ll try it next practice. Thanks again for letting me work here … you didn’t have to.” You mumble. 

“Yeah, cause this space is only reserved for friends.” He jokes. “Kidding, Juice. It’s really no big deal.”

Ever so the gentleman, Jungkook walks you to your car even after you reassured that it’s not needed. He made up some excuse that he just wanted some fresh air. 

You both arrive at your car and you turn to him. “Well, thanks again.” You unlock your car and toss your backpack into the backseat. He waves and tells you to drive safely. The distance between you and Jungkook grows as he walks back to his dorm. 

You don’t know what compelled you to call out his name, but he turns quickly as if he’s also been waiting for this moment. “I never said I didn’t want to be friends with you. And yeah, you’re right. Colorguard is the highlight of the show.”

He smiles, and it’s devastating. How your body warms from just his smile. How it dismantles the walls you’ve built up around Jungkook. The foundation was weak to start, waiting for the right moment to crumble and start anew. You’re sure you can. 

“I know. See you at practice, Juice.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Men in colorguard dominated the weapon line. They had the strength and stamina to toss a rifle with little to no struggle. Pain tolerance though? You question that. Jungkook had the energy, but his control was off. It’s not his fault. This was his first time touching a rifle. The average person isn’t tossing and catching random objects. Anything that goes up, will have to come down. And having a rifle barreling down your head isn’t anyone’s idea of fun. 

“You have to squeeze.” You say after another lofty toss that has you both dodging the drop. 

“What does that mean?” He complains, “I am squeezing, see?” Jungkook shows his hands gripping the rifle harder. 

“No, your core.”

“What even is that?”

You place your hand on his stomach and another one on his lower back. Skinship in colorguard was normal, especially in dance. You’re used to it. You’d think Jungkook would be too. After all, there’s never a point in the show where you’re not touching each other. Yet, he tenses up under your touch.  

“Think of it as sucking in air and a string is pulling from your back.” You look up at him, “try it.”

Jungkook tries to follow your instructions but ends up with his back hunched over like a turtle. You laugh, now moving in front of him as you grab one of his hands from the rifle. Instinctively, you place it on your own stomach. His hand spays over your abdomen — big, warm, secure. You freeze. You shake off the feelings and take a step closer to Jungkook, not quite able to look up from your position.

“Like this,” you demonstrate the technique, “feel the difference?” You press his hand harder against you. You certainly feel it … the lightest change of pressure in his fingertips, the small movement from his thumb. No one would have noticed, but you do. 

You hear him swallow and exhale a shaky breath, “uh huh.” 

“Good,” you step back and let his hand fall back to his side, “reset and do it again.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s #1 remedy to a sore body was a hot shower. 

He’d run up the water bill back at home with the amount of hot showers he’d take after practice. At school? No difference. Even better now that he didn’t have his family breathing down his neck for taking up all the water. These days, he finds himself doubling down on his showers. He definitely underestimated the level of difficulty to perform as a musician and colorguard.

It hurts. His feet, shoulders, hands … literally everything.

All worth it though, especially on those rare occasions where your eyes light up after he’d reach another milestone in those private sessions.

He’s greedy for more. A smile. A compliment. A high five. Anything. Jungkook collects them in his invisible stamp book of accomplishments. Didn’t think he’d unlock something new today — something foreign within himself. 

The hot water beats down on his skin. It’s scalding, borderline painful. Even so, it doesn’t compare to how punishing his hand is wrapped around his hard, leaky length. Jungkook supports himself upright with one hand on the shower wall. He shakes. Grunts lowly. He shouldn’t feel this way for you. Shouldn’t think this way of a teammate. A section leader, at that. You’re in his head whether he likes it or not. 

Damn you and the innocent stunt you pulled during practice.

Damn you and those short shorts. 

Damn you and your pretty eyes. 

Because he’s here thinking about how you’d feel pressed against him, shorts pulled down, eyes watery from how good he’d make you feel. Would you praise him? Lose yourself on him? Encourage him to keep going? His hand speeds up.

Then, the unthinkable happens: your name slips out.

Shame needs no welcome. 

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groans, orgasm slipping away as he abruptly lets go of his cock at the last second. He cranks the shower knob to the coldest setting. This was so wrong. You deserved better — shouldn’t be reduced to some weird fantasy.  

He pushes his wet bangs away from his forehead. Shakes his head as he scolds himself, “get a grip, man.”

Hot showers were his #1 remedy for a sore body.

Cold showers became his #1 remedy for you. 

Jungkook quickly finishes his shower to rid himself of those sinful thoughts. Tucked in bed by 10pm, he scrolls through his social media, praying he’ll find something worthwhile of a distraction. Just as he was going to call it quits and step out for a walk, his phone rings. 

Incoming call: Chaewon. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You never really understood football. Didn’t really bother to pay attention to it when you were in high school since your team was notorious for losing. You were only there to perform for the halftime shows. College football was different. More lively. You still didn’t get the rules of the sport, but you appreciated the school spirit. Also was nice that your band played music whenever your school scored. 

Hair and makeup was done thirty minutes before the show since nobody wanted to sweat off their work during the practice run throughs. You give a quick pep talk to your section. There’s always first show jitters, but you all worked so hard. Mistakes were inevitable and will motivate you all to improve for the next performance. So will push-ups, if Director Lee catches any in the stands.

“Hey.”

You turn at the familiar voice. Jungkook has on his uniform, harness hidden underneath it so it looked like the drums were floating in front of his body. Hat with the signature school feather tucked at his side, he looks polished. 

“Ready to crush our duet?”

“Of course,” you grin, “if you make a mistake, you’re doing my push-ups.” Banters come a lot easier after the confrontation you had with Jungkook awhile ago. You feel more at ease with him these days.

“Cruel. Aren’t captains supposed to sink with their ship?”

“You’re on your own ship.”

“Ouch.” He chuckles. “Hey, can you zip me up? Forgot to ask one of the guys for help before coming over here.” He turns and bends lower for you to reach.

“All done.”

“Thanks, you’re a gem.” He turns slowly just to make sure he doesn’t hit anyone with his drums. Jungkook studies your face for a brief moment, clears his throat, and smiles. 

“I like your eye makeup by the way. Blue suits you.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” you flush at his words. 

Most show makeup was done heavier so that the audience could see. Realistically, no one can see your face from the stands. Perhaps that’s why your parents never came to your shows. Too many band members, too hard to spot. No parent wants to waste time playing Where’s Waldo with their kid.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks around for the source of voice and he waves excitedly, “Ma!”

You watch a short middle aged woman weave through the crowds. Her bangs were pinned away from her face. There’s an uncanny resemblance between her and Jungkook. It’s all in the eyes. She side steps his drums and gives him a hug with lots of pats on his back.

“I told you I was going to meet you all later after the show, Ma,” Jungkook says with a sweet smile, “how’d you even find me?”

“I always know where my son is!” She chuckles. In a sea of band kids and a filled stadium, it would be hard to locate your kid. Though how hard would it be to spot a boy with tenor drums? There were only four of them in the band. “Look at how tan you’ve gotten. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen. I know you burn easily.”

“Ma …” he grumbles. He knows it comes from a place of endearment. After all, his parents supported him all throughout high school and college by coming to his shows, even volunteering to carpool and host meals for the marching band. It’s a type of community and support he won’t take for granted. 

Jungkook looks out to the crowd, “where’s dad and Junghyun?”

“You know them. They’re in line for some nachos.”

You slowly back away to let him chat with his mom. It’s not that you disliked social interactions … you just really didn’t know what to do or say.

“Oh, Ma, this is Ju-,” he recovers quickly by saying your actual name, “she’s the colorguard captain.”

“Oh! Is she my favorite one to watch, Kookie?”

“Wha-? I thought I was your favorite to watch …”

“We got cameras for a reason.”

You giggle and shake her hand. You can tell where Jungkook gets his energy from.

“Your parents must be very proud of you. Such a lovely performer.” She praises.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes at the mention of your parents, but you nod your head in agreement, “thank you.” 

Sensing your discomfort, Jungkook jumps in, “Ma, we gotta go warm up now. Make sure you watch me. I’ve got a special part in the show.”

She pinches his cheeks, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, hon. Good luck, you two.” His mom quickly makes it through the crowd and up the stands. 

“Sorry, my mom can be a bit eccentric.”

You shake your head. “She’s cute. I can see where you get your personality from.” Wait. Pause. That came out wrong and you hope Jungkook didn’t catch that either.

“You think I’m cute?” Nothing flies over his head. 

“I think you need to worry more about pointing your toes during our routine.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Yoongi.”

“Wrong. I haven’t made you do push-ups. Though I probably should with the amount of times you dropped the rifle.” For that reason, you let the director know that the toss won’t be in the show … at least for this performance. It’s still too fresh and you would rather have a clean show with an easy routine.

“Cruel.”

You smile, “I’ll see you on the field.”

“Hey, Juice?”

“Hm?”

“Full out?” He says with a playful grin.

It’s a term he’s picked up from you over practice when you want him to perform at his best. This was your life motto. If you had to do something, you were going to do it full out. Do it so well that when the moment is finished, you could look back fondly and proudly at your accomplishments. 

“Full out.” You mirror his smile. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The halftime show went well. Some mistakes were made, but what’s done is done. 

“Gah! I can’t believe I dropped when I was on the diva spot.” Jimin complains. The diva spot, a.k.a. the 50 yard line, was every colorguard member’s dream. For a moment, you were the center of the show. It’s one thing to be on it, it’s another if you had to do something big. And Jimin had a major toss that he missed. Nerves probably. Happens to the best, but it’s still not a good feeling for opener night. 

“I hate this uniform. I’m soaked in my sweat.” Yuri says as she carefully wipes her face, avoiding her eyes.

“My feet hurt.” Another girl whines.

Your mind races, still trying to catch your breath from the show. Performing in front of an audience was different. The cheers, the lighting, the adrenaline. You do your best to soak in the moment, but all you want is a bottle of Gatorade and to get out of this uniform. 

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” Director Lee comes from the corner. Ah, another one of his sayings he got from Pinterest. 

“Nice work, guard. I saw that drop, Jimin. Tighten things up.” Director Lee comments while noting down something on his clipboard. 

“Yes sir …”

“Director Lee, is there any way we can order new uniforms? It’s like a body sauna in this one.” Yuri inquires.

“Huh? Aren’t you kiddos into that bodysuit look?”

“Not when we look extra sweaty.”

“It’s not sweat, it’s glow.” Everyone groans at another one of his Pinterest quotes. Compared to the rest of the band, he’s a lot nicer with colorguard. He doesn’t know much about colorguard, but knows how hard you all work. As tough as Director Lee was in general, he’s a softie with guard … even with all the cringy dad jokes he makes. 

“Juicebox, I thought the duet with Jungkook was nice. I’m expecting Jungkook to be ready for the five next show. Still think something is not clicking. Don’t know what though,” he writes down another note in his clipboard, “but I trust you’ll get it fixed.”

“Yes sir.” You don’t know what to fix if he doesn’t tell you. One of those moments where you feel like you’re trying to hit a moving target. Perhaps talking to Jungkook about it may help. He hit all his marks in the show. You’re proud of his growth. Think it’s only right you expressed that, just as you do with your members whenever they hit a milestone. 

The band sets up their equipment in the stands again after the show. You look for Jungkook. He isn’t hard to spot. Not because he was tall or anything, but because of the swarm of people around him. Specifically cheerleaders. You liked your cheer team. Their work ethics mirrored closely to colorguard. What you don’t understand is the weird gnawing feeling in your stomach the moment you catch Jungkook and the rest of the girls laughing at something he said.

What’s that about?

He spots you. Smiles wider. Says something quick to the girls before he tries to walk away. Seemingly in your direction at least, but the girls don’t let him leave for whatever reason. 

Like the other band members, you gather around the cooler for some refreshments.

“Damn it. Jungkook is a genius for rounding up sponsors from the cheerleaders,” Jaehyun takes a bite of his granola bar. 

“You say it like they’d give you a single penny if you asked,” another member says. “He’s always been popular with the cheer team. Probably the dude with the most charisma unlike the majority of us band geeks.”

“I’ll have you know that my flirting skills—”

“Anyone who needs to talk about how great their flirting skills are, has none,” Yuri interrupts.

“You’re just a hater,” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. 

“And you look like…” more insults get fired back and forth between the two. 

You take the stairs up to where the guard sat during the games. There’s not much for you to do until call time. If you really wanted to, you could choreograph something, but being at the game was already enough. That’s what the cheer and dance teams were for anyway. 

Yoongi groans in his descent to the seat next to yours. Says he has old man knees. Ridiculous claim for a 22 year old, but you’re sure every band member has some sort of long term injury at this rate. Yoongi juts his chin to the bottom of the stands. “Think they’re gonna date?” 

“Who?” Your eyes zero on Jungkook and the cheer captain. He still hasn’t departed from the group. 

“The noobs.” Yoongi puts his feet on the empty bleacher. 

“Jaehyun and Yuri?” You laugh. “No way. They hate each other.”

“So did Romeo and Juliet.”

“Okay, but they died too.”

“Ugh, JB, you’re such a pessimist.” He snorts. 

“No, just a realist.”

You look down to where Jungkook stands. He’s no longer focused on the surrounding conversation. Has this antsy body language like he’s in search of something … or someone? Keeps looking back and forth between whoever was talking to him and the bleachers. Specifically, in your direction.

“He likes you.”

“Jaehyun?” You avert from the obvious answer. “Not interested in noobs.” 

Yoongi squints his eyes and smirks. “You’re no dummy, JB.”

“Don’t know who and what you’re talking about, Yoongs.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Yoongi continues, “a little rough around the edges, but he tries hard. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Since when have you started playing wingman for Jungkook?”

“See, I knew you were no dummy.” 

You stick your tongue out. Yoongi takes the hint and drops the topic, choosing to stare at the open football field. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he says after a beat. “Should I fail one of my classes to be a super senior?”

“I wouldn’t hate graduating with you. We’d get our captain plaques together on senior night.”

“Dad would kill me if he had to pay for another semester.”

You chuckle and lean back. Hoseok calls the band to prepare as the game starts up again. Yoongi goes back down with his section and you’re with yours. Being at the top of the stands, you’re also closer to the stadium lights where all the gnats and moths gather. Can’t help being tempted by the light. You have a lot in common with them. Feel for them, actually. Because much like them, you’re also helplessly drawn to Jungkook’s light.

You don’t understand football, but it’s a nice distraction to put out the little spark of curiosity for a certain tenor drummer. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re off. 

Maybe it’s cause of what Yoongi planted in your head. Maybe. Because you find yourself looking for Jungkook on the field whenever Hoseok signals the band to stop. With only four tenors in the band, he’s not hard to spot. Jungkook was always the last one to fall out of attention after Yoongi taps on his snare. You also find yourself fixated on his bare back and how it flexes when he leans to tilt his drums up. You tell yourself you’re only looking because of what his mother said at the recent football game. He burns easily — shoulders look a little raw and the harness rubbing against it doesn’t make it any better.

Jungkook is just as equally to blame for these weird times. He texts you every day and sends you corny marching band memes. Honestly? They weren’t that funny, but you chuckle nonetheless when you see Jungkook follow up with a ‘LOLOLOLOL us.’ Serves to only confirm he’s also thinking about you. 

You spend most of your days in practice with him — you’re bound to think of him outside of it. Especially when you’re at the local drugstore to get some tampons and you come across a bottle of aloe vera. All you have to do is hand it to him. And yet, the bottle remains with you for the next two weeks, burning a hole at the bottom of your backpack. 

Granted, you had plenty of chances to give it to him since you’re over at his dorm every Sunday to study. Don’t know when this routine started, but you’d have to thank your spotty wifi for that. It doesn’t take much to convince you either. Good air conditioning, decent wifi, clean space … and Jungkook. Speaking of which, he’s on the floor drumming on his pad. Your brain tricks you to think of it as white noise at this point — loud and comforting. Not sure if you could fall asleep to it, but probably for the better during these study sessions.  

His drumming comes to an abrupt stop, “Juice?”

“Hm?” You don’t turn around, too fixated on annotating your lecture notes. 

“Do you always bruise around your legs?”

It’s not uncommon for colorguard members to bruise, given that accidents occurred on a daily basis. Whether you miscalculate a toss or there’s overuse of certain body parts, injuries were inevitable. The bruises on your knees are an unfortunate byproduct of all the floor routines you’ve endured. They’re your battle scars. Pretty like the galaxy. That’s one way to view them outside of the pain.

You turn around. Big mistake. 

Jungkook looks up at you with starry eyes. It doesn’t help that his five-inch inseam shorts have lifted in his seated position. You’ve always had a weird obsession with tanlines and the ones on Jungkook’s thighs blend perfectly together. 

His eyes move from your face and down to your exposed legs. He points at one of the bruises on your shin, “that’s a new one.”

“Very observant of you.” You reply.

He goes red. As if he got caught red-handed doing something forbidden. You quickly follow up with a lighthearted chuckle to diffuse the awkwardness. “But yes, I do bruise easily. Takes a while for it to heal too,” you cross your legs.

“That sucks … guess we all have a weakness, yeah? You with bruising and me with burning.” He chuckles, “B&B.”

“The harness doesn’t help with the sunburn, huh?”

Jungkook smiles, “very observant of you.”

You roll your eyes, think this would be a good time to give him the aloe vera, so you dig through your bag and toss him the bottle. Jungkook catches it with ease and fumbles around his nightstand and tosses you an unopened box. “Trade you.” 

It’s the same ointment you brought him a while ago for his hand. You already have some at home, but it felt nice knowing he also thought of you too. 

He sits on his bed, grabs his shirt from the back of his collar, and tugs it off his body. Most people shy away from nudity, but band kids are a different breed. You’ve seen people practice in nothing but their undergarments in the past. You should be used to this — to Jungkook’s body. Keyword: should.

You swallow at the sight of his broad back, lean waist, and defined biceps. You should avert your eyes. Again, keyword: should.

Your eyes follow his hands as they reach around his shoulders to smear the liquid on his skin.

“You missed a spot.”

“Huh,” he turns to his floor-length mirror to see and attempts to reach back around. Fails again.

“Want me to help?” The wheels on Jungkook’s desk chair squeak as you roll closer.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He hands you the bottle and turns around. You squeeze the bottle and watch the dime sized liquid dribble on his back. He shudders and exhales softly. 

You wonder if the deep shade of red on the tip of his ears was just another place he burned easily. Jungkook’s skin feels hot at the touch. Find the freckles and moles on his back endearing. Find it more endearing that he could never see them like you do. Much like his starry eyes, his back mirrors the constellations in the sky, begging to be traced and mapped by your fingers. By you. 

“There, all done.” You close the cap and set the bottle on the nightstand.

He clears his throat, “want me to help?” Jungkook points at the ointment in your lap.

Now it’s your turn to feel shy. “I can do it myself.”

He tilts his head, “I know you can.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re surprised at yourself — surprised you agreed for his help, surprised you’re seated on Jungkook’s bed with your foot perched on one of his thighs. You position your hands behind to support you upright.

“This okay?” Jungkook asks as he starts on the smaller bruises around your ankle. You’re not sure if he means this entire ordeal or the pressure he’s kneading into your skin. Regardless, you nod and bite the inside of your cheeks. You never realized how sensitive you were — never realized how much the bruises ached outside of your own touches. It’s been a long time since anyone has tended to your wounds, so this was different. A good different.

“You can go a little harder. Those are old.”

He does as he’s told. Always good, ever so obedient.

Jungkook eventually makes it up to your knees. You’ve let out a few shaky breaths in the time he’s worked the ointment into your skin, all while noticing the way his mouth parts at your reactions.

He eyes the last bruise between your thighs, and back up to your eyes, “there, all done.”

Something shifts in you.

“But you missed one.” You tilt your head, feigning ignorance just to see what he would do. He always does as he’s told, but you sense some hesitancy. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s unsure what will happen next if he touches you beyond what’s appropriate.

“Juice …”

“What?” You stare at him through hooded eyes, “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans in, watches if you’d move away. You don’t, so he takes the chance to rest your leg down on his lap. 

“Push-ups.” You say without another thought, also leaning in. 

He laughs through his nose, “might do something that’ll warrant that anyways.”

“Like what?” You ask, “show me.” You have an idea of what will happen next. At least, you hope. There’s no doubt something changed between you two since that talk. Sure, you feel more comfortable around him, but lately? You’ve also been feeling other things. As much as you’d like to blame Yoongi, you know it’s your own attraction for Jungkook.

“Yeah?” His face is centimeters from yours. 

“Yeah,” you nod, nose grazing his.

He kisses you. 

Nothing more than a small peck to test the waters, but he waits a millisecond, which earns himself a soft whine from you as confirmation to continue. Your hand cups his jaw and pulls him in. 

“Again,” you breathe, “do it again.”

It’s the same order you’d give to anyone making a mistake in colorguard, but this was no mistake. Call it a Pavlov response or whatever; Jungkook always does as he’s told. Tries his best to make it good for you — doesn’t take much. He angles his head a little, does this pouty thing with his lips that has you feeling warm all over. You lick at his lips. It’s tentative, careful, and slow — gets him breathing heavier. 

“Fuck,” he muffles a small groan. 

Jungkook parts his mouth and the rest is history. Every lick, every nibble, every breathy moan felt experimental and deliberate all at once. Thumb tracing your cheek, the pressure of his fingertips on your hips has you keening. Time is an illusion because you’d spend the entire afternoon kissing Jungkook if you could. He pulls away first, lips pink and swollen with a sheen of saliva you’re unsure who it belonged to.

He swallows, “well?”

“Well, what?” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Do I still need to do push-ups?”

You snort. He beams. You do spend the rest of the afternoon kissing Jeon Jungkook. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“I’ve got to say, Juicebox,” Namjoon pauses to chug the rest of his water, “I don’t think I could’ve pulled off what Jungkook is doing with you.”

You almost spit out your water. “H-huh?” 

Did Namjoon know something happened between you and Jungkook? 

“The duet. You guys are killing it.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you relax, “extra practice helps.”

Practice does help. And so do the kisses in between breaks that Jungkook swears by makes him improve. You don’t require much persuading to fall into his requests. Enjoy it too much to be restrictive of his affections. As a result, things get a little … difficult during ensemble practices because all Jungkook wants to do is pull you away to kiss you silly. Deprivation of each other works out in your favor because Director Lee no longer mentions how you both need ‘more chemistry.’

“Nice. Hoping for a solid show for all of us by the end of the month. My high school is going to be there.” The marching band was scheduled to perform at the end of a high school circuit competition. Director Lee says it’s a good way to get the school’s name out for prospects thinking about which university to attend.

“Also, is Jungkook okay? He keeps looking over here.” Namjoon nods his head from the side. 

You don’t even have to look. Jungkook’s been doing this every practice. Like a touch starved puppy waiting for their owner to come home. As endearing it is, you’re worried. If Namjoon noticed, eventually the other band members would too. 

“Think he’s just zoning out.” You lie.

“True. Eyes are giving pug.” Namjoon stands up and pulls the neck strap over his head, “alright, last run through for the day.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“You need to stop staring so much during practice,” you say in between kisses. Jungkook was over at your place under the guise to troubleshoot your shitty Internet connection. Quite confident it wasn’t your internet tier, but that it was just an old router. Ten minutes into inspecting your router, you end up pinned underneath Jungkook on your couch. 

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“Namjoon said you looked like a pug.”

“Pugs are cute.” 

“They are,” you concede. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just-oh!” You look down at the source pressed at your heat. Jungkook is almost always hard during and after kissing, that much you know. Whether it’s from a simple peck or minutes of making out, he’s sporting a boner. Doesn’t take much to rile him up. Though, he’s never done anything further. Just tells you:

“Ignore that,” he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, “so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t want people assuming.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses and sits up on his heels, “right, sorry.”

You don’t mean to hurt his feelings. It doesn’t help that you’re a private person and things feel extremely preliminary with Jungkook at the moment. You like him, but for all you know, he could just be in it for a fun time. If this was going to die out, you rather have the least people know about it. It’s not like you’re actively wishing for an inevitable end. 

Realistically, it doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

Mood completely shifted, Jungkook sits upright and looks around your apartment. It’s neat, feels homey with how you decorated it. Most of your furniture was secondhand or thrifted, but you took good care of it. He eyes the shelf containing your awards, dried flowers, and pictures with all the different groups and friends you’ve marched with. You’re more sentimental than you appear to be. Marching with these groups was no simple feat, but you looked back fondly at all the memories created. You know you’ll do the same for your university years too.

“Wish I could’ve done drum corps,” Jungkook sighs. If he was phased by whatever transpired moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

“Did you try out other groups?” You sit up, knees brought close to your chest. 

“Nah, I don’t think I’m good enough.”

Now, you initially thought there wasn’t anything remarkable about Jungkook’s drumming skills. But let’s be real … you didn’t read music nor play an instrument, so what did you know about drumming? What you do know is that Jungkook tried hard. He was more than capable of passing auditions and marching in drum corps. You’re sure of it. 

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Maybe,” he dismisses the thought with a nod. “Would’ve been nice to join two years ago and claim I was in the season where they had tenors drum upside down.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” you smile, “was pretty cool.”

“You’re the cool one for doing drum corps,” he praises, “did you do a lot of fundraising to pay for membership dues?”

You shake your head, “no, my parents did.”

“Nice of them to support you.” 

“Yeah, I guess?” You shrug, not sure how to reply, “they … never really came to my shows.”

Jungkook frowns, “why not?”

“Work? I don’t know … they just never made the time. I stopped asking them to come after a while, so I guess it’s my fault they don’t know my schedule.”

His eyes soften. You never realized how natural Jungkook was with affection and comfort. So natural in how he tugs at your wrist, lays you down with him on the couch, and cradles your cheek. 

“The way you perform … it’s an absolute privilege to watch you. They’re missing out.” He tells you with so much conviction, “Ma would argue you’re the only one worth watching.” He jokes.

“She’s cute.”

“A menace,” he corrects with a grin, “cause she should pay more attention to her son. But I get it, I’d watch you too.” Jungkook has a way of making you feel special. Like you mattered. Supported. Something you hoped you’d see from your parents in the past, but come to terms you’ll never receive. Now, it’s all coming in the form of Jungkook. And you don’t know what to do with all these emotions except feel guilty and apologetic for what took place moments ago.  

“I’m sorry about what I said about not wanting others to assume. It’s just …” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Juice. I understand where you’re coming from.”

Does he? It’s like him to be nice about it. You wouldn’t put it past Jungkook, but his words feel … withdrawn? Rehearsed? You’re unsure if you want to open this can of worms with him, let alone if he wanted to talk about it. Instead, you press a soft kiss on his lips, “thank you.”

He groans and pulls you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Are you tryna make me hard?”

“You’re so easy,” you laugh. 

“You’re telling me you don’t get turned on when we kiss?” He looks at you incredulously. 

You shake your head — a lie. “Nope, all you.” You say as one of your legs hook over his hip.

“I call bluff.” He kisses you, slow, tongue licking the seam of your lips. You lightly suck on his tongue and bite the bottom of his lips, giggling as he moans.

“Wanna check?” Feeling bold, your hand wraps around his wrist and leads it to your midsection, stopping just slightly above your shorts.

“Want me to?” He looks at you through hooded lids. 

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, “prove me wrong.” You let out a tiny gasp as his hand slips past your shorts. 

“Jungkook,” you whimper as his middle finger slips between your folds. The feeling of someone else’s hand other than your own has you feeling hot all over. Jungkook lets out a little wrecked noise before diving back to your lips for a messy kiss. His hand moves slowly, circling your clit, working out some of the prettiest moans.

“Liar,” he chuckles against your lips. His hand goes lower, fingers collecting your slick at your entrance before smearing it all over your clit. 

Your jaw goes slack when his fingers move faster. “N-no, I’m not.”

You feel the vibrations on your lips as he hums. “Think I need to see. Will you let me?”

Such a stupid bit you guys have going on, but you both play it so well. Your shorts and panties are tossed somewhere in your living room, bare ass hanging halfway off the couch. Jungkook kneels on the carpet floor, in an absolute trance. Whatever he’s fantasized in the last month will never compare. Simply spreads and pushes your legs further apart.

“Pretty,” he murmurs to himself. Not sure if he’s talking about you or your pussy; regardless, you smile at the compliment. 

“Done checking?” Your eyes move from his down to your wet pussy.

“Yeah. I guess I was wrong.” One of his hands moves to cup the side of your ass, parts your folds more. His thumb strokes up and down your slit, arousal apparent from your wetness.

“Told you.” You shut your eyes when you feel his thumb apply more pressure to your clit.

“So dry,” Jungkook watches you clench around nothing. “Think I gotta help you.” He lowers his head, cheeks hollow a little before he dribbles a glob of spit onto your bare cunt. You arch your back at the sensation of it trailing down your pussy. Jungkook’s face is centimeters away from your pussy, warm breath fanning over. He waits for your permission, places a delicate kiss on the side of your thigh, eyes never leaving yours. Your hand comes underneath your thigh to hold his hand during this intimate act. 

“Yeah, think so too. Need you to help me.”

Jungkook eats pussy like how he makes out. Hot. Pouty. Whimpery. It does something to your heart when he interlocks his hand with yours, thumb caressing your hand. Soft and soothing. So different from how he has his lips wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking ruthlessly. You let out a broken sob when he suddenly pries your legs further apart before fucking his tongue in you. He pauses in between to spit, uncaring of where it lands because he knows it’ll eventually mix with the rest of your slick. 

“Oh my god!” You shut your eyes, too overcome from the pleasure. 

“Is that good, baby?” Baby. You like that. You like it more knowing he asked that question to check in on you as if your reactions weren't a giveaway. Couldn’t possibly formulate a response in the time he goes back to your clit, head moving side to side. 

The pleasure builds and builds until you gasp. Body curling in and thighs locking Jungkook’s head in place, you cum. 

White splotches fill the back of your lids. Jungkook was absolutely entranced by your orgasm. He groans, eats you out sloppily just cause. You can only lay there and take everything he’s giving you, hand clutching his tighter when it gets too much. Jungkook finally lifts himself off you when your whimpers die down, marveling at your glistening sex. He was a sight to see: disheveled hair, red nose, and wet chin. 

“Wanna watch you cum again. Please?” His fingers circle your entrance.

You sigh prettily. “Come here.”

He obliges. Leans over your body with one of his hands still between your legs. You waste no time in pulling him down to a heated kiss, loving the taste of you on his tongue. The squelching noises intensify as you buck your hips into his hand. Drives you crazy that Jungkook hasn’t put his fingers in yet.

You pull away, “hear that?” You circle your hips. “You did that. Made me so wet — made me feel so good.”

“God, you’re so hot,” he moans, two fingers finally entering your pussy. He’s slow at first, mindful of your previous orgasm. Builds some speed once you pant into his mouth for more, fingers curling and letting the rise and drop of your hips do the work. 

“You’re creaming.” Like a new discovery only he could lay claim on. Like he didn’t know he could get you like this. Because truthfully, only he has ever gotten you like this. He stares at the mess between your legs, white coating his digits and seeping down your ass the more he thrusts. 

You can only whine and arch your back against the couch. That familiar feeling blooms in the pits of your stomach again. 

“I’m gonna—”

He nods, keeps the same speed and watches you with blown out pupils. Doesn’t know where to focus. Decides at the last moment that it should be your face and feels no regret when you cum a second time on his fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” He kisses you through your orgasm, shaking his head when you trail your hand down to his crotch. 

“Oh, you don’t want …?”

“Trust me, I’m more than good.” He pulls you up and giggles at your jello-state legs. 

You’re a little confused why he didn’t want you to return the favor, but decided it was best to brush it off. He helps locate your clothing and guides you into your bathroom to clean up. You back against the locked door, hands coming up to touch your face. Hot. Look over to the mirror and exhale at the sight. The afterglow looks good on you. There’s a drop to your shoulders and light in your irises. You look enamored. It’s all too soon to say, especially after multiple kisses and this one intimate moment … though, your chest swells with hope. Hope for more with Jungkook. 

In the time you spent freshening up, Jungkook pulled out a new router from his backpack he bought in secret earlier that day. Thirty minutes later, your connection and speed was infinitely better. 

“Let me pay you back for the router,” you say as Jungkook puts on his shoes at the doorway. Jungkook stands up and tugs on the strap of his backpack.

“Nah. Just write off the push-ups for the rest of the season whenever I drop the toss,” he smiles cheekily. 

“You wouldn’t have to do push-ups if you caught.” You scowl, “thank you again for the router. Saves me the trips to campus.” But it also meant you won’t have an excuse to study at Jungkook’s anymore. 

Jungkook surprises you with a quick kiss on your cheek.“You’re always welcomed over whenever you want. G’night, Cap.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Envy has a weird way of working. 

You remember it best with your parents choosing to go to your sibling’s sports games or when everyone in colorguard got to their splits way before you did. Just like how you’re feeling now, seeing Jungkook smile and joke with one of the cheerleaders after practice. It’s uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. You’ve never cared this much when you’ve witnessed past partners conversing with other people. 

You encouraged it. Felt secure. 

This was different.

“Yo, that’s the girl that Jungkook’s been talking to? Chaewon?” Jaehyun says in passing to another tenor player.

“I think so. Why?”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Rushing out the band room, your mind jumps back to all the times he’s stopped moving forward beyond making you feel good. Was it because he was already seeing someone else? It could only make sense if he wanted to be safe about it. Good that he’s thoughtful for all parties involved. Bad because you thought he liked you enough to have it only be you. 

You were right. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook [5:04 p.m.]: hey! u left super early today. did u get home safe? Jungkook [8:31 p.m.]: ?? juice, u ok? You [10:15 p.m.]: Yes, I’m home.

1 Missed call from Jungkook

You [10:16 p.m.]: Sorry, studying atm. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.

This back and forth goes on for the rest of the week. Jungkook tries to talk to you after practice, but you always seem to slip away at the last moment. The one-on-one practices have stopped because the show was as clean as it could get and all Jungkook needed to work on was catching. He could do that on his own. You gave him all the tools he needed to succeed.

You’d like to think that whatever you shared with Jungkook was just a moment of indulgence. Helped you nurse your pride and feelings. If you kept telling yourself that things were okay and how it should be, you’ll eventually believe it. Much like how you’ve accepted that you’ll never see your parents at one of your shows, you'll realize these feelings for Jungkook were also fleeting. Because it starts to look that way once Jungkook starts to back off trying to talk to you.

You had other things to focus on. Cleaning up your section, schoolwork, and raising enough donations for the Rehearsathon. Of course you fall short of the goal. It’s not a big deal, but you hate to be the person who didn’t look like they tried at all, especially coming from a leadership role.

Regardless, you come into Rehearsathon ready for the brutal twelve hours. Practice lasted three hours at max, twelve was overkill. By the end of it all, you were exhausted. Sore and ready to go home for a much needed hot shower.

“Nice work, band. With the money raised, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be getting new uniforms by the end of the month. Just in time for the exhibition show.” Director Lee continues his recap, “also, shout out to our top fundraisers: Toad, Jungkook, and Juicebox.”

Huh? You barely raised a little over 50 bucks … 20 of which came from yourself cause you felt awful showing up with just 30. Did everyone else just do poorly? 

Hoseok comes to you after everyone gets dismissed to pat you on the back.  “Very impressive to get the cheer team to donate that much.” Cheer team? You’re lost. You didn’t know anyone on that team, let alone solicited them to donate. The only person you knew that had connections with the cheer team was none other than Jungkook. But … why would their sponsorship be under you? 

It didn’t make sense.

“Jungkook.” You jog up to him. 

“Sup?” He’s never greeted you like this before, but it’s probably deserved since you’ve been avoiding him. Doesn’t sting any less. 

“My sponsors. You did that, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he shrugs.

You try to find the right words to say, but come short. You settle for a small ‘thank you.’ It’s all you can say before you turn the opposite direction. 

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t question why you haven’t been returning his calls or text messages. Your silence was an answer in itself. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s tosses and catches were inconsistent. On his good days, he’s able to stick his catch. Mostly during rehearsal. But come the halftime shows? He’s dropping. You can tell he’s frustrated. No one likes feeling like they dragged down the quality of a show. Some liked to be left alone to process their mistakes; you assumed Jungkook was the type to need extra comfort. You work up the courage to go to him, but see that Jimin has beaten you. Probably for the better. 

Jimin was great when it came to comforting others. In Jungkook’s case, it looked like Jimin was putting in the works. Has him miming a toss and doing a silly dance to show Jungkook how he tries to recover under a bad toss. Jungkook cracks a smile. Jimin transitions to his final move: back hug. You’ve also received those from Jimin before. It’s nice — not your preference after a rough show, but you appreciate the sentiment. Looks like Jungkook does too. Appears infinitely lighter.

The same cheerleader you saw a couple weeks ago, Chaewon, comes up to Jungkook too. Gives him a high five and a hug. And that was your cue to leave. You feel a little pathetic. All this because you don’t know what to do with your feelings for a boy.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Exhibition day. 

Instruments loaded in the trailer, everyone was ready to hit the road. Whenever there was a far off site performance, Lee strung up his contacts to reserve fancy buses for the band. Yoongi theorizes it’s all for show to the prospective graduating high school seniors. He’s not complaining though. Far better to ride on some fancy buses than to coordinate carpool for over 200 band kids. 

“Is your high school going to be there, Juicebox?” Yuri stuffs her equipment underneath the bus compartment.

“No,” you shake your head, “they’re in another circuit.”

“Lucky, my school is going to be there. So I need to impress my underclassmen.” She holds her hands into a fist. You chuckle, pull the straps of your backpack higher on your shoulder as you step onto the bus.  

Colorguard preferred taking the back of the bus only cause it feels like you can do your hair and makeup in peace. Funnily enough, drumline also preferred the back too. Gives them space from the rest of the band when they drum together on the bus. Lucky for you, one of your girls secured the backseats. You volunteer to sit alone since there was an odd number of members in your section. If the drumline came to the back, you had a feeling Yoongi might swoop in to sit with you. He preferred a quieter seat partner despite having to lead some of the drumming sessions on the bus. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

There’s no need to look up. Even if you haven’t spoken to him in a couple weeks, you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Go ahead.” Who were you to stop him? 

Jungkook takes his seat, stuffs his bag underneath the seat in front of him, and places his drumsticks on his lap. He smells like coconut and shea butter — the same scent as the sunscreen you gifted him a while back. It’s sweet and warm — such a huge contrast to how you and Jungkook act towards each other now. Bitter and cold. 

“Alright,” Director Lee announces from the bus intercom. “About a 45 minute drive to the location. No bathroom breaks. If you gotta go, hold it or piss in a cup.” A bunch of band kids grimace and fake a retch from the comment. 

All you could think about is how you’ll be next to Jungkook for the next 45 minutes. The drummers get their rounds of drumming in, choosing to drum on the seats in front of them. You stare out the window, wishing for time to pass by quicker. His elbow brushes yours and time ceases to continue. Something lodges in your chest from the brief contact. You chastise your heart — so weak, so dumb, so fragile. Just because of a boy. 

As Director Lee says, you’ve got to tighten up.  

The drumming continues for another 20 minutes. Your section chatters behind you and Jungkook is turned to his own. Sometimes in a room full of people, or in this case … a bus, you still manage to find yourself feeling left out. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. 

Eventually, the bus arrives at a lot filled with other school buses.

“You guys have 15 minutes to unload and meet at the practice field for warm up.” Director Lee announces. 

Row after row, people file out of the bus. When it was Jungkook’s turn to get up, he stays seated. He motions the folks behind him to go first, bending down to his backpack to get something. Everyone was now outside the bus … minus you and Jungkook.

He sighs. “How long are we going to keep doing this?” Jungkook leans back on his seat, 

“Doing what?”

“Pretend like what we had didn’t happen.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stand up, one of your hands land on the seat in front to support yourself as you wait for Jungkook to move.

“Come on, Juice,” he pleads, “this is ridiculous.”

“I’m glad you agree,” your knee pushes at his leg to get to the aisle.

“Was it something I did?” Jungkook’s voice softens, “I would never do something you weren’t okay with …” 

“Jungkook.” You look at the front of the bus. Thankfully, no one was there, “I was okay with everything we did, well—no, I mean,” you shift uncomfortably as you try to find the right words. He cocks his head to the side with furrowed brows.

You feel your resolve waver. There hasn’t been a second in the day where you don’t think about him. Week after week, you jump between feeling sad, betrayed, and embarrassed. He’d even pop up in your dreams to remind you that even when you weren’t awake, he’s still very much present in your subconscious. Perhaps talking to the source of your problems could help. 

“We can talk about it after the show. There’s not enough time.” You were being honest. Know that everyone is on crunch time now that you’ve all reached the performance site. 

“Okay.” He’d have no other choice but to accept. He gets up and moves to the side. You push away that bitter feeling in your chest. It’s show day. Jungkook eventually emerges out the bus a couple minutes after you do. 

“You okay, JB?” Yoongi hauls his drum from the trailer and moves out of the way for the other members to get their instruments.

“Yeah,” you lie, “just pre-show nerves.” 

Yoongi doesn’t buy it. Realized you and Jungkook were the last ones to get off the bus. Felt the shift between the two of you these couple of weeks. He also notices how Jungkook looks over at you. Something must’ve happened, but he’s not going to push for answers right before a show. 

“Kids these days …” he murmurs to himself.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

High school marching band competitions were overstimulating. Overfilled bathroom stalls, different music playing, and the scent of kettle corn … makes you nostalgic. The rush of being on a field again. Other good, if not better, colorguard you’d meet from all over the country. The award ceremony. The comradery. Maybe you have one more season left in you to do drum corps in the summer. 

For now, you’re lined up at the front of the main field. Everyone is all warmed up and ready to perform. 

Showtime. Director Lee takes over the stadium microphone to introduce the marching band and Hoseok signals everyone to march down the field into position. The show goes smoothly. During the performance, the audience erupts with cheers at every musical feature and toss. Jungkook catches. The band was an absolute hit.

“Oh my god, we rocked out there!” Jimin drops the handful of equipment he picked up on the field. Everyone gives each other high fives and pats on the back. 

“I second that,” Director Lee comes around with his megaphone. “Nice work, band. We have an hour to reload. Do as you like till it’s call time.”

Equipment and instruments loaded up, you and another guard member walk to the concession stands for some kettle corn. While waiting in line, she gets pulled away by some old classmates from high school. Honestly, you didn’t even want kettle corn, but you weren’t ready to face Jungkook just yet. In the midst of your thoughts, someone calls your name. You freeze.

“I thought I recognized you from the stands. Long time no see.” 

A voice and face you long to forget: Wooyoung. Your high school ex.

You step back, unsure how to avoid this interaction. He smiles. To any other person, it’d come off as friendly. To you? Slimy. Icky. You feel more cornered when he opens his arms for a hug. When you don’t lean into it, he pulls you in for one.

“You were great out there. Improved a lot since your freshman year.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks,” you reply. Your gaze locked on the object in front of you. A badge that read: YBHS Asst. Band Director.

He notices your stare. “Yeah, I never really left the marching band scene post college. Just kept calling my name.” You don’t like the way he scans your body. The corners of his lips fight to stay neutral. Part of you feels sad for your younger self — didn’t know better than to mistake his lust for interest and adoration.

“Say, if you’re free after the competition, we should get some drinks together and catch up. The school I’m teaching is looking for a dance tech—”

“No, I’m not looking to teach.” You immediately decline. Getting paid to do what you loved sounded tempting, but why subject yourself to torture being employed by the same man that fucked you over? “Thanks for the offer, but I need to go back with the band.” You step back. 

Ignoring your decline, Wooyoung tries again. “We should catch up though. I don’t mind taking you back if you’re worried about a ride home.”

“No thank y-”

“Juice.” You’ve never been more relieved to hear someone call you by that nickname.

Jungkook stands beside you. Saw you looking uncomfortable from afar and it was instinctive to come over despite whatever was going on between you two. By no means was he a confrontational or violent person, but he’s protective of those he cares about. And he cares deeply about you. No doubt about that.

“Lee said he needed us back at the bus.” There’s plenty of time left, but you’re thankful for an opening to leave. 

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

“Aw, can’t spare a couple more minutes for an old friend?” Be it his ego or his inability to read the room, Wooyoung doesn’t back down. This doesn’t surprise you. What surprised you was Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours. Possessive. Alert.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Jungkook says.

“Oh? Boyfriend?” Wooyoung eyes your interlocked hands. 

“Uh-”

“Yep,” the lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You nearly believe it too, “and you are …?”

“Wooyoung. I teach at one of the high schools in this circuit,” he chuckles, “I’m assuming you both march at the same university?”

“We do.” Jungkook answers on your behalf again.

“Cute. Well, I won’t keep you two,” Wooyoung turns to you. “It was nice seeing you again. Hit me up on Facebook if you’re interested in the tech position or if you just want to catch up.”

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are headed back to the direction of the bus. He's still holding your hand, weaving both of you through the crowds. 

“Jungkook,” you say, nearly tripping over your steps to meet his long strides. He lets go of your hand and faces you.

“Was that your ex?”

Your silence confirms the answer.

“Why’d you let him walk all over you like that?”

“I was fine.”

“You were clearly uncomfortable. Had I not stepped in-”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook.”

“You didn’t,” he steps back, “and I know that. I just … I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I care about you ... we’re friends.”

But friends don’t look at each other like the way Jungkook does with you. A friend’s touch doesn’t make you yearn for more. It doesn’t hurt when they call you a friend.

“We’re not friends.” Guilt seeps through you the moment those words leave your lips. Jungkook runs his hand down his face and exhales a small humorless laugh. It comes out mocking with a hint of bitterness.

“But Wooyoung is?”

That hits a sore spot. He realizes his mistake when your face falls. “Juice,” his voice softens, “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Just like how you’re friends with Chaewon?”

He pauses. Confusion plastered on his face. Your shoulder bumps into his arm as you walk past him and towards the bus. It takes less than a second for him to catch up to you. Calls your name. Gets ignored. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? What does Chaewon have to do with any of this?” With some band members lining up to board the buses, Jungkook’s voice was loud enough to catch their attention. The last thing you want is people speculating.

“Can we do this another time?” You say through gritted teeth. 

Another time? He’s been waiting to talk to you, but you keep blowing him off. He doesn’t know when he’ll be granted this opportunity again, let alone whether you’ll keep your words. But you look uncomfortable and as much as he’d like to air out his grievances, he holds himself back from making a bigger scene.

He sighs in resolve and lets you queue in line for the bus. In the bus, you expected Jungkook to sit right next to you. Gets surprised when Yoongi plops down next to you. You scan the area and realize Jungkook is a couple rows in front. He doesn’t look back at you. Doesn’t come back for his belongings underneath the seat. 

“Whatever is going on between you and Jungkook needs to be fixed. You’re better than this.” He sighs. 

Yoongi was never one to lecture you. Not because he doesn’t feel like he can’t, but because you’ve always had your shit together. Haven’t seen you act like this before. So … juvenile, immature, and unreasonable. Perhaps he was wrong to think that things would work between you and Jungkook. The bus ride back to the campus was quiet. Going home always felt like a shorter ride in comparison to going to the performance site. Wished it took longer. 

The bus comes to a full stop at the front of the school and everyone immediately gets out row by row. Yoongi gets up once it’s your row’s turn. “Wait, Yoongi,” you point at Jungkook’s bag at the bottom of the seat.

“You can give it to him, JB.” It’s not a demand, merely a matter of fact. You don’t argue back. Percussion is typically last to unload all their instruments back into the band room, so you’re stuck waiting for Jungkook till he’s done.

One by one, your colorguard members leave to go home, bidding you farewell. They don’t question why you’re staying behind, just assume that you have some business you have to see through with the director or other section leaders. It’s late and they just want to be in bed. So do you. But you wait, because it’s what you should do. You owe this to Jungkook at the very least.

Thirty minutes go by and Jungkook finally emerges from the band room. He smiles and waves goodbye to his section. When he sees you with his bag, his expression morphs into something close to disbelief. Walks up to you quickly and takes it out of your hand.

“Could’ve told Yoongi to give it to me,” he frowns. 

“Trust me, I tried,” you sigh, “but I promised we would talk.”

His lips presses into a thin line. It’s late, but if the talk doesn’t happen now, he doesn’t know when it will. 

“Did you want to talk at the dorms?” He asks. 

You internally debate whether it was a good idea to be in an enclosed area with Jungkook. Sure, it offered some privacy, but you felt more exposed. More vulnerable. Limits your likelihood of running away. Doesn’t take you long to make a decision, opting to talk at his dorm after a cold breeze passes through. It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been there. You wonder if anything has changed. Yet, you’re greeted by the same blue bedsheets, detergent, and all too clean of a desk space. Nothing’s changed, except for the two people in there.

Jungkook sits on the floor and you follow. You clear your throat, unable to make eye contact with Jungkook now that you’re in front of him. No more avoiding the inevitable. 

“What’s been going on?” He asks carefully. “Talk to me, please?”

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of where to start.

“Was it something I did?” He asks again. 

Another moment of silence ensues. “Juice-”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did.” You’re sure this was the right thing to say, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

“What do you mean?” His voice comes out small.

“I shouldn’t have entertained any of that. It wasn’t right.” That really drove it home. Nail on the coffin. Stings more when you look up and see the hurt plastered on Jungkook’s face.

Yoongi told you to fix things, but it seems impossible when you’re only capable of making things worse. Especially with how he closes his eyes and looks away. You’ve prepped your heart for this moment. Though, this is Jungkook. The boy who willingly volunteered to step into a position no one else would, the boy who’s been vying for your attention and got it, the boy with a smile so warm that you think you’d have trouble forgetting even across multiple universes. 

That’s what scares you. Whatever he says next will hurt. 

“Do you regret it?” Jungkook asks with downcast eyes. You rest your face into your palm. It’s a yes or no question deserving of a yes and no answer. For that, you couldn’t answer right away. 

“I didn’t. Not once.” He answers truthfully, “but if you regret it, I really am sorry.” Jungkook looks at you with those round, apologetic eyes. 

You almost cave. Almost. 

“I just … thought we had something special. I was wrong to assume.” He says. 

You did have something special with Jungkook. He wasn’t wrong. 

Jungkook continues, “I hope we can remain friends, but I get it if you don’t want to.”

Friends. This irked you. 

“Is that what you say to people you’ve slept with?”

“What?” He retracts his head back in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”

There’s no going back now.

“Chaewon.” You straighten up from your seated position, “there’s also something special between you two, right?”

You sound bitter. You hate it. Hate how he looks … so exposed. So incriminating. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you. Was it because you were still sleeping with her?”

“No! I—”

“—It’s fine if you were. We weren’t anything,” wrong, he was something to you, still is, “but—”

“It’s not like that,” he interrupts, but you press on, fully on autopilot now. 

“—I’m not someone’s backup, I don’t do casual. The least you could’ve done was tell me. If you had any respe—”

The words die on your tongue when Jungkook says your name. Your actual name. You don’t realize how heavy you’re breathing. And Jungkook? Upset is an understatement. 

“I did have something with Chaewon,” he begins. 

You scoff. 

“In our first-year. Things ended because … well, I caught feelings,” he admits with a hint of shame, “I don’t do casual either. I just didn’t realize she did.”

Oh.

“But you’re still …?”

He shakes his head no. “We’re not like that anymore, I swear.”

“Doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you murmur, head turned away in embarrassment. 

Jungkook frowns. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. Intimacy just kinda fucks with my head and heart … after what happened with Chaewon, I just …” His voice trails, “I didn’t want to rush and mess things up with someone I care about. Seems like it still happened anyway.” Jungkook scoots closer, knees now touching yours. “Is that what this is about?”

Jungkook cocks his head to meet your eyes, but you keep your head turned away. “Hey, come on. Look at me.”

And when you finally do look at him, you’re met with light and warmth — something you don’t know if you deserve after all the mess your mind created. He hesitates, but trails his fingers against yours. Testing the waters. Jungkook takes it as a sign to hold your hand when you don’t retract. Even with his calloused hands from years of drumming, you feel the tenderness in his touch.

“I never intended to hurt you or make you feel bad,” his voice laced with sincerity, “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook was right. Intimacy does fuck with your head and heart. Made you think irrationally, abandoning all logic for the sake of protecting your heart and pride. Ridiculous that he’s the one apologizing. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I should’ve come to you about it. I’m sorry.” Your eyes water at the admittance.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry …” Jungkook cups your cheek with his other hand.

You sniffle, quickly blinking away the tears because you’re stubborn — not a fan of people witnessing you cry. Instead, you press your cheek into his palm. Missed his touch — missed him.

It’s a little uncoordinated how he pulls you onto his lap, but when you’re seated on him and your head is resting in the crook of his neck, it feels like coming home. There’s a specific scent that clings onto his skin after a long day of being under the sun — slight musk mixed with sunscreen and his cologne. Familiar and comforting. You wonder if he’s just as attached to your scent as you are with his.

“You still haven’t answered my question though …” he swallows, “do you regret it?”

“No,” you shake your head, voice coming out small, “never regretted anything we’ve done.” 

“Do you … regret us?” He asks. 

You shake your head again. You know you said some hurtful things a while ago. Wish you could take it all back. Can’t seem to muster the courage to tell Jungkook that he’s been the best thing that’s happened to you all season, but you try in your own way.  

Torso turned awkwardly and arms sewn around his neck, you hold him. It takes a second for Jungkook to react, body tense and unsure if he’s allowed to embrace you. You exhale, something akin to relief, and he feels it too. Jungkook holds you just as tightly. Tucks himself into your neck and kisses into your hair. Whispers how much he’s missed you and jokes about how foolish you both are — just two enamored fools.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The day after that night, Jungkook unfollowed Chaewon on all his social media platforms, not before sending a quick message how he no longer wanted to stay friends. You hope it wasn’t because of you. Sure, you had your moments of insecurity about Jungkook and Chaewon and don’t know exactly what transpired between them, but you thought it was a bit excessive to cut someone off cold turkey. But Jungkook had his reasons … reasons for which he’s not ready to talk about just yet. You trusted him and you’ll wait. If he thought this was for the better, you’ll stand by his decision.

The season was nearly over. You’re also over at Jungkook’s a lot, vice versa — made his room a second home. He reserves a section of his nightstand just for your bobby pins and hair ties … no different from your desk chair with a pile of his sleep shirts.

It’s the evening after an ensemble practice and he’s laid between your legs, bare back against your torso. Nothing sexual, just appreciating your company while he drums a random beat on his chest. The warmth of his body feels good on yours, like a heated and weighted blanket all at once. You mindlessly run your fingers in his hair, occasionally earning a shudder from Jungkook if your nails made contact with his scalp. 

“Next week’s our last show,” he mutters.

From your position, you notice Jungkook’s pout. Your hand comes to a stop. “You sad?” 

“A little. Season’s been tough, wanna end it on a good note.”

Part of you wonders if he was talking about the show or his time with you. Both could be true.

“You will,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a reassuring squeeze, “is your family going to be there?”

Jungkook smiles fondly. “Yeah, they are.”

“Good. That’ll be enough incentive for you to catch this time,” you tease. 

“Yah,” he turns, chin propped at your sternum, “I don’t need incentives to do well.”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “That’s not what you said before practice today. ‘One kiss, please? I swear I’ll stick the catch.’” You do your best pleading eyes, but nothing can beat the real deal.

His eyes narrow, lips curving into a playful smile. “You got me.”

Jungkook lays his cheek down on your chest, hesitates with his next words. “How about you though? Is your family going to be there?” He knows family is an uncomfortable topic for you. Hell, talking about hard topics in general was difficult. These days, you’re doing better at communicating your feelings. Jungkook makes it easy — makes the uncomfortable feel comfortable. 

“Didn’t invite them, so probably not,” you shrug.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them there?”

“Maybe …”

Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty when you’re in deep thought. Brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s that dimple on the right side of your cheek that only appears when you do that. He’s sure you’re not even aware of its existence. Always been so captivated by you. Built this version of you in his head all these years and you’ve shattered every one of his assumptions in just one season. He's gotten to know different sides of you — like when you’re assertive, insecure, caring, angry, sweet … just, you.

“But I don’t need incentives, unlike someone I know.” You smirk.

He likes to entertain all your sides, but this was his favorite — the side that likes to tease. His body shifts, so does yours as you sink your head deeper into his pillow. 

“I think you’re getting it mixed up, Cap,” Jungkook hovers over your body, nose touching yours, “incentives make me work harder knowing there’s something to look forward to. As much as I love performing for a big audience,” his lips brushes the corner of your mouth, “it’s more special when there’s someone you know watching.”

“Right?” His breath fans over your lips.

You’re not arguing with a man whose eyes competed with stars. Instead, choosing to accept his words because he’s right … just on this occasion. Because all you want is for him to press his lips to yours.

And Jungkook does that.

Drives him crazy when you get all breathless and whiny against his lips. True to his words, he’s been good with taking it slow with you. Sticks to kissing for now because he fears that he won’t be able to get himself out of the deep end if he reaches to that point of intimacy. Took forever with Chaewon, so he doesn’t know how he’ll fare with you … someone he really likes.

But fuck, you make it hard — make him hard. You gasp and pull away slightly when he accidentally grinds himself against your core. Jungkook shudders and mumbles his apologies, lips finding yours again. 

You shake your head. “‘s okay,” you kiss his cheek, “you good?”

“Trying to be,” he swallows and chuckles.

“You don’t have to try to be,” you peer at him through your lashes, “you are good.” 

You make the uncomfortable feel comfortable too. Kisses you again tenderly and lets his body relax momentarily. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. “Always.”

“When we had that fall out … it was after we got intimate. I’m worried about that happening again.”

“Oh, Kook,” your stomach sinks at the confession. 

“I don’t wanna feel that way with you,” one of his hands cup your cheek, “I trust you.”

“I trust you too. We don’t have to rush into sex to prove anything.” You turn your head to kiss his palm.

He knows. But he wants this badly — wants you. His hard length pressed against you is enough proof. Sensing his turmoil, you push yourself up, making him sit back on his heels.

One of your hands holds his. “You trust me, yeah?”

Jungkook nods, eyes sincere and honest. You lay your back against his headboard, legs spread wide enough to accommodate another person in between. No brainer, a perfect spot for Jungkook.

“Turn around and lay down,” you pat your chest.

Jungkook does just that, no questions asked. He’s right back where he started this evening: between your legs. Except now, there’s a light wave of anticipation floating in the air.

“What do you have in mind?” His voice drops an octave lower.

“Shh,” you hand cups his chin so that your lips could meet his temple. “I got you.” Truthfully, you didn’t know what you were doing. You only wanted to make him feel good, just as he’s done for you.

“You’re always helping others. So attentive,” one of your hands trails down his abdomen, “so good.”

At your praise, Jungkook sinks his teeth down on his lips. 

“Think you deserve to be rewarded for that. Don’t you?” You ask. His hand wraps around your wrist, unsure whether to have you continue or stop.

“Wanna make you feel good,” your hand stops just shy of his belly button, thumb rubbing against his skin, “please?”

He releases a little moan, cock twitching in his shorts. You run your hand between his legs, gentle in the way you let yourself trace over his cloth length. Jungkook tips his head back for a second and immediately looks back down again, afraid he might miss out on what’s yet to come.

“God,” he keens, stomach tightening with every fleeting touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper into his ear. Simple question calls for a simple answer. Jungkook presents his answer in the form of a tilt to his head, whispering a silent plea for you to kiss and continue touching him.

The angle of the kiss is a bit off, gets Jungkook a little giggly, but he quiets down the moment your fingers fumble at the waistband of his shorts. His chest stutters, both hands coming down to help you pull the front of his shorts to expose his hard cock.

Jungkook’s size was always a dead giveaway. Thank god for his obsession with grey sweats. You didn’t think he was this big. Arousal pools between your legs. Wonder if it’d stroke his ego knowing your mind was filled with images of how he’d stretch you out, sink inside you, and fuck you to the hilt.

But nevermind that. This was about him and making him feel good.

Jungkook lets out a needy moan when your hand wraps around his cock. You give it a tiny squeeze and hum at the sight of his precum leaking from his slit. You let go all too soon, and just as he was about to accuse you of teasing him, he hears you spit into your hand. 

“Baby ...” His chest heaves when you run your wet hand down his shaft again. 

Jungkook was right. It is more special when there’s someone you know watching. Inspires you to perform. To make him feel good. To ignite a reaction, letting you know he enjoys what you’re doing. 

He lets you have your way with his body. Pants and shivers when your other hand plays with his nipple. Doesn’t know where to fucking focus because you’re everywhere all at once and he loves every moment of it.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” His eyes lock at the sight before him: your pretty hand wrapped around his hard length covered in both spit and precum.

“Yeah? Go on,” you coax, “you deserve it.” You understand what he means by incentives. Because it motivates you to work harder to draw out his moans, stroke faster then randomly slow down to tease him, and purr sweet nothings into his ears. Makes you fight the arm cramp just to see his eyes flutter shut. Makes you ignore the pleasure pangs hitting your own core just so you can witness his orgasm. Because you want to so badly make him feel good. 

“That’s it, so close,” you encourage.

“C-cumming,” Jungkook pants, he digs his head back into your shoulders, “I’m cumming.” You watch the thick ropes of cum paint his torso. Jungkook’s body shakes and withers from pleasure. You let go of his cock and you trail your fingers up his stomach to collect his cum. 

He watches with bated breath as you stick your tongue out for an experimental lick. A bit heady for your liking, but who eats cum for the sake of taste? This is all for Jungkook. His fucked out expression was enough reason for you to push your cum coated fingers into your mouth and suck them clean. 

“Oh my god,” he groans, turning around to pin you down on his mattress. “You’re so hot.” Doesn’t think twice when he slots his lips to yours, moans muffled at the taste of him on your tongue.

“Made me feel so good,” another peck to seal the deal. “Thank you.” Post nut clarity usually made people run for the hills. Jungkook? Basks in your company and affection. Trusts you with his body and so he naturally trusts you with his heart. 

He hopes it’s the same for you.

Words aren’t needed to express how you feel for Jungkook. It’s evident in how your expressions change the more you kiss. How your nose feels against his cheek when you nod for him to touch you. How it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his fingers.

Jeon Jungkook knows it’s the same for you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Last game of the season also meant the last performance of the season. You’re warming up with your guard. Nothing too serious since you don’t like to be tired out before a performance.

“Hey, Cap?” Jimin says mid stretch. “There are a couple of folks behind that keep staring in our direction. You know them?”

It’s a sight you weren’t expecting. Your family. Your parents and brother. Not like you don’t see them often. You call home sometimes. Visits happened towards the end of the semester, so you’d never expect to see them on campus mid-semester… especially your own. 

You jog over to them.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” You ask breathlessly. 

“To see you perform, duh.” Your brother rolls his eyes.

“Uh … but this is-”

“One of your classmates messaged me on Facebook a day ago telling me it’s a very special performance. Honestly, I wished I got the invite from my daughter, but here we are,” your mother exasperates, foot tapping on the ground.

Sensing a bit of awkwardness, your father adds, “we just wanted to say hi and good luck, honey. We’ll be in the stands.” He points in the direction of the stadium. 

“Oh, okay, um, thank you. I’ll see you all later?” You walk back to your section, confused, but there was something else. Excitement? Disbelief? Maybe all of the above.

“You okay?” Jimin asks while gathering his equipment.

You look over to where Jungkook was warming up with drumline. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee is a man of traditions and rituals. Doesn’t like splitting poles because he thinks it’s bad luck. He also made it a tradition to announce every fourth year’s name to the stadium as the band file to their spot for the last performance of the season. Think of it as an informal send off. Gets the entire band a little emotional before the show.

You feel a lot. The nearly filled stands. Your family in those very stands. Jungkook. The fourth-years. All the practices, mistakes, and injuries led you up to this moment. 

Hoseok salutes to the audience and the stadium quiets down when he turns back to the band. Even from far away, you can feel his presence. It’s commanding, ready to lead.  

And that’s what Hoseok does. Everything blurs when the music starts. It’s all muscle memory. The cheers for the flag and music features fuels the entire band to perfection.

Despite your confusion about your family, they’re here, watching you. 

The stadium erupts in cheers at the end of the performance. You’re the first to break formation to hug your guard members. You remain smiling as you walk off the field, eyes catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s mother waving at him. Your eyes scan for your family. When you finally spot them, they’re all seated and clapping. Your mother’s approving nod doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a stark difference to the support Jungkook receives from his family. 

As imperfect as your family’s affection and support may be, it fills your heart with a type of warmth you’ve yet to experience till now.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee’s traditions spanned to post-performance pizza following the senior plaques he’d hand out. New section leaders were also selected. Director Lee knew at a glance who had leadership potential, but he’s always watching throughout the season in preparation for his departing section leaders. 

Jungkook only ever cared about the pizza. Not that he never saw himself as a leader, but he knew there was always someone better fit for the job. This year? Screw the pizza. Screw the new leader. Okay, well, no, he hopes they’re a good pick. At the moment, that’s the least of his concerns.

“So like … are you gonna eat that?” Jimin eyes the untouched pizza on Jungkook’s plate. Jungkook wordlessly passes his plate over to Jimin, far too immersed in the conversation you were having with Yoongi a couple feet away. 

He knows he overstepped by sending that message to your mother. Should’ve respected your decisions … or lack thereof.

You walk toward the front door, look over in his direction, and give him a subtle nod. Doesn’t need to be told twice — Jungkook springs up on his feet and adjusts his bibber.

“Where ya goin’?” Jimin asks Jungkook with a mouthful.

“Bathroom,” Jungkook replies quickly. 

“Well, hurry up. Lee is doing awards and section leader announcements soon.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” he answers distractedly, too focused on the direction you’re headed in.

Jungkook was on a mission. He got his apology rehearsed in his head. Follows closely behind you as you head up the stairs to the storage room. Honestly? Wouldn’t have been his first choice to chat here. For one, creepy. Two, dusty as hell. But he’ll go where you go. 

When the door shuts behind him, you turn on your heel to face him. Even with the dim lighting, Jungkook still finds your glittery show makeup beautiful — you’re beautiful. Crushes his soul a little bit when you frown … he’s ready for a round of scolding, so he’ll try to beat you to it.

“I know what I did was out of line. I just th—mmph-” The apology he rehearsed for the past hour dies on his lips as you pull him down for a searing kiss. Your hands untangle from the straps of his bibber to wrap around his neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you say in between kisses. Your words don’t exactly match your actions. You bite down on his lower lip, enough pressure to draw out a tiny hiss turned moan. Jungkook backs you against the wall and knocks over a couple of boxes with flag silks. He’s quick to remedy it with promises to clean it up in favor of kissing you.

The storage room was a bit stuffy … probably loaded with a bunch of asbestos, but it just might be Jungkook’s favorite place at the moment. Just when he thinks all is well and forgiven, you pull away with a glare.

“Don't think you’re off the hook.”

“Wait, huh?”

“JB! You in here?” Yoongi calls from below. 

Yoongi makes his way up the stairs, steps slow and sluggish. You can’t tell if it’s due to his lack of energy or if he’s giving himself enough time to not walk into something he doesn’t want to see. Regardless, it buys you some time. You and Jungkook have never moved so fast. Him, hiding behind a rack of retired uniforms. You, inconspicuously folding the discarded flag silks on the ground. 

“Yep, in here!” You peek your head to the side to see Yoongi lean at the railing. 

“Lee wants everyone in the band room. Doing announcements soon.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Yoongi stands in place for a moment, snorts before he makes his way downstairs again.

“Need you there too, Kook.” Yoongi says, loud enough for you both to hear. Your head snaps in Jungkook’s direction and you can’t bring yourself to stay angry at the view: his fluffy hair and beat up converse high tops on full display. 

“Whoops,” Jungkook emerges from the racks with a boxy smile.

“Come on, let’s go back.” You say, swiping away the red tint off his lips. Preen him a little. Not trying to hide anything, but you wanted to look presentable for announcements — it’ll be an important one. 

“Shouldn’t we address the elephant in the room?” He nervously chews on his lips. 

You shake your head and hold out your hand. “It can wait. I have dinner plans with my family later … meet me at my place afterwards?”

“Okay … but like, are we good?”

“Maybe.” You shrug and purse your lips. 

Maybe? No, that won’t fly by with Jungkook. Thought you guys were past this whole miscommunication stage of your guys’ relationship. He needs that extra reassurance. Figured he won’t get that till after your family dinner … doesn’t stop him from playing out the possible scenarios in his head as Director Lee goes through his announcements.

People are clapping on and off. Again, doesn’t matter to him.

“Jungkook? Hellooooo?” Yoongi waves his hand in front of him.

“Huh, wha … sorry, what’d I miss?” Jungkook shakes himself out of his trance. 

“Welcome back to earth, Space Cadet.” Director Lee huffs. A bunch of band members snickers from the comment, his section included. 

“You’re the new percussion section leader, Space Cadet.” Yoongi grins. 

He should be celebrating. It’s a feat and honor to become a section leader. He knows nothing about it, but he’s got great role models, so he’s got a good foundation and baseline for what a good leader should look like. Only issue? Jungkook thought he’d been lucky to evade the nickname curse. Now he’s stuck with one … and a not so great one at that.

He looks for you in the room. Spots you instantly and you throw a tiny thumbs up and a teasing smile in his direction. 

You mouth: Congrats, Spacey.

Maybe the new nickname isn’t so bad after all.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Dinner with your family was okay. There wasn’t much to chat about other than your father asking if you are continuing ‘this’ after graduating. 

“We’re just wondering. Eventually you’ll have to put work first,” your mother reasons. “Your body won’t be able to keep up as you age.”

You know it’s said with care and concern, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being lectured for doing something unconventional. God forbid you be happy with activities outside of a typical 9 to 5. The conversation moves over to your brother and what he’s been doing. You’re thankful the attention is off you for now. You’d much rather be home with a particular drummer anyway. 

You [8:39 p.m.]: I’ll be home in about 30 mins.  Jungkook 🥁 [8:39 p.m.]: ok, be safe. see u later ❤️

You smile down at your phone. Yes, you were still upset and made it a known fact to Jungkook. Hated seeing him confused, but that’s life. He'll have to sit with the consequences of his actions.

Kind of like how you have to sit through this dinner.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook arrives at your doorstep about four minutes after you get home. In his hands were a dozen of sunflowers he picked up after Director Lee dismissed the band. Thought it would help his case a little. It does. You accept them with a smile and step to the side to let him in.

“Pretty,” he compliments. You look down at the simple sundress you put on for dinner. Realize Jungkook has only seen you in t-shirts and athletic wear. Though, you could be in a potato sack and he’d still find you lovely. 

“Thank you.”

He follows you to your couch. Usually he likes to sit right next to you, but thinks space is what you’d prefer for this type of conversation. He had plenty of time to reevaluate his actions in the shower and even more time while he waited for your text to come over.  

“I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. Just thought they should come out and support you.”

You sigh and place the flowers on your coffee table. 

“How’d you even find my mother?” You ask.

“Um, it wasn’t that hard to sift through your friends list. Plus, there’s not a lot of middle aged women that you look like. Could’ve passed as your older sister, honestly.”

“Funny,” you smile, “she’d love to hear that.”

“Score.” Jungkook grins.

You mindlessly play with the fringes on your dress, unsure what to say next. 

Jungkook reads you perfectly as always. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Just have a lot on my mind.” You fold your hands in your lap. 

“I get it,” he nods. 

“I don’t think you do.” You pause, chewing on your lips before you continue. “The show, offering me a place to study, the sponsors, Wooyoung, and now my family …” you recount, “you keep doing these things for me.”

Jungkook frowns, “do you not want me to?” 

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. I’m just not used to it.” You’re not used to being taken care of nor understood. It’s always been like this. With your family, friends, even some of the folks you’ve marched with in the past. But in the time you’ve gotten to know Jungkook, that’s all he’s given you.

Feels like he knows what you need better than you do sometimes. Feels like he does things out of care and not obligation.

It’s not a feeling anymore when he pulls you onto his lap, resting his chin on top of your head.  

“I know you’re capable of doing everything and more, Juice. But unless you don’t want me to, I’ll always want to help you,” he says. 

You nod, fingers playing with the ends of his shirt. “I know, and I appreciate that. It’s just hard letting go,” you shrug.

“Of what?”

“Control?” 

He chuckles, “you don’t say, Cap.”

You roll your eyes, “you’re a section leader now too.”

“Ah, that, I am,” he agrees, “means we’ll be working together more. You gonna give me a hard time?”

“Ask Yoongi.”

Jungkook laughs and holds you closer. He clears his throat, “need to make sure, though … am I forgiven?”

“Wasn’t that upset, Kook.” If you were truly mad at Jungkook, you wouldn’t have kissed him back in the storage room. “But yes, you’re forgiven. No more messaging my mother on Facebook though. She thought you were a bot for some reason.”

“Huh? I don’t know why she’d think that …” Jungkook pulls out his phone to show you the message thread.

The first line read: To Whom It May Concern … 

“This screams scam, Kook.” You snicker, skimming through the well-thought out message. Punctuated perfectly and straight to the point. What a stark difference to the silly text messages you receive from him on the daily. Could barely tell it’s him. The only glaring similarity? Jungkook doesn’t sugarcoat his intentions — never when it comes to you.

Jungkook pouts, “they still came to the show …”

“Yeah, they did,” your eyes soften, handing his phone back to him, “made me really happy seeing my family there.” You tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You deserve to be.”

And you also find happiness in when you press your lips against his. Happiness in when he giggles, nose scrunched and all. Happiness in when he moans as you roll your hips over him. 

Jungkook pulls away to trail kisses down your cheek and neck. “You said you’re worried about letting go of control … we can work on that.” 

You whimper at a particularly harsher suck, “how?”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’ve always preferred being in the mentor role. There’s no ambiguity in teaching someone what you already know. Never have to anticipate the unknown.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, watching Jungkook take off his shirt. So ready to welcome the unknown. It comes to you in the form of Jungkook’s sunkissed body and hooded eyes. He’s well-loved by his friends and family. Only natural to be well-loved by the sun as well. The sun will spend eternity chasing Jungkook and it’ll never come close to seeing all that you will in this lifetime.

“You trust me, yeah?” He walks up to you, legs bumping into your knees. Jungkook cups your cheek and tilts your head up to look at him. Needs to see you. 

“‘Course, I do.” You smile. 

“Good,” he steps back, “turn around for me.”

You wordlessly get on your hands and knees, chin turned at your shoulder to look at Jungkook, “like this?”

“Just like that,” he praises, gaze dropping at your ass where your dress falls perfectly around your hips.

One of his hands trails up your back and gently pushes you down. Your forearms cushion your drop, not that you needed it. You’re pliant for Jungkook. 

You hear him shuffle behind you, both his hands are at your hips as he leans into down to kiss your shoulder. One of his hands goes under the skirt of your dress, knuckles grazing your inner thigh as if he’s asking permission to do more. You turn your head to the side with a visible pout.

“Are you going to be edging me or something?”

Jungkook snickers. “What? You want me to?”

So it appears edging wasn’t his goal. 

His hand cups your sex, middle finger trailing up and down your clothed slit. “You’re soaked through, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, “‘s cause you were thinking about getting edged?”

You shake your head no. “Can’t help it,” your fingers grip your sheets as his fingers move a little quicker. “You got me like this.”

Jungkook groans at your confession. “I did, didn’t I?”

He reluctantly lifts himself up and away from you. Almost regrets it when he sees your brows furrow in disappointment. Makes a mental note to make it up to you one way or another. Season’s over, but Jungkook has all the time in the world with you. He pushes your dress up and over your ass. Feels his cock stiffen in his pants at the sight of your beige colored panties. He always had a thing for your ass. Shamelessly looked at it in the past whenever you were busy stretching. Proud to know that this view belonged to him and only him. He lets his gaze linger at the sight of the dark wet patch at the center of your panties. 

Yeah, he got you like this.

“You still with me, Spacey?” you tease when you notice him staring at you longer than anticipated.

He shakes himself out of stupor. “You’re lucky I like you.” His knuckle trails up and down your slit. Got you shuddering again.

“What do you want me to call you then?” You ask. 

Jungkook feigns deep thought, humming as he throws out random nicknames.

“Baby?” He pulls your panties down your thighs.

“Honey?” You giggle as he taps your knees to fully remove your underwear.

“Boyfriend?” He parts your ass, lets a dribble of spit trail down the center and to your cunt. Your hole clenches around nothing. 

“You liked that one?” Jungkook asks, spitting directly at your hole this time. “Hm?” Trails kisses down your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit till he gets an answer.

“Kook,” you mewl. 

“Tell me,” it comes out needy, “please?”

“I do, yeah.” You confess, “I like it a lot — like you so much.” 

That’s all he needed. You choke on a moan as Jungkook licks one long strip from your clit to your entrance. He rocks your hips to his face, pistoning his tongue into your tight pussy. Pushes your ass up a little higher so he could have better access to your clit. He licks, sucks, moans, and repeats as if he knows nothing more than to please you. 

Jungkook’s moans come out muffled, face stuffed so deeply between your legs, you’d think he’d suffocate to death. On the contrary, he’d argue that life’s worth living even more now. You catch a glimpse of him with his eyes closed and his arm moving fervently between his legs. So shameless and impatient — needs to wank himself for some relief.

“Pretty baby, so fucking wet for me,” he praises against your sex, hot and breathless. Your hand comes around to hold his. Your absolute favorite part of his body. Love it on your body and even more when woven between your fingers — keeps you grounded and secure as you reach your orgasm. And even before you’ve fully come down, Jungkook pulls away and stuffs your cunt with two fingers, curling and thrusting in you with a type of speed and precision that has you gasping. Doesn’t give you room to breathe, prefers having you like this anyway.  

“Baby, y-you’re gonna make me cum again.” You cry, eyes fighting to stay open. A certain numbness pools at your stomach, begging to snap at the curl of Jungkook’s fingers. 

“I know,” he encourages, “make a mess on my fingers, come on.”

You come again, eyes rolled to the back of your head and moans stifled by your sheets. Jungkook draws in a breath, absolutely hypnotized with your pussy clenching and suctioning his fingers. After a couple seconds pass, Jungkook slowly pulls his fingers out and rolls you down onto your back. He clambers his way on top of you. Wants nothing more than to kiss you and be in your arms. You, on the other hand, had different plans. 

“What are you …” Jungkook grunts softly into your mouth. You slide your hands down into his pants and wrap your fingers around his hard cock. Give him one, two, three good pumps before you break away from his lips.

“Honey is a little old-fashioned, no?” You breathlessly ask, your free hand tugs at his belt loops. Jungkook gets the hint and swiftly pulls down his pants and briefs all at once. 

“Honey is cute.” He argues, tugging your top down to expose your breasts. 

“For married couples, sure. Not suited for a boyfriend.” You correct. 

He nods, nicknames don’t really matter to him anyway. Just wanna be yours. Instead, he chooses to latch his lips to your nipple, hand groping the other breast. Bites down on your nipple and immediately soothes it over with his tongue. Jungkook goes back and forth between the two, loving your reactions. The pleasure builds again. He hisses when you roll your hips up at him.

“Tonight’s about you letting go, remember?” He reminds, “I'll take care of you, promise.” 

“Want you to feel good too.”

“I do,” he swoops his hand underneath your thigh and pushes it up, “so much, with you.” He guides his cock in between your folds. It’s wet and messy, just how he wants it. You wince at the over sensitivity, but ignore it because Jungkook is falling apart above you. He looks down between you both, mesmerized by your slick coating his length.

You watch him, watch as he slides his cock up and down your core, watch how the head of his cock knocks and moves against your clit. 

“You feel so good like this,” Jungkook holds your jaw, nose caressing yours, “wonder how you’d feel inside.”

You whine, hips pushing upwards, “please …”

He shushes you with a kiss, requesting you to be patient with promises of making you feel good. It’s dizzying, but you listen and let him take the reins. Jungkook shifts his hips and you gasp into his mouth at the feel of his hard cock at your entrance. Your pussy flutters around him, so wet and ready. The head of his cock nudges in, stretch so minimal with how well he’s prepped you. You moan and let your head sink onto your pillow. He doesn’t push into you any further, just the tip. 

“Mm, you are edging me,” you accuse, unable to move as Jungkook has your hips pinned down to the mattress.

“You wouldn’t like me if I edged you, Juice.” He smiles.

Impossible. Don’t think there’s a universe or lifetime you wouldn’t be drawn by him and him to you. “Need you inside me, Jungkook,” you say, “please?”

He savors the moment for a little longer, tempted to do as you request. God, he would. But Jungkook has a promise to uphold and a lesson to teach. He keeps his word as he slowly inserts himself inch by inch, watching your brows furrow and mouth drop open in frustration.

Jungkook’s just as fucked out. Involuntarily bucks his hips, drawing out a surprised, high-pitched moan from you. Big mistake. The need to hear that again fuels something primal in him. His arms swoop underneath your head. Has you in an embrace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear — such a contrast to his ruthless hips. Jungkook’s whole life has been about music. Over the years, he saved music sheets from his favorite pieces and shows. His most favorite melody? Your broken moans and cries, spurring him on to continue fucking you.

He’s not sure how long this goes for until he finally lifts himself up, immediately misses the warmth of your body. The view below him makes up for it: your dress bundled up around your waist, breasts bouncing after every thrust, and your wanton gaze. His eyes drop lower at where you both connect — groans at the cream coating his cock and how it gathers at the base after every push. Your breath hitches when his reaches between your bodies and toys with your clit. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, Kook, right there.” 

“I—” you can’t even finish your sentence as you cum again for the third time. Jungkook’s eyes close, head tipped back at the feel of your walls squeezing around him.

“Shit,” he trembles and pulls out, trying his best to delay his orgasm. Doesn’t want any of this to end so soon. 

Jungkook lays down next to you, hard cock smearing your cum on your stomach. You smile, one of your legs tossed over his hips to keep him close. You’re so tired, but there’s this glint in his eyes — he wants more. Far from being done, he pulls you on top of him, dark locks falling prettily on your pillows. Claims how much he likes your dress as he helps you get out of it.

“Couldn’t have liked it that much if it’s off me now.” You tuck Jungkook’s hair behind his ears and his expression shifts. Fondness. Warmth. Devotion. Jungkook drinks in the view before him — cock twitches at the sight of your fully naked body. Thinks he needs to block out a day to just kiss all your moles, scars, and freckles — adore them one by one. He settles for a small kiss on your palm, and positions his cock for you, eyes pleading at you to sink down on him. Your hip lifts and lowers slowly, stuffing yourself full of him again, fighting the over sensitivity. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “take me so well.” 

You nod, hands pressing his abdomen to hold yourself up. You move first, slow and deliberate to take in his expressions. Jungkook lets you take control for a minute. Just a minute. Because eventually, his fingers dig into your hips, maneuvering you up and down how he likes. Your legs shake, too weak to keep you upright. 

“Come here,” he tugs you down so that your chest presses down on his. The new position makes it easier for him to bounce you down. You cry out into the crook of his neck. You trust Jungkook, trust that only he could take your pleasure to another level. Trust him with your body — your heart. 

“So good for me,” he grips harder, feeling that familiar heaviness pool at his balls when he’s close. “You can give me another one, right?”

You feel your slick drip down his length with every drop of your hips. You whimper, shake your head, “n-no, I don’t think I can.”

He kisses your temple, “‘s okay, can you hold on for me? I’m so close.”

Of course you can. Anything for him. Anything to see him cum. Because of you, for you. He hugs you close, plants his feet down on your mattress, and fucks himself up into you. 

You’re a liar. Body betrays you as he has you bracing his chest and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Pretty crescent moons on your sunshine. So perfect. Even when you sob from the intensity of his thrusts, you want nothing more than for this feeling to last forever. Because Jungkook has you cumming again, pussy fluttering and milking his length for all he’s worth. It surprises the both of you — surprises Jungkook more when you press your face into his neck and he feels wetness on his skin. 

“Baby,” he huffs, “wh-where should I—” hips losing rhythm and stuttering from your clenches. 

“Inside, please cum inside me,” you use all your strength to lift your head to kiss him. That’s when Jungkook sees it: your watery lashes.

"Gonna cum," Jungkook gasps, eyes squeezed shut, both hands now pushing your ass to meet his hips, “oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans loudly into your mouth, shamelessly sucks on your tongue and pumps himself two more times into your cunt before finishing inside you.

Jungkook stills. Pants hard. Mentally snorts at all his past dumb fantasies because they’ll never compare to how he feels with you right now. Doesn’t think he’s ever cummed this much and this hard. But it’s you, the girl he’s fancied for so long. You and Jungkook stay like this for a while longer. His hand trails up and down your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. Jungkook knows you — would rather go barefoot on lego pieces than sleep dirty. You made it clear that showers are a must after practice and before bedtime. Sex was no exception.

Another thirty seconds pass and Jungkook slowly pulls out of you. You wince and close your fists against his chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with kisses on your shoulder and gently rolls you onto your back. He looks a little silly rushing to the bathroom while hopping into his briefs. Comes back with a warm cloth to which you realize seconds later was your favorite face towel. 

“Jungkook,” you whine as he parts your legs to clean you up, too weak to put up a fight. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you a new one. You okay, though?”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You smile, eyes filled with adoration.

How could you not be? Jungkook kisses the old bruises on your knees just as he’s kissed the old wounds in your heart. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Whatcha doing?” Jungkook hums into your ear.

“Signing us up for auditions.” You reply naturally, fingers typing away on your phone. 

“Uh, what?” He lifts his head up from the pillow, one eye shut from the brightness of your phone. 

“With the Tridents.”

“Drum corps? Wait, Juice, I don’t know if I’m ready. There are a lot of good drummers out there …”

“Why not? You’re literally a section leader. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“But—”

“We’ll go together,” you turn. “Come on, we age out of this circuit soon.” 

He looks uncertain. Hesitation stirs in his irises. 

“If any of us don’t make the cut, we’re both out. Kay?” Half lie because you’ll encourage him to stay even if you were to get cut first.

Jungkook stares at you, bites his lips as he contemplates his decision. Caves in under three seconds at the sight of your pleading eyes, “Alright, let’s do this.” He’s jittery in your embrace. Can’t believe he’s doing this. Knows he has to go for it.

Because life’s too short not to go full out.

fin.

a/n: fun fact! my high school crush was in the drumline too. funnily enough, i recently saw him after years of radio silence. guess what i did 😎 anyway, lmk if you have any thoughts/feedback/questions ♡

[vmqires]

lose my cool (s.jy)

pairing. soccer captain!jake x fem reader ❦︎ friends 2 lovers? ; non-idol au, fluff. wc. 1551 synopsis. jake can’t help but lose his cool around you. he can’t seem to figure out why, why you’re so perfect for him.

a/n: lol it’s been 5 months >< i ghost everyone to be fair #soz but im back with jake this time !! this was inspired by lose my cool,- kali uchis. i wanted to write another heeseung but im struggling so bad !! so here’s fluff, but when i comeback i Will break ur hearts Mwahah im kidding but enjoy!! i do recommend listening to kali uchis’s album “sincerely,” while reading. ilysm n take care !!

jake was your basic soccer captain, he had it all really; looks, brains and personality. he was super friendly to everyone and had the biggest heart. he had it all figured out.

that is, until he met you.

you decided to switch it up for the school year and became the soccer team’s manager. it was simple; encourage the team, note their scores, manage practice and schedules. it kept you social and gave you experience.

jake, however was constantly distracted. such a pretty girl managing his team? god he hated college, hated you for making his heart skip a beat.

not really though because he’d think about how cute you looked in your skirt and jersey, making his mind run wild.

“jake get your head in the game!” jay called out as he ran past jake during a match. jake rolled his eyes and stole a glance at you, you just had to stand there and look so pretty huh?

“fuck…” he mumbled under his breath as he moved across the field. the score was close and if he was gonna get anywhere he had to lock in, rather than thinking about your angel face.

“what’s wrong with you jake? we’ve practiced this formation for months now!” coach choi scolded.

“sorry! im just distracted..” he trailed off as he stole yet another glance at you.

he went back to his position and shook his head. fine. he thought to himself. let’s show ‘em why i’m captain. his midfielder position had him constantly on the move and looking for opportunities for his team to score, though he didn’t mind scoring a few of his own just for the ladies. (really only you though.)

the buzzer goes off and thankfully due to jake’s ‘locking in’ it didn’t end in a tie, 5-3. easy win for your college team.

“you guys did great!” you smiled at the team of sweaty yet happy guys as they walked over.

“thanks y/n” “where’s the cooler?” “did you record this time?” “where’d you get the reservation for our win?” the team bombards you but you’re used to it by now, answering their questions with ease.

“of course, by coach choi, i’m already sending it in the groupchat, and the new restaurant by the cafe downtown.”

“you’re the best.” and other compliments are thrown at you for being the worlds best manager.

“yeah you really are the best.” you can recognize that soft voice anywhere.

“thanks jake.” you looked up at him. “but you were actually the best, you changed up the whole game once you clocked in or whatever you guys say.”

jake laughs, looking down at you with soft eyes. “locked in.” he corrects you before nudging you with his shoulder as he walks away.

you can’t help the light flush that stains your cheeks that you just so happened to miss the way his are stained the same color.

“jake stop!” some girl playfully hit his shoulder while jake did absolutely nothing. he looks the other way and low and behold. you.

he ditches the girl and makes his way to you, he didn’t really know what to say once he got to you though. he never really talked to you outside of practice or games. he just wanted to be in your space. you looked up at him, waited for him to say anything… something… anytime now… yeah okay whatever.

“what’s up?” you finally broke the silence. he awkwardly blinked before coming back to reality.

“oh not much. i just wanted to…” kiss you, hold you, stay with you forever so you wouldn’t need any other man. “… say hi.” he cursed at himself for being so awkward around you.

“well, hi.” you gave him a soft smile. “yeah, hi.” the two of you just kind of stood there in silence. it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“so i’ll see you at practice?” “are you coming to practice?” you spoke over each other. “well obviously you’re coming to practice you’re my- i mean our manager. you have to be there to… monitor us and stuff.” jake gulps and mentally slams his head against the lockers. you laugh though, finding humor in his awkwardness.

“i’ll see you on the field jake.” you say calmly before walking away to save him and he waves you off.

little by little you and jake flirted. it made his head spin every single time. he couldn’t handle it. your pretty smile, the way you carried yourself, and especially the way your clothes fit you. were you out to get him? well, yes!

you loved how easy it was to get him to stumble over his words, subtly cover his face with his hand to hide his blush, how easy it was to get him to fall for you.

you wanted him too but you weren’t so obvious. totally not obvious when you stared at him as he played, or when he stretched his arms over his head his shirt would ride up and you’d catch a glimpse of those perfect abs.

“take a picture, it'll last longer.” sunghoon joked while throwing you his disgusting, sweaty non-jake jersey.

you rolled your eyes and looked back at jake only to be met with his eyes. you smiled at him. to your surprise he smiled back and winked. you blushed like a high school girl with a raging crush on the football team captain — the irony is crazy.

where’d he get all this confidence from? where’s your shy a golden retriever jake?

still there apparently because sunghoon and jay got into his head about girls, as if they ever even had a serious relationship with anyone for that matter.

“just be cool and confident.” jay says casually. “yeah, cocky but you know you can’t be too cocky because that’s a turn off.” sunghoon adds on.

jake rolls his eyes “i think she likes me the way i am though.” jay and sunghoon exchange looks and a laugh too.

“no one does. be cool and fake like the rest of us.” jake couldn’t tell if they were joking and he’s about to find out.

you walked out of your building and started walking towards the library when jake stopped you.

“where are you running off to, pretty?” he tried his best to sound confident, and it worked because you tilted your head.

“pretty?” you mocked his tone. “what’s got you so confident?” jake’s smirk falters but he keeps it together. “i just am, this is… cool jake. yeah.” my god i need to shutup right now.

“cool jake huh? can i speak to my jake?” you ask sweetly and he melts. “god yes, of course, anything you want, he’s right here.” he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your head.

“missed this one.” you mumbled against his shoulder while you wrapped your arms around him. in the background you can see jay and sunghoon face palm and walk the other way.

you two didn’t even try to hide it anymore. not from the team or anyone. it was out there.

jake likes you and you like him, old school stylez. (bonus if you watched b99!)

he just wanted to ask you out at the right moment. which never seem to came because one, exams. two, practice. and three… he doesn’t know but he was busy! yes he could’ve asked you at practice but around the whole team and made himself look like a fool if you suddenly said no? no thank you.

he was obviously overthinking it.

just ask her jake. it’s so easy. just ask her out! he thought to himself as he ran a few laps around the field. you were talking with coach choi about the next year’s possible players. jake couldn’t stop staring at you. you felt his gaze the whole practice, you knew he had something to say.

“just tell me, what is it?” you reached up to play with his hair. he looked away, not like this. the whole team had left so it was just the two of you.

“i can’t..” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“jake, you’ve been staring at me this whole practice.” “i’ve been staring at you ever since you joined.” he blurted out and you giggle. “fuck i meant.. sorry.” he blushed. “you… you make me lose my cool y/n, i never know what to do or say around you and it’s eating me alive.”

you looked at him as he talked with the fondest of eyes. he noticed it, aw fuck it. “i really like you. and if you don’t like me back or if you just want to quit now, that’s fine too but i want to take you out on a date and plan our future together. i want this. i want us.” he reached out to hold your hand.

“i want us too jake.” you reply softly. “i want you just as bad.” he rests his forehead against yours. “promise?” his voice, barely above a whisper. “i pinky promise.” he chuckled and you smiled. “yeah i pinky promise too.”

oh the team hated you guys. the constant kisses and soft whispers. “get a room!” they’d yell from the field. you never stopped though, he was yours and you were his.

rumor has it, he still loses his cool around you.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ IN OUR BONES GROW TREES

tw. yandere, incest, cannibalism, blood/violence, explicit gore, praise kink, amputation, vash and nai are a bit jealous of each other, size kink, ! cannibalism as love

wordcount. 5.4k

a/n. ♡ ever since the Megumi fic I've been dyinggggg to go back to cannibalism as love and !!! then beloved rhi @seijorhi wanted to do it and I wanted to do it toooo and now here we are! we are winninggggg girlies yes yes yes! ♡ honestly as most of my cest fics this is awfully soft but still heed the warning bc I'm sure this isn't everyones cup of tea but eEEEEEhHHH for those of you who see the vision I HOPE yOU ENJOYYYY!!!

vash saverem x fem!reader x knives saverem

You can’t breathe. Not always, but often enough that it aches like a festering wound. It overtakes you, and with time creates scabs that don’t heal. You always struggle to breathe when you feel watched. You have visions of being dunked in water and separated from your kind—head underwater, out, underwater again. Even in this pod made specifically to hold you, feed you, it’s hard to get the oxygen down into your collapsed lungs.

Icy water flows through them sluggishly, pushes on your eyes and ears, steals your attention. Your focus. When you struggle to breathe it makes you think of memories that you know you never experienced. Sounds you never heard. When it aches, it almost feels real. Feeling skin on skin, hands intertwining, and wind on your cheeks. The laugh of a boy with bright blue eyes, and the sigh of another. There’s a million things you want to do, but know you can’t. You pry your eyes open against the pressure.

They’re watching again.

Always, watching them watch you, from the safety of your cage behind glass. Those matching faces that come often, sometimes stay for hours perched on the bay. They talk to you, too. One chatty, the other not so much. You can’t hear them from where you’re suspended, but you can see their mouths, and sometimes, sometimes you swear you can listen to their voices anyway.

You’ve gotten awfully attached to them. If the way they hang around your pod more than any other is anything to go by, the feeling must extend to them, too.

Sweet, big blues study you in your budding cocoon - hands pressed to the glass.. He’s watched you grow into yourself in absolute fascination for what you think is years. Because once he was shorter and cheeks round; and he no longer is. His limbs have stretched and his hair has grown, and so has the other one for that matter.

Watching them through the obnoxious blue fluid; you often find yourself wondering. If you were out there, would your life be anything like theirs? You can’t talk like they talk, can’t laugh and banter like you see them do. Can’t scream. Not in here. 

You don’t even know their names.

You’ve been in here long enough to have forgotten the size of your limbs. 

Today is an insignificant day that starts as they always do. The lights are turned on in the hull, and you reach out to press your hand to the glass. It’s earlier than normal for the lights to be on, but you wake from your slumber anyway. Because you know you’ll find someone staring back. Opposite the glass, you find the ashy blond, always with those intense eyes. His larger hand comes to touch yours, through inches between you— no matter, you’re convinced you can still feel the heat of it. His eyebrows furrow, and lips move.

He’s concerned. Or maybe, angry. Those icy eyes dig deep into yours. For not the first time, he looks at you like he’s looking into your soul.

The bubbles in the water roll to the surface with an impatient noise, and you gasp against the pressure. Suffocate a little in the water that’s forced into your lungs. It never kills you, though. The young man before you looks over his shoulder into the freshly lit-up ship. Pauses. He slowly reveals his hand from under his clothes, and a silver glittering catches your eye.

Then, everything bursts with a deafening noise.

Implodes in on itself, as an ice pick is swung into the glass before you and shatters your cocoon into a million pieces. You know you scream in pain only by the sting you feel in your throat - and the fluid rushes away from you in all directions. Without the suspension of the water you immediately tumble onto the cold, drenched floor between the shards, gasping and crying — though you can’t hear it. Like a stranded fish, you curl up in pain for long enough for the water to escape from your ears, and suddenly everything is incredibly loud. 

Your own breathing. His. The ship, and the buzzing of the lights, and the pressure of the air on your ear drums — instinctively your hands cup your ears and press your eyes shut as hard as you can. Something heavy and warm and strange starts to move your hair out of your face. It tickles. It doesn’t hurt like the noise does.

And then, what has to be a voice. “Finally… it’s okay, be quiet. Niichan’s going to pick you up.” Your naked body is lifted despite your limpness, and hands start moving around to hoist you up from the floor and into a solid chest. “Vash! Get over here.”

“I asked you to wait!”

“I’m sick of waiting. We’re doing it now.” His voice rumbles his chest against you, and sounds so loud in your head. “Get one of the pods and an access key. She’s freezing, hurry.” You can just about crack open your eyes to take in the adoring way ocean blues come into view painted with worry, attached to the darker haired blond, and how he leans in to wrap a red jacket around your naked body.

+

The room is dark and green tinted under the LEDs of the lab. You wiggle your toe. Your fingers. As Nai looks up with those ice blue eyes and chastises you. His frown has worn into his face, but there’s brief moments when you get to see him without worry. Brief moments you spend hours trying to find. “Stop moving when I’m trying to do work.” The leather straps around your limbs are starting to get uncomfortable, but you can’t do much about it when Nai’s sat between your legs on the floor, and his hands work with as much smooth deftness as they always do.

“Is it still itchy? Looks like it’s healing alright.” You shake your head side to side. The frosty blond picks at the last of the stitches on your thigh, pulling the threads achingly tight, before giving a small but approving nod. You grimace, but don’t complain. When he’s happy with what he sees, he straightens up before you and towers over you all that much more. “Alright, give me your arm. Let’s have dinner, hm?” Again, you nod.

He undoes your ankle strap and then your wrists, before taking your face between his fingers to tilt you up, and here and there. Cold blue eyes glinting with something you suppose is care. He chews the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, as if waiting you out, before sighing. “What’s wrong? You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired, Nai nii…”

You are. Exhausted. Knives doesn’t respond, but he has no reason not to believe you. You’re not a liar. Never learned how, so it shows on your face too obviously when you even think about trying. Your big brothers know you more than anyone else, and they would know if you weren’t being honest.

He offers his shoulder for you to grab onto and hoists you off the doctor’s chair, wraps an arm around your waist. Your missing leg tingles because of the motion, like it’s still there - and when you think of wiggling your other toe, you can still feel the muscles try. “You’re too tall,” you try to change the subject instead, having his icy eyes back on your face. He doesn’t laugh when you do, but some of the tenseness does slide away. You’re hopped towards the door with your big brother’s help, and he pushes you through the open door like he’s helping a fawn stand on two legs for the first time.

Even though you’re used to it.

It’s far from the first time you’re doing this.

The hobbling continues as he leads you down the hall towards living quarters, deposits you exhausted at the dinner table— and immediate chatter reaches your ears. The other blond is so attuned to it all that it takes him no time at all to peek his head out of the kitchen to watch you with a smile so wide it makes his eyes into half moons. “You two always have perfect timing, the stew is done cooking.” The table is lovingly set, flowers in the small, patched-up vase. There’s never enough food to put on the whole show, but Vash loves it. And you love your brother.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when taking a seat right next to you, petting your head and nuzzling his face into your crown. “I always worry ‘bout this sort of stuff. I’m glad Nai does it and not me. Don’t think I could have an appetite after it.” A puff of satisfied breathing comes into your hair. He’d have you crawl into his lap if he had his way. Closer, even.

“It’s okay, nii nii,” you whisper, “I know you need it.”

He stares at the side of your face like he’s peeking under your skin, but doesn’t say anything. His long fingers lace with yours, and he gives another hum of approval. “Let’s eat?”

Nai’s impassive expression settles on your laced hands, before he also takes a seat. “Well then. Get started, your food’s getting cold.” He starts with Vash’s plate, and yours second. Unnecessary, because you don’t need to eat. His eyes glint over as if he’s reading your mind. “Eat.” He serves himself last, because for better or for worse— Nai is devoted.

You watch Vash untangle your hands just so he can clap them together, before grabbing his spoon and starting to eat; letting the smell waft through the house. It’s steaming hot, and with the miserable dry, cold weather out there it’s nice to see him so happy. Second is Nai, who’s spoon scrapes along the porcelain with a purposeful noise.

Most plants don’t need to eat. Most, except for Vash, who you’re in a constant struggle to keep fed when the world is so harsh and unforgiving out there. Knives and you have been blessed with the lack of an appetite, but the oldest just eats because he can. Because he likes it, and the way it strings you all together as one.

You’re third to eat, if only to make your brothers happy. You pick up your own spoon to scoop up some of the softly cooked meat. Your sutures itch like crazy.

+

You’re pressed to the side of his chest, and his heartbeat is slowly drumming a pattern into your cheek. Wrapped in his arms, your face hot, legs tangled. Knives likes using you as a pillow, because he runs hot and you run cold— it’s a habit you’ve gotten into since he broke you out decades ago. Took you from your womb-like captivity and pressed you to his chest.

His heartbeat is steady, and it’s warm. You like being here.

Vash comes through the door with a slight uncharacteristic frown. Though calling it a frown is a bit overblown. You’ve never seen him with a scowl - you’re half convinced he might be incapable of it. What he is, though, is distressed for some reason or another. “Vash niisan?” you speak up from your position on the couch, trying to turn into Knives’ hold that he refuses to loosen even a bit. You have to settle for stretching your neck to catch his eyes. “Are you alright— What’s… When’s the last time you ate?”

His eyes soften from his place by the door, and he comes to kneel before you. Rests his chin on the couch, nose to nose. He’s always so gentle. It aches. It takes on your breath a little. Through a slightly pained look, he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll make it a few more days. We have some meat in the freezer. I'll get it out when we really run low— though I appreciate your concern. I only came to see what you guys were up to.” Knives lets out a breath into your hair, before forcing his body to mold closer against yours, a statement. Vash’s eyes just follow the motion of his hips pushing against yours, and his thigh wrapping over your leg.

“Imouto wanted to cuddle, so we’re cuddling.”

He glares like a dog claiming territory, with a growl rumbling his throat. Metal clicks angrily at his back, of sharp edge brushing sharp edge at his displeasure. He’ll cut up the couch at this rate. The couch first, your fragile body next. His nails start to dig into your skin and his strong arms squeeze your ribs because of how he holds on to you, until it’s hard to breathe. Suffocated under the pressure of his love.

You never doubt his devotion; it just gets to be too much when the both of them are on you at the same time. The air is squeezed out of you, and you fight out a gasp. “Nai niisan… Ow.”

“Stop that— Nai. Be more careful. You always take advantage of her. She’s fragile,” Vash finishes instead of you, pushing him away by the knee to inspect your freshly grown skin. It’s bold in a way Vash only is when it comes to protecting you. Not a few months ago, your stump was barely to your hip bone. Now you’ve got a whole new thigh and knee, almost down to your ankle. The fresh limb is still itchy, but at least you can tangle it with your brother’s legs again the way he demands. Vash takes hold of it and presses a few kisses to your shin, sitting down on the floor beside the two of you. “I’m grateful for you, y’know that? I probably wouldn’t have survived half this long with my condition if it wasn’t for you.”

You can’t lie. Sometimes you wish you had a power like Nai. Something dangerous and powerful, to protect your family with, like they do for you. Like Vash promises he’ll do for you when he’s in your bed and kissing every inch of your skin in the dead of night. But you suppose all things work out the way they do for a reason. He looks so beautiful in the low light. Blinking long, blond lashes up at you where they frame baby blues. Nai’s grunting in jealousy behind you, but you let him lean in to press his lips to yours with a soft noise. Reach your fingers out to brush along his cheek. You swallow, and shake your head a slight bit. “It’s nothing, niichan. Really.”

“Be more honest.” Nai’s arm pulls your waist tighter, and his mouth brushes along your ear. He’s draped over you like a blanket now, almost burying you under his weight like he’s trying to keep you from Vash’s touch. Jealous, more than angry. Territorial, more than upset. His breaths brush along your face, and he takes a deep breath of you. “It’s not nothing. Your big brothers are telling you they’re grateful. As we should be. Accept it.”

He hums as he rolls his hips into your ass, and starts nosing down your neck. “You’re a good little sister. You know we adore you.” Kisses are pushed to your pulse point, blood rushing. A heartbeat that starts speeding up caught between the two of them. Because though he’s barely got the access to, Vash’s hands are on you as soon as the first noise falls from your lips. Sliding up along your thigh to find the hot place between your legs, and sighing at the feeling.

“Agh- ah, ah…” Your head is nudged back.

Nai softly groans. “Fuck, you’ve made me hard.”

“You’re always hard when you’re pressed to her,” Vash chuckles, and presses a million kisses to your tummy where he can reach, before pushing you both back towards the back of the furniture to make room for him. “Nai’s right though.” Long fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh, and he pulls you close until he’s sandwiching you against his chest. “You’re the best little sister ever. No one is better to us. You even let us do all of this…” His fingers catch on your mound, forcing circles into your sensitive spot through your clothes. “Can you show nii nii your tongue? I want to kiss it.”

“D-don’t be gross,” you say, failing to catch your breath. But you stick out the squirming muscle anyway, because it makes Vash happy. You would do anything if it made them happy. And you’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

+

The water is steaming hot. It doesn’t feel the same as it did then. This is surely a kinder place than you three were in before. The water evaporates as it touches your skin; only slightly though, not enough to burn. You’re harder to kill than humans are. It tickles at your shoulders.

Vash’s long legs come into view as he steps into the water too, splashes you with the motion, and you can’t help but laugh. Your hands slip from around your chest to stable yourself on the slippery bottom instead— watching Vash crowd into your space in the bath on purpose. He always does this, and before he’s seated, you’re already laughing at his expression. Your brother’s got a blush on his face, nose rosy. And his eyes flick all over you, through the wobbly refraction of the water. “What are you laughing at? Don’t laugh like you’ve never seen me naked. Pervert.”

“You’re the one who wanted to bathe together.”

He pushes your head away with two fingers to make room for himself to slip into the water, lean, muscular body scrunching up to fit beside you. There’s other places to sit, and plenty of room deeper in, but he always chooses your side over comfort. “You’re not scared anymore. You used to only want to wash off when you could climb all over me to keep yourself steady. You were a real handful. Nai would get so mad you didn’t want to go in.”

“I think he was upset I didn’t wanna go in with him, but I went in with you.” Your mouth instinctively curls up at the memory, of how flustered and pink Vash used to get. You didn’t fully get it back then. Instead of lingering on that, you reach out to touch his skin for the familiarity, and sigh. “I haven’t been scared to get into the water for about a decade though, nii nii.” His hands slip under the water to cradle your hips and pull you into his lap— you just barely manage to steady yourself before your head goes under. Instead your knees settle either side of his hips so you can sit on his thighs and rest your face against his chest. Too close. Just enough to still be comfortable.

“Has it really been that long?”

The steam makes your hair stick to the back of your neck. “I think so.” Your chest rises and falls in tandem with his, and he presses kisses to your exposed shoulder before humming, and nuzzling up to your throat. He smells nice, and you trace a finger along the stitched edge of his scars. “Do you think we’ll ever get to leave the ship for good?”

Vash chews his tongue for a bit, debating answering at all. He’s comfortable right now, and if past memories are any proof, you’re about to get a lot more comfortable too if he’s given his way— Vash is just as much prone to exploiting your weaknesses as Nai is. Even more, sometimes.

Eventually, he does decide to answer. “Nai’s building a new world for us out there. When we’re free… when he’s sure you’ll be safe, and no one will ever take you away from us-” his eyes look hopeful, finding yours, “-I’m sure we will. Nai is doing it to protect you-”

“-to protect me.” You chant at the same time. He’s pushing you closer, and softly biting down on your neck where his kisses leave hot trails. “I know. No one would take care of me like you two have.” The touch of his skin under your legs shifts, and Vash lets his tongue peek between his lips to leave wet kisses along the shell of your ear too. The part where he’s different from you is starting to swell and push against you, and your breathing gets too heavy. Your mouth cracks open, and Vash softly moans against your skin. “Again, nii nii? We did that just this morning, you’re going to tire yourself out.”

“It’ll be okay. I just can’t get enough of you. Don’t tell Nai.”

“He’ll know anyway,” you try to say, ignoring the way he’s curling around underneath you to get closer than is possible. He touches like his fingertips will reach bone if he tries hard enough, grabbing everything that he can reach and squeezing and rutting himself against you. You’re never sure how he doesn’t get tired of touching you this much. “He always knows.”

You don’t notice you’re pulling away and frowning off into the open space of the bathroom until Vash disconnects his mouth from your skin to look at you in the eye again. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” He stares for a moment, before licking his lips and sliding his hands lower down your legs to squeeze his fingers into the muscle there too. “Show me your leg.” Without waiting, he wraps his hand around your ankle and yanks it up above the water, catapulting you backwards with the motion. You swallow a mouthful of the bath in surprise, but right yourself fast enough to catch Vash’ look when he stares at you with a look so cherishing and loving it feels almost too sweet.

Gentle but deep, an endless longing.

“Why’d you do that for?” you cough out, and slap his chest— anything but pull your foot away from his face as he’s running a digit along your shin and to pin your foot between two fingers.

Baby blues get hidden away with a blink so he can kiss your skin, ankle, the ball of your foot, douse kisses on you until you start wiggling and it tickles. “I love you. So much. I love you so much I could eat your flesh clean off your bones— Nai does too, though he doesn’t say it. We love you so— much.” When you whine at his touch, he cracks open his eyes. “Would you hate me a lot if I bit off one of your little toes right now? Just the one.” He chuckles when your face instinctively scrunches up in disgust, only to exchange it for a pout. 

His face is smiling, eyes glinting playfully with the reflecting of the water. You blush.

“Don’t say weird stuff, niichan∼ You always say weird stuff and do weird stuff. Weirdo.” You turn to your stomach to escape from his touch further into the water instead of propping yourself up, and hide your face away from his sight even though his hands chase you. “No, haha- Don’t follow me! Stay there.”

He doesn’t, and when he grabs back for your hips you two bounce water over the side of the tub. You’re laughing as Vash pulls you back to him with a giggle. “Don’t run∼ You can’t run from us. We’ll find you wherever you try to go anyway.” He wraps two arms around your core and lifts you in one motion out of the water so that your butt’s pressed against his stomach and your arms flail to reach for him at the lack of stability. Too exposed- not that he cares.

“Vash nii! We’re gonna- we’re gonna fall!” You squeal like a child, unable to help yourself. It’s hot, and your entire face gets a few degrees hotter when you can feel his chuckle bounce through your body. He’s so much bigger than you. You wonder why that is. It seems almost unfair.

He leans over your shoulder even with his hold on you like this, hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Give nii nii a kiss, come here. I won’t actually bite you.” His saccharine smile is a hard force to fight against. You go limp in his touch. “Sit on my lap, hm? Let’s keep playing around a little longer. You love your brothers, don’t you?” At your nod he gently lets you get back onto your feet, sits down on the edge of the tub, and pats his thighs.

His cock’s been hard this entire time, you’re sure, because a thick bead of precum glistens on the flushed head. As soon as you lower yourself onto his lap, he aims the spongy cockhead to slide up and down between your slick pussy, and your hands come to rest on his wide shoulders. Vash nudges his face to tilt yours up, and motions a kissy face your way. “One kiss?”

“Ten. Ten kisses on the mouth and I’ll leave you alone. Lift your hips.” He slides his cock down against you until it is nudging right up against your hole, and gives another slight thrust. It’s all you need to shift your hips into him, and have his bigger body invade yours. “Agh- you’re the best little sister. Gud- good job.”

+

The pistoning of his hips is distracting you from the fact that Vash is rattling off complaints almost like clockwork, a whine every two minutes. Nai’s sharp eyes narrow further as he snaps his head to the side, and your tummy flutters when he presses his thumb on that perfectly sensitive button that takes all your thoughts away. He slips out of you upon the next thrust and groans in annoyance at both issues at once. “Vash. If I let you in here this one time- hng,” your wet pussy’s spasming around his cock when he pushes himself back inside you, can’t help it, “you were gonna be quiet and let me do my work. If you’re not happy watching then you can fuck off.”

“I’m happy watching, I just want to kiss her too. You don’t need to take up every inch of her skin to work.”

Though the oldest looks more irritated by the second, he does let up a little bit; enough for Vash to drip his head down to your face. Where you’re tearing up and your hands are forcefully laced with Nai’s to keep you still, your mouth is occupied by gentle, loving kisses that he moans into when tasting your tongue, moving around on the plastic sheet to curl his body around your exposed half. “You’re so hot,” your big brother confirms again. “I’ll kiss it all better, m’kay? Do you believe me?”

His pretty blues bore so deep into yours that you’re sure he’s seeing right through you. You hum though, and whether or not he notices your anxiety, Nai squeezes your fingers tighter. You like the smell of Vash’s hair as he’s so close, and you like the feeling of Nai’s touch. It sends hot flares down your body. It’s just… 

“I believe you.” Your eyes get teary out of nowhere, and your nose starts to run. The rate of your heart inside your ribcage starts to bounce almost violently in anticipation, and Vash happily smiles down on you. Puppy like, content even. You would do anything for them. Your leg begins to violently itch at the thought, and your lip is trapped between your teeth. It’s taking too long. He’s teasing you by holding it still and letting you wait for it. “Nai nii…”

You can feel your blood rush under your skin, through your head and into your stomach— even before Nai grunts in agreement. “Are you feeling good? We’ll do the other leg this time, okay?”

“Where do you cut it,” Vash breathes in between over-excited pants. “How does it feel? Can I taste her?” You want to blame it on the heat between you three, but his eyes are so wide and dilated. Odd. You feel odd. He’s basically crawling over you to look at the place you and Nai are connected and then where the oldest is kneading the skin of your upper thigh— wiping his palm along your cheek to brush away your tears when looking back. Your legs are ragdolled further apart as Nai shoves Vash a few inches away to make room, and his icy eyes find yours too.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know. You hold your breath until Nai pulls his cock from you with a shuddering sigh, and the knives rattle and whir. Your vision blurs, and you get to cry for once - normally it’s over before you know it. He’s showing off, and Vash turns back when he hears your hiccups. “Shhh, don’t cry, baby. You’re so sweet, you’re so good. You’re going to save your big brother again.” He presses a messy kiss to your mouth and nuzzles into your jaw, and softly bites the fat of your cheek until your lips curl up. “I love you, love you so much. You’re so cute. So fucking cute.”

Your blood thumps through your veins up until Nai’s sawblade wraps around your upper thigh, and tightens, tighter than tight∼ It pinches your skin as the noises start to come, and the pinch gets more painful. So much- so much more, more painful— until- until he starts the spin and in one clean, excruciating second you feel the heft of your leg being snapped off. Blood sprays as skin is torn apart, and the wetness of your fresh spill makes an awful whiny noise of his knives. Aw. Aww, it fucking hurts. So bad. The bone splinters upon touch, and hot blood goes everywhere. The pain is sharp and faint and hot all at once, and you’re sick- you might throw up from nausea— it pierces your spine and makes your head pound and Vash is right there, holding your face to the pillow even though he’s turned to the action.

The adrenaline’s making your skin feel so tingly and tight and it hurts. It hurts. The skin and muscle was too easy, the bone makes you jerk. It hurts so bad you think your vision blacks for several seconds, until you come back to and Nai’s got a hand on your open wound and is leaning his upper body on your stomach, and Vash’s tongue is in your mouth— and the few breaths you manage to take are the only warning you get when the full force of your pain grinds like a million dull needles into every cell, stabbed into your spine, making your body flail. It makes you scream out loud, sharply ringing ears. 

Vash’s smell suffocates you a little. Nai pulls his hand away when it starts to steam, and the hot blood spills all over the cover on the bed until the healing kicks in. Your blackened vision doesn’t hide you from the fact that your dearest brothers switch places though— lets Nai by your face so that Vash can get a good look.

“So good. You’re always so good.” Nai’s long fingers cradle your head and run through your hair, gentler than he’s capable of. “I’ll just put in a few quick stitches, hm? Once you’re calmed down, you can help me with dinner. Niichan’s hungry too.”

“Okay,” you just respond, though your voice cracks when you try. Your amputated leg jerks, and itches at the ugly seam— and the mass of meat rolls when Vash settles between your legs. He brushes it tenderly, and you swear you can still feel the touch. Tears tickle at your lashline, but they escape down your nose instead of rolling out, and Nai caresses your cheek. You’re both watching in distracted interest as Vash’s blown out eyes find yours again, and he smiles at you with so much true gratitude. His blond hair is matted to his forehead, and he has to take a deep breath to even be able to speak.

“I love you.”

You love him too. You’d do it all for your big brothers. They saved you. He drips his hand into the pool of blood steaming up around your severed leg, and brings four red-coated fingers to his mouth to suck each one clean with a moan— before leaning down to press kisses from your pussy to your belly, red, hot blood covering his lips and chin.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2025. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[emmyrosee]

Emmy hey Emmy I have a prompt for you

Timeskip Kenma and his wifey getting in bed after both of them stayed up for most of the night(Kenma streaming and wifey working maybe?)

Anyways I’m putting this on anon because NO ONES SUPPOSED TO KNOW IM THIS SAPPYYYYY

- Fittsy 🐌 ps this totally isn’t inspired by the fact it’s 4:30 am and I just finished working on a sketch absolutely not no way

It was almost comedic how the timing of the universe plays out.

Your cheeks curled into a small smile as your eyes meet Kenma's at the other end of the hallway, his body still in the doorframe of his office, yours in the bedroom's threshold. You squint your heavy eyes at him accusingly, amused, and you watch as he matches your expression, shoulders twitching to try and hide his laughter. The staring contest continues, the silence of your home at the ripe time of 04:16 keeping the air still.

"Hey..."

"Sup..."

You giggle, and he shakes his head, "what're you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady from your snickering to keep some form of mysteriousness in the air.

"I asked you first," he tips his head back in a challenging manner.

You nudge your head down the hallway towards the kitchen, "grabbing a lil' sweet treat."

"The fact you we're going to get one without me is crazy."

"Oh, and tell me, please darling, where you are going?"

He goes quiet, and looks away, "to get a sweet treat."

"Knew it."

He smiles, making his way down the hall to meet you. His sweatpants are baggy and low on his hips, the cuffs tucked into his socks- "it's warmer," he had told you once- and the stretched out neckline of his shirt exposing the thin bones of his collar, and the pale skin seems to glow under the darkness of night. His hair is barely contained in the loose elastic, and his bright, golden eyes are bloodshot from staring at his monitors for hours on end. You smile at him, and when he gets closer, he rests his forehead against yours. You snort and wrap your arms around his slender waist. "You still haven't told me why you're up," he whispers.

"Maybe I was waiting for my handsome, perfect, sweet, caring-"

"We both know you weren't," he interrupts, smirking as you sputter in indignation. "Gonna have to put a time limit on your laptop or something, so you don't stay up so late."

"Oh, you are so not one to talk," you tease.

"I'll forgive you if we can make mug cakes."

You move your head out from under his to instead rest it on his chest, "can we eat them in bed?" You mumble. "Now that I'm not staring at my computer, I'm like. Disgustingly over tired."

"It's because you've been working so hard," he whispers, turning his head to kiss your temple. "Should we call it now, then?"

"Mug cakes..." you whisper.

This has Kenma laughing, laughing loudly in the air, his chest shaking and bouncing you around. He squeezes you close, "tomorrow. I promise. Too many crumbs for bed. I'll go shut down the Kenma cave, and I'll be right for bed, alright?"

"Okay," you yawn. With your agreement, he parts and goes back down the hall to his office, saving his hours of editing and turning off the lights, beyond eager to finally get into bed with the love of his life.

But not before going into the kitchen and grabbing a few cookies to satiate the craving of a sweet treat for both of you.

Watching your eyes light up in sleepy excitement is the best remedy to the loss of the once desired mug cakes.

Mug cakes he gets to make tomorrow with the love of his life.

He can't wait.

[ducksido]

Hellooo this is my first time requesting, I rewrote this like 20 times. Could you do Overbolt boys x horribly dressed or just lazily dress reader? Like the reader will just pull up to a function looking like Adam Sandler or everyone will be formally dressed and reader is just there in their pajamas. Please do not feel pressured to do this it’s just a silly idea I had and I am sorry for my horrible grammar

Riddle The moment you stroll into the grand hall—where everyone is in their tuxedos and gowns—wearing ratty pajamas with cartoon prints and slippers, Riddle nearly chokes on his tea. His eyes widen in disbelief. “S/O, did you forget there’s a formal event?” he whispers, cheeks flushing scarlet, half embarrassed, half amused. But then, his ever-stoic expression softens. He quietly reaches over and squeezes your hand. “Well, if you’re comfortable, I’ll be by your side no matter what you wear.”

Leona Leona’s usual intense glare shifts into something oddly proud when he spots your mismatched socks and a hoodie two sizes too big. “Finally, someone who doesn’t take this fancy nonsense seriously,” he mutters, a small smirk tugging his lips. Without a second thought, he slips off his own dress shoes and switches to his boots, pulling you toward the edge of the crowd. “Come on, let’s find a spot where you can chill without worrying about all these posers.”

Azul Azul’s eyes instantly narrow at your appearance—socks with sandals? Seriously? His mouth twitches, struggling between horror and disbelief, but he quickly regains composure. “You do realize this is a high-profile event, right? People will talk.” He clears his throat and offers a rehearsed, but genuine smile. “Allow me to escort you—and maybe shield you from any rumors.” He stays close, adjusting his own cufflinks with a flourish while trying not to trip over your pajama pants.

Jamil Jamil arches a brow as you stroll past the elegantly dressed crowd in your oversized graphic tee and ratty joggers. He crosses his arms and sighs, “You always have to be different, don’t you?” But then, a teasing grin spreads on his face. “Well, I guess that’s what I like about you.” Without hesitation, he slips his blazer off and drapes it over your shoulders, making you look just a bit less like you rolled out of bed. “There, that should do.”

Vil Vil almost gasps, clutching his chest dramatically when he sees you in your fuzzy slippers and worn-out hoodie, surrounded by the perfect, stylish crowd. “Oh no! How could you betray fashion like this?!” he exclaims, his voice a mix of horror and disbelief. But then he laughs, genuine and warm. “You’re my adorable little disaster. Come here.” He swoops you up for a quick hug, smushing your messy look with his perfect glam. “You’ll always be the star of my heart, no matter what.”

Idia Idia watches from the sidelines, intrigued rather than horrified, as you show up in an old band tee and sweatpants. “Honestly, you’re lucky this isn’t a cosplay event or I’d be more impressed.” He adjusts his glasses and smirks. “Comfort over style, huh? I get it.” He shuffles over and offers you one of his oversized hoodies, which you accept gratefully. “Now we match. Looks like you just leveled up in style points, in my book.”

Malleus Malleus’s usually cold, regal demeanor flickers with confusion as he notices your disheveled appearance — pajamas with a blanket scarf wrapped around your neck. His crimson eyes blink once, twice, then soften. “Why would you come to an event like this dressed so... casually?” he asks quietly. You shrug with a sheepish smile, and unexpectedly, Malleus lowers his head and gently nuzzles you. “Your presence alone outshines any outfit.” Then, almost imperceptibly, he conjures a shimmering cloak around you to blend elegance with your comfort.

[growth-opportunities]

can you do more more unwilling/forced growth🙏🙏

I can, but I don't think you're going to like it. See, I assume you wrote this because you wanted to read about someone being forced to grow. And, well, the first person I can think of in that scenario whose growth would be most unwanted would be you.

Struggling against the straps that hold your arms above your head does nothing but chafe and bruise your wrists. With a matching set of straps around your ankles, you're not leaving this table until your captor wants it. You have no idea who's brought you to this place, or even where "this place" is. There are no windows, no clocks, just a single fluorescent light overhead and a heavy metal door in the far corner. You nearly drove yourself hoarse screaming for help when you first woke up, but there was no response. Whether the walls were too think or there was simply no one else around you to hear your cries, it hardly matters. You're trapped now, helpless against the person who brought you here.

You don't even know who it is. They're fully adorned in surgical gear, gloves and gown and mask and hairnet, leaving you only their eyes and their forehead as a way to recognize them. You don't even know how high off the ground the slab is, so you have no way of knowing how tall their are, either. It might not even matter; they could be a complete stranger. There are moments, when you look into their eyes, that you think you might know them, but there's no way of knowing for sure. That might just be hope. No matter how much you yell at them, berate them, plead with them, their only response is a brief, pitiful look, and then back to tinkering with their equipment.

A loud, metallic click makes you jump and, as an electric whir fills the room, the machine slowly begins pumping out fluid. Your eyes follow it as it moves through the plastic hose to join the IV drip feeding into your left wrist. Preempting your inevitable protest, your captor places a gloved, surprisingly strong hand on your arm, pinning it in place as the liquid makes its way into your blood stream. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest, panic and adrenaline flooding your system. You want to fight, you want to flee, but you can do neither, just flexing your hand in a vain attempt to grab the plastic tubing.

At first, you think the fluttering in your chest is just from the fear, but it quickly morphs into a sort of pressure and, strangely enough, it doesn't seem to be coming from inside your chest, but on top of it. You pick your head up and look down. Your hospital gown shifts. Maybe its your breathing. You hold your breath, your heartbeat making your whole body tremble. The pressure only grows and, with it, your gown starts to bulge outward. You can feel the thin material dragging over your chest. It feels foreign. It feels sickening. It feels strangely good in a way that you're not ready to admit. You shift your torso, watching the bulge in your gown not just shake, but wobble.

Your head snaps up to your captor, demanding your release, begging to know what's happening to you, but they simply pat your head. You shut your eyes and tell yourself it's a fantasy, a dream, a nightmare. None of this is real. You're at home, in bed, where you're safe and you're definitely not growing a pair of enormous, gigantic-

RRIIIIIIPPP!

TITS!

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of your hospital gown shredding open. When they were just lumps under a paper-thin cover, you could lie to yourself, imagine they were something else. But now you can see them. You can see how they slope upward, soft and full, to a pair of swollen, throbbing nipples. The harsh overhead light creates small shadows in the tiny valleys of stretchmarks that lead outward from your chest. And now that you can see them, your mind has no choice but to finally feel the full weight of them, sitting heavy on your chest. Each deep, panicked breath causes them to rise and fall, to wobble and shift, still steadily growing bigger. You have no idea how big they might be; you've only ever seen tits like this from the front, from pictures and videos burned into your mind. You never thought you'd see them like this, let alone the idea that they'd be your own. An instinct you didn't know you had activates and you attempt to reach our to touch them, only to fail and remind yourself that you're still strapped in.

The first sounds out of your mouth are thin and try. As you swallow, all of the anger and fury in your voice from earlier is gone; only fear remains. "How... how big am I going to get?"

Their eyes narrow slightly and it takes you a moment to realize that their response, behind their surgical mask, is a simple, horrifying smile.

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 32: On Hold

Summary: Princess struggles to rebuild her life after quitting her job and breaking ties with Lloyd. Zach offers her a new opportunity, but her reluctance to re-enter Lloyd’s orbit holds her back, but then an unexpected meeting offers her a glimpse of what could be.

Word Count: 3,294

Masterlist

Warnings: This chapter contains themes of emotional distress and a scene with a nightmare/flashback.

Chapter 32: On Hold

Friday, April 25th - 03:20 AM

You jolted awake, the memory crashing over you. Breath caught in your throat as you flailed against damp, twisted sheets. 

Two months had passed since your breakup with Lloyd, but your body still couldn’t tell the difference between past and present. Again and again, it replayed that night, tricking your nervous system into reacting as if it were happening all over again. It wasn’t a nightmare—that would suggest it was imagined. It was a flashback. A vivid, unrelenting replay of the night Lloyd ended everything. At least three times a week, sometimes more, your brain used the soft vulnerability of sleep to ambush you with every ugly detail of that final dinner, in sharp technicolor. Maybe the dreams were supposed to act like exposure therapy. The problem was, your reaction never dulled. Each time, the devastation felt as sharp and new as the first. You sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed your fingertips into your eyes, as if you could scrub away the memory. 

The basement of your parent’s house was too large, too open, for comfort. It was twice the size of your old apartment back in D.C. On the nights when you had flashbacks that coziness was desperately missed. 

After quitting Bishop & Howard, you’d gone to your parents, had an embarrassing emotional melt down in front of them, which earned you an official invitation to move back in. You shoved everything in boxes, put the apartment on the market, and ended up with three offers on the place by 5 o’clock. Then you ran back to Virginia, past the outskirts of suburban D.C., to the safety of your childhood home where you’d taken up residence in their recently finished basement. On the upside, the bathroom was super nice with a dual showerhead and heated flooring. On the downside, the expansive room made you feel lonely, your thoughts bouncing off the walls and echoing back at you, as though there was too much space and nowhere to hide.

Lloyd had dismantled your relationship, but dismantling the rest of your life had been your own doing. He ended things so swiftly, unexpectedly, that it still felt as if the earth had been pulled out from under your feet, like gravity had been turned off. You’d come to accept that to some extent, Lloyd had been your gravity. He’d been at the center of your orbit. First as your best friend and then as your partner. Now you were spinning out of orbit, untethered and heading… who knew where. You certainly didn’t. You didn’t have a plan, or even a concept of a plan. All you wanted was to get away from everything that you knew. 

Everything had been dismantled—most of it by your own hand. Now you were left living in the wreckage of it all.

You wished you’d fought him on it that day, but even as you thought it, there was no real hope behind the idea. Lloyd had always held his convictions with a resolve you couldn’t begin to match. But still, you hadn’t done anything to stop him and that was almost like a moral injury that lingered, a perpetual thorn in your side that continued to bleed. It was one thing for Lloyd to dismiss your efforts to fight, but another thing to contend with—that there had been no effort to fight at all put up by you. You’d let the relationship slip away without fighting for it. 

Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into a ball. You laced your fingers together tightly and squeezed until your knuckles ached. Your heart raced like someone was chasing you. Fragments of thoughts and flashes of memories spun through your head, a relentless blur you couldn’t shut off. You should be coping better than this after two months, shouldn’t you? But you weren’t.

The dream—the memory—came back, night after night, slicing open the wound over and over. Lloyd had taken something from you. Something more than love or friendship, something essential and you couldn’t figure out what it was, and therefore couldn’t dream of replacing it. You were afraid you’d never stop missing him. He’d ripped you in half and it felt like you were destined to continue on, only half of a person, forever. 

Your eyes burned, but no tears came. With your heart racing, sleep felt impossible. Besides, your head was a minefield when you closed your eyes. Lloyd had made his choice and you’d let him make it. Why hadn’t you done more? Why hadn’t you fought harder, made him see that this relationship was worth saving? That question haunted you, sometimes a few times a day, sometimes hundreds.

Maybe he thought ending things was what you needed. It was the only explanation you could come up with, based on the cryptic things he’d said that night. But it had felt so sudden, so inexplicable. He hadn’t explained. He hadn’t let you plead your case. He’d ended things on his own terms, of his own volition.

In his own broken way, maybe that was Lloyd’s idea of self-sacrifice. He’d claim he wasn’t capable of such a thing, but you knew better. If he believed he couldn’t be what you needed, he would have ended the relationship—if only to set you free.

Or maybe he’d simply gotten bored. He wasn’t the relationship type. You’d both agreed it was a fling at the start, so maybe he was just seeing it through to its natural conclusion. Maybe you were the crazy one, losing your mind over it.

With a deep breath, you unfolded yourself and lay back down, turning to face the alarm clock. 3:30 a.m. In an hour, you’d need to get up for work. You knew you should try to sleep, though you didn’t have high hopes. Lately, once your mind got tangled up in these thoughts, there was precious little you could do to quiet it. 

Still, you buried your head in the pillow, willing yourself to stop thinking.

For once, sleep came

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Friday, April 25th - 02:17 PM

Your father’s construction company had excellent benefits. That was why you had a job, at least for the time being. His regular bookkeeper, Chelsea, was out on maternity leave, and you were filling in. Full-time for now, then part-time once she returned in mid-May. 

Bookkeeping was insufferable, but it was a job. Your father was an easy boss. He didn’t micromanage, or hoover, just let you get on with things. Most of the time he was out of the office, visiting job sites and keeping an eye on his crews. The bookkeeping work was straightforward and the secretarial part of your duties was practically mindless. You’d found a rhythm and by the second week, realized you could do this job in half the time allotted. Instead of mentioning that to your Dad, you stuck around for the full eight hours, pretending to be busier than you were.

Every day, you sat at the wobbly desk in the trailer office, shuffling through invoices and timesheets, wondering what you were doing with your life. There was nothing wrong with being a bookkeeper, but if you could finish the work on a part-time schedule, Chelsea would probably be even faster. Once she returned, there wouldn’t be enough work to keep you on, and you couldn’t justify staying and taking advantage of your father’s generosity.

You rubbed your temple, glaring at the computer screen where numbers were already sorted into neat columns. Maybe it was time to look for another job. Something real, something in your skill set, something that actually mattered. The thought of jumping back into the paralegal world—or shifting to a lobbyist group, since they always seemed to be hiring—settled in your stomach like a lead weight. D.C. was a small legal circle. You’d run into people who knew what had happened with Lloyd. You might even run into Lloyd himself. The thought made you shudder.

The sound of heavy boots echoed on the metal steps of the trailer. You groaned. You knew who it was before the three-rap knock.

“It’s open,” you called.

Your visitor stepped in, shoving dark lensed Ray-Bans up onto his forehead. Sunlight slanted through the door, brightening his sandy hair to gold for a moment.

“Hey, Zach. How’s it going?”

Your eyes fixed on the tray of coffees in his hand. It contained two iced lattes and one Frappuccino.

“You pick up an extra by accident?”

“No. It’s for your Dad.”

“How do you know what kind of Frappuccino my Dad prefers?”

“His Instagram’s public. I cyberstalk it sometimes. It’s been my most reliable source of info on you of late—since I barely see you anymore.”

“Aside from your weekly visits to my workplace?”

Zach set the iced latte on your desk. “I’m considering renovating my offices. I need a quote.”

“We’re booked through November.”

He took off his sunglasses and hooked them onto his shirt collar before dropping into the chair across from you with a mock-sigh. “Shame.”

You leaned back in your chair, ignoring its squeal of protest. “Zach, I’m at work. I’m busy.”

“Are you? Because the last edit on that spreadsheet was at 10:27 A.M.”

“Fine, I’m not busy. I’m bored out of my mind. What do you want?”

His grin widened. “To see you doing something more productive than balancing books you finished yesterday.”

So he’d noticed the date, not just the time stamp. Your cheeks warmed. He wasn’t wrong, but the jab got under your skin. “Don’t you have your own company to run?”

“I do. That’s actually why I’m here.”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t make this about your savior complex. Lloyd and I didn’t work out. I trashed my career at B&H all by myself. You don’t need to rescue me.”

“I’m not trying to rescue you. Okay, maybe part of me feels oddly guilty that I didn’t at least try to warn you off of him, or ask you to think twice about getting involved with someone as complicated as Lloyd. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve hired a new investigator. He starts in May.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I think the two of you would work well together. If you come on board—even if it was temporarily—it’d make his orientation easier.”

“Landon handles all your training.”

“He’s getting married in May. You should know, you’re invited to the wedding.”

“Right.”

You’d been trying to forget about the upcoming nuptials. Seeing Lloyd there wasn’t something you wanted to ponder for too long.

Zach hooked an ankle over his knee, studying you with an intensity that made you feel like a bug under a microscope.

“You’re bored.”

“And?”

“I can fix that.”

Fixing your boredom would put you back in Lloyd’s orbit, which was a price you weren’t sure you were willing to pay.

“I’m good. Thanks for thinking of me though. I’m flattered.”

“Come on. The job starts in May. Your dad’s regular girl will be back by then, and you’d be free to start with us. Perfect timing.”

“Why me? There are a dozen people who’d jump at the chance to work with you.”

“I don’t like those people. Besides, you’ve already worked with my new hire, and he’s a little high-strung. Not everyone can handle him.”

You frowned. “Who is it?”

“Marco Lattimer.”

“Huh.” You didn’t want to be intrigued, but you were. You stared at Zach, torn between wanting to roll your eyes and feeling the pull of half-burried ambition.

“You’re good at investigations. We need someone who can handle some of Jake’s simpler computer work.”

The yearning sharpened. You tried to shove it down, but failed. Zach smirked.

“I know you. I like you. We work well together. I don’t have to figure out how to fit two new personalities into the firm because I already know you. And I trust you to work with Marco, even though he’s kind of a judgy son of a bitch.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He’s a boy scout,” Zach said.

“So is Landon.”

“Yeah, but he’s not as high and mighty about it.”

“Are you asking me to take this job so you don’t have to deal with Marco?”

Zach snorted. “I can handle Marco. I just prefer him in small doses. Also, I think you need something to pull you out of this funk.”

“I don’t want to work with Lloyd anymore. Not for a while.”

“Perfect. I’m not about to put him and Marco in the same room.”

“Really? They’re that bad?”

“I have no idea. They haven’t seen each other in ten years.”

You glanced down at your desk—the neatly stacked timesheets, the untouched calculator.

“I’ll think about it.”

Zach stood, smoothing his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be back on Monday. I expect an answer then.”

You watched him leave, the door clicking softly behind him. A thick suffocating silence settled over the room. You dropped your head onto the desk and groaned.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Saturday, April 26th - 01:20 PM

You sat in the parking lot a block from Café M, debating whether you were up for coffee or if your social battery was tapped out. Jen had enticed you into a Saturday morning Pilates class but had to leave right after to pick up her son from baseball camp. That suited you fine because it meant you got to see Jen, hang out, all while avoiding uncomfortable questions, or updates about Lloyd and the rest of your old coworkers at B&H. According to Jen, Andy was pissed you’d quit and was needling Lloyd about it at every opportunity. You hated thinking about the trail of drama you’d left in your wake.

Jen was worried. The subtle glances she shot you before and after class spoke volumes, though she hadn’t said anything. You were grateful for her restraint; it was the polar opposite of Zach’s ham-handed approach to managing your life. At least with Jen, the concern was quieter, less invasive. Going to Pilates with her felt like proof you were doing okay, that you weren’t sinking too far into the spiral of doom, and losing all of your social connections.

Since you’d already driven into the city, heading straight home felt wrong. Stopping at your favorite café gave you a chance to clear your head before returning to your parents’ house. The thought of the long drive felt suffocating. You ducked into the café, ordered your usual iced vanilla latte with a shot of espresso and claimed a small corner table by the window.

Your mind wandered as you stirred the drink, tracing circles in the condensation pooling on the table. The buzz of voices and hiss of the espresso machine filled the small room but none of it drowned out the memories. You thought of the afternoons when you’d worked on Lloyd’s cases at the corner booth and the couple of times when you’d met him here on Sunday afternoons. Why had you decided to come here? You should’ve gone straight home.

“Figured I’d find you here, dah-lin’,” a voice behind you drawled.

You recognized the stretched vowels, the near-absent ‘r’—not clipped like a Boston accent, but softened and slow. That Tidewater lilt turned everything smooth and a little formal, like it was dialogue in a black-and-white movie. 

"Marco. How’d you find me?"

“I wouldn’t be much of a private investigator if I couldn’t track down one law-abiding citizen on a Saturday afternoon, now would I?”

He stood in front of your table, coffee in hand, a black Henley stretched across his broad shoulders, and a sly smile curving his lips. Casual clothes looked good on him. 

“Why did you hunt me down?”

He pulled out the chair opposite you without asking, settling in like you were old friends meeting up instead of him ambushing you out of the blue. 

“Zach said you’ve been dragging your feet accepting his employment offer,” he said.

Heat crept up your neck. “So you decided to stalk me?”

“I prefer the term ‘reconnaissance.’ It sounds friendlier. I wanted to find out what was holding you back.” He leaned in, forearms on the table, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “I heard you’re playing bookkeeper and bored out of your mind. What’s the problem?”

You wrapped your hands around the cold glass of your iced coffee, eyes lowering. “I’m still weighing my options. I don’t know if it’s the right move at the moment.”

Marco laughed, his disbelief clear. “Liar. You’re avoiding Lloyd. Can’t blame you for that—I get the same urge. Still can’t stand him, no matter what affinity Zach feels towards him. But don’t let his mistakes dictate your future.”

You raised an eyebrow, realizing Zach had shared with him more than you’d thought. Marco’s bluntness was like a slap, but his expression was fond, almost amused.

“I’m not scared of seeing Lloyd,” you said, though even you didn’t believe it.

Marco sipped his coffee and said nothing.

The silence tightened around you. He studied you the way Zach had yesterday, like you were a bug under a microscope and he was trying to figure out what species you belonged to. His head tilted. “Landon’s wedding’s next weekend, right?”

“Uh… yes. Why?”

“Are you going?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

Your pulse kicked up. You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I’m asking because it’d be more fun with a date. Besides, Landon and I go way back. It wouldn’t hurt to show him I can clean up and be civilized.”

Your cheeks flushed. “That’s presumptuous of you, Marco.”

He leaned back, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Come on, Princess. It’s a win-win. I get a date, you get a buffer against Lloyd.”

The idea twisted your stomach. It was ridiculous, and yet the thought of showing up alone, knowing you’d have to face him again…Perhaps Marco was onto something. 

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

He grinned, rising smoothly and sliding a napkin across the table. You glanced down at the scrawl of blue ink. His phone number. “Do that. And think about the job, too. I’m not waiting forever.”

You watched him leave, climb on a jet black Harley-Davidson motorcycle and disappear into traffic. 

Irritation and intrigue wrestled for dominance. Marco was just as domineering and annoying as Lloyd, but he went about it with less abrasiveness. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was time to stop spinning your wheels. Time to stop hibernating and branch out. Accepting Marco’s invitation would certainly make Landon’s wedding easier. You picked up the napkin, typed the number in and saved a new contact.

On the drive home, you thought about his offer. About the possibility of accepting the job with Zach’s firm.

An hour later you pulled into the driveway and parked behind your mom’s faded Subaru, then called Zach from your car’s bluetooth. 

“What’s up? Make it quick. I’m on the seventeenth hole.”

You laughed. “Alright. I don’t want to work with Lloyd, if it can be avoided. I know there might be a time when it can’t be prevented but for now…I’d rather not see him. Also, I’d like to work with Marco. I’ll accept your job offer if we can be partners.” 

“Perfect. I’ll have my lawyer send you a written offer Monday. We’ll talk details later.”

He hung up without a goodbye.

You opened Marco’s contact and tapped out a message.

I accepted Zach’s offer. We’re finalizing Monday. Also, my dress for the wedding is pale green. Don’t wear a tie that clashes. Pick me up at nine. I trust you can find my address...stalker.

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[jude457]

so the main reason why i’ve been sitting on a bunch of fics lately—stuff i haven’t posted, even though it’s finished—because i keep getting stuck on this one question:

how much medical detail is too much in a fic?

like, is it too much to show what a body goes through after prolonged sexual trauma? concerning the fics where i explore a darker side of inho’s relationship with the vips. i don’t write this stuff to be shocking. it’s not about being graphic or edgy—it just feels unrealistic and unfinished to me to leave it out. examples of what i’ve included are underneath the readmore:

if i’m writing inho truthfully he’d have chronic, complicated UTIs—pain when he urinates, burning, pressure that never fully goes away, constant urgency without relief. because when you’re used repeatedly for years, when you’re used by multiple men with no care or protection, your body breaks down. infections become constant. systems stop working the way they should. the tearing wouldn’t have healed properly. there’d be scar tissue, nerve pain that burns down his spine and into his hips, days when his whole pelvis feels locked up with the trauma of what has been done to him. a deep, raw ache that flares when he moves wrong, when he sits too long, when he’s cold or stressed or simply remembering. (what i believe most people would find too realistic for a fic) is how going to the bathroom after the body is traumatised like this would be painful in some way. not sometimes—always. the unhealthy relationship with food that would stem from that. it would change how he eats. he’d learn quickly which foods pass more easily, which ones leave him shaking in agony so badly he bites the inside of his cheek to stay silent. how over time, eating becomes something he fears. not because he isn’t hungry, but because he knows what comes next. he builds a mental list of what’s “safe” and sticks to it obsessively.

including these symptoms adds a deeper layer of in-ho’s self-hatred and destruction too. because it’s not just that he’s in constant pain—it’s that he won’t let anyone see it. he carries the infections, the nerve damage, the tearing, the nights spent hunched in silence with his pelvis on fire. sometimes he bleeds. so he hides his laundry—washes it alone, scrubbing stains out by hand before anyone notices. it’s become a ritual. a quiet way of keeping the worst of it hidden. because even the blood feels like evidence. and he can’t let that exist in anyone else’s hands. not when it all leads back to the same thing. not just because it hurts, but because it’s tied to his greatest shame. what the vips did to him. what he endured to stay alive

he’d never let gihun or junho know. he thinks if they find out, they’ll see what he sees: someone broken. someone used. someone dirty. so he hides it. he always hides it. until one day his body gives out and there’s no more room to pretend.

to be honest i also find it important to explore the way inho struggles to even see himself as a rape victim. he spent close to two decades as a detective before being dismissed, dealing with these kinds of cases—he knows the language, the legal classifications, the evidence kits, the expected responses. and somewhere along the way, whether he meant to or not, he built a picture in his head of what a victim looks like: vulnerable, broken, not him because inho still views himself as a monster. and now he’s on the other side of it, but the image won’t shift. he can’t reconcile the man he’s become with the reality of what was done to him. it doesn’t match. it doesn’t fit. and that disconnect—the inability to grant himself the same compassion he offered others—is almost more painful than the trauma itself. because naming it would mean accepting it. and accepting it would mean facing the full weight of what was taken from him.