#the applications will go up in about ten minutes

[ophazines]

Here are the results of the interest check! There were 185 responses. Thank you so much for your interest!

[byoldervine]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[zhukzucraft]

=> Pearl & Co: Gear up

You decide to scrape all the valuable rocks and minerals off this cave first. Added to your spoils from before it should be enough to properly equip you for the Nether.

Grian: Any word from Skizz yet?

Gem: He's saying he'll run right on back.

Gem: oh wait

Gem: Now he's saying Mumbo is against it.

Grian: Unbelievable. It's been less than ten minutes and the man's already whipped.

Scar: That means they won't need their death chest stashes, right?

Pearl: Scar, really? You would stoop down to grave robbing, sir?

Scar: No, no, of course not!

Scar: Just grave-borrowing.

Gem: I'd say we're ready as can be!

Pearl: I mean- we could maybe get some diamonds and-

Scar: Woooooo, let's go!!

Pearl: ...

Pearl: Wait!!

Pearl: if

Pearl: if this happens to go wrong and my soulmate is... not happy about it

Pearl: Would it be ok if we stayed together?

Pearl: You know, as a team?

Gem: Of course, Pearl! Why wouldn't we!

Gem: We started this together and we're sticking together no matter what!

Grian: You know, maybe you could stay up here?

Grian: We could use someone to dig us diamonds to enchant.

Gem: Exactly! And even if you don't find any, we'll let you get in on the enchanting. Right, Grian?

Grian: Weeeell

Gem: Right, Grian?

Grian: Alright, alright.

Gem: And Scar?

...

Gem: ...Scar?

GoodTimesWithScar has earned the achievement [We Need To Go Deeper]

=====>

Start Over -- Go Back

i hope i've managed to make it clearer this time that the "armor visible" condition is applicable only when it's on the screen. i just don't want to cover 80% of the design with armor most of the time. Please assume that everyone is wearing whatever armor they've been seen in last

same goes for weapons and shields - it leaves both hands busy if i draw them all the time, so let's just pretend they stash both in their inventory when not directly in combat.

on an unrelated note - i'm going to be busy with work and family matters the next two weeks, so the frequency of updates might fall significantly. i hope for your patience U-U

also-also: the archive up to the current POV is now on AO3 - LINK!

[ambrozjas]

the gang x reader who loves makeup ꨄ︎

the outsiders x reader (separate)

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

guys i swear i’m working on your requests i just wanted to use this as a filler to feed you guys while you wait, but trust me, i’m workin on it 💕 thank you for all the likes and reqs !! love you all xoxo

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

some curse words, makeup, reader is compared to “a girl in a magazine” in johnnys part, kissing?? i dunno 😭

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

DARRY’s thumb rubs along your thigh. he lay on his bed while you were sat at the desk besides him. you placed your vanity mirror on the wooden surface and had been working on your makeup for about half an hour.

darry had seen his mother put on makeup whenever she’d go out with his father, so he had a better idea of makeup than someone like steve or two bit. he liked whenever you asked him questions like ‘this or that’.

“which one? peach or mint?” you asked as you held up two lip glosses, the peach gloss in a soft pink tube and the mint in a sage green one.

darry seemed to think for a moment, humming in thought. “th’peach one.” he finally said, nodding his head in the direction of where you were holding the peach tube.

“thanks, dare.” you mumbled, your lips forming an ‘o’ shape, ready for application.

“why do you always put on makeup?” he asks, eyes fixated on you. a satisfying pop of your lips before you look over to him and shrug.

“dunno, makes me feel pretty.”

“you’re always pretty, darlin’.” darry continues, moving his hand from your thigh to your hand, interlocking both your fingers and squeezing.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“how d’ya get that thing so close to your eye?” SODAPOP asks. you’ve been doing your makeup for about ten minutes, soda watching you like a hawk.

“i just raise my eyelid and put the curler to my lashes, piece’a cake.” you shrug, mouth open as you apply some mascara. “really?” he asked, taking a glance at your drawer full of makeup products, an assortment of pretty colored tubes, he would guess were either for your lips or eyes.

“yeah, why? you want some?” you laughed, expecting a ‘no’ in return but got only silence. you looked back at him. soda had just shrugged exaggeratedly.

one thing let to another and you ended up perched on sodapop’s lap, his eyes closed as you decorated his lids with blue eyeshadow.

“soda—! don’t crinkle your eyes!” you exclaimed, your boyfriend simply chuckled and gently grasped your wrist. “‘s not my fault it tickles, babe.”

soda opens his eyes to look at you, pulling your palm to his lips for a soft kiss.

“you know, you just ruined the eyeshadow, right? your eyes are hooded so the shadow will get—“

“shh, i’m tryna be romantic ‘ere.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“oh, PONYBOY!” you squealed, dragging out the ‘y’ in his name and running down the hallway already carrying your makeup bag.

you poke your head in through the doorway to find pony laying on his bed, nose buried in another one of his books. he glanced at you, already suspicious of the fact that the rest of your body isn’t visible.

“huh?” he questioned, his eyes flickering between the words of the book. “you wanna be the best boyfriend ever and do me a favor, pony?” you grinned as you dragged out the syllables in his name.

“what’re you doin’?” he inquired. you started to step slowly into view, your bag held behind your back. “i just need’a see somethin’ real quick.” he sat up a bit as you got closer to him and placed the book on the desk next to his bed, careful to mark the page he was on with a bookmark.

you finally bring your hands around to your front, unveiling the small makeup bag filled to the brim with products.

“oh, no.”

“oh, yes.”

“no! you ain’t touchin’ my face!”

and before he knows it, ponyboy has a face full of makeup on and you’re finishing it off with some sparkly highlighter on his nose.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you had a date with JOHNNY at the drive-in, planning to see one of elvis’ new movies.

you had done your makeup, using the multitude of products you had in your room, and you looked snatched. your hair was cute, whether greased up or not, it never failed to look effortlessly gorgeous, johnny always thought so.

he was already waiting at the drive-in, accompanied by dallas who unfortunately was “chaperoning” him for the night, probably just trying to keep a lookout for drunk broads.

when you had arrived though, boy, was johnny astonished. his eyes widened at just the sight of you, it was like you were a princess walking up to him in slow motion.

once you had caught up to him and dally, johnny couldn’t help but mutter, “y’look like one of those ladies from the magazines..”, he gawked at just the utter sight of you.

“thank you?” you giggled and gave a quick peck to his lips. “i’ll get us a coke!” you jogged over to the concessions area with a bunched up wad of money in your hand. johnny watched you walk away, mouth still parted a bit in shock.

dallas, being the shithead he is, rudely tapped johnny’s cheek, making him close his mouth. “you’ll catch flies, johnny.” he said, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette.

once you two had actually sat down, dally chatting up some girl a few feet away, johnny turns to you. “s’that a new lipgloss?”

“yeah, you like it?” you asked, blowing him an exaggerated air kiss after.

“tastes sweet.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“c’mon, doll, it’s been like twenty minutes.”

“hold on, DALLY, i have to finish this wing!” you affirmed, your words altered with the way you opened your mouth so your skin would stretch, giving you the perfect opportunity with eyeliner and mascara. one struggle almost everybody goes through, is getting the other eyeliner wing to match the other.

“you’ve been at this for a while, just draw a line ‘n call it a night.” dallas insisted, he didn’t much like waiting, and he never understood why people took so much time just to do their makeup.

“no, you don’t understand. it has to be perfect.” you said, enunciating the ‘p’. you look at dallas in the reflection of the mirror and see him sigh in defeat and hollow his cheeks with another inhale of a cancer stick.

“you better not be smokin’ that thing in here, stinkin’ up my whole room.” you wrinkled your nose, the smell of cigarettes never leaves your room as long as dallas comes over.

“you do it too.”

“i smoke outside, not where it’ll penetrate a whole room full of cute things.” you rebutted.

“whatever you say, doll.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“do i look like a pretty princess?” TWO-BIT asked as you applied blush on his cheeks. you and his kid sister giggled at the sight. two’s eyes covered with all sorts of bright pinks and yellows and blues, colors that his little sister suggested.

“yes keith, you look like a pretty princess.” you said, watching two’s nose scrunch at the brush tickling his cheeks.

“what next?” you asked to his sister, turning to her as she held a finger to her chin in thought. then, it was like a light bulb went off inside her head. she grinned at you, a catlike smile that you returned, one that made two-bit worried about what would come next.

“lipstick.�� was all she said, and immediately she handed you a bright red lipstick. you let out a soft laugh as you looked at two-bit’s expression, cocking an eyebrow as usual.

“you ain’t doin’ what i think you’re doin’, right?” he asks, then you wiggle the tube of lipstick at him, getting it closer as he shifts away. he placed his hands up in defense, “baby—! c’mon, you wouldn’t do that to your wonderful lovely boyfriend, would you?”

as he tries to scurry off, you hook your leg around his waist and keep him in place while his little sister laughs hysterically in the background. you grip his cheeks so his lips could purse, giving you the perfect access to apply his lipstick.

he ends up looking like a scrapped lisa frank design and that lipstick ends up in kiss marks littering your face, accompanied by ‘eww’s’ in the back provided by two’s sister.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“shit! it burns!” STEVE yells, his lips a cherry red with irritation.

“why’d you put it on your lips?” you threw your arms up, representing a ‘what the hell?’.

“thought it was your lipstick thingies!”

“why would you put it on your lips in the first place, steve?” you laughed and rushed over to get a paper towel and a few ice cube. “i thought it’d taste good.” he muttered, his lips a comical plump as he glared at the tube, feeling silly how he didn’t read the white letters on it saying ‘duck plump’.

when you came back, you sat down next to steve, gently wiping off the gloss before he snatched the napkin and wiped it off aggressively himself, desperate to get it off.

you both looked at each other before he looked down at the ice cube. “wha’s ‘at supposed to do?” he asked. you stammered, “i don’t know you were in hysterics! ‘pleasee! oh please get it off! it burns—!’” you cut yourself off with a laugh, laying back on the bed.

“yeah, yeah. whatever..” he grumbles, throwing another glare at the lip plumping gloss that lay abandoned on your desk.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ thank you all so much for all the love n requests, i swear i’m writing them just give me some time 🫶

kiss kiss ˗��ˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

famous last words, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, very brief mention of namjoon x reader

summary: Words that should be written in your obituary but probably won't be: “How the fuck did I get myself in this situation?” Clever, right? No? Neither is fucking a stranger who bursts into tears within the first ten minutes of meeting each other. Ah. Well. Guess those will be your famous last words.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; what should be a simple task ends with fucking no one saw that coming, hehe, get it?; mentions of infidelity / recent break-up / JK crying Q_Q; angst + comfort; smut (fem reader, dom!reader x sub!JK, nipple play, scratching, hair-pulling kink, cock-and-ball torture (dick slapping, ball slapping / squeezing, etc), m-receiving oral, handjob, spit kink, edging / orgasm denial, 69); non-idol!AU, ft next-door neighbor!Kim Namjoon

--

Somebody much wiser than you once said, don’t speak into existence the truth, for it will inevitably prove you right sooner rather than later, or something equally as pompous-sounding, but clearly you never got the memo as you rotted away on your sofa, staring at the red bubble of your unread messages, muttering under your breath, “Surely not every social interaction I have will end in sex,” and yet you still did not open the application. You were saying this to absolutely no one, by the way. You were the only occupant in your apartment.

Some would say by choice.

You would agree wholeheartedly.

What?

Before you could get on that mental hamster wheel, your phone started vibrating in your hand. For a split second, you debated on not answering it, however, the caller was listed under his full name in your phone. That meant it was either your boss or someone of equal importance. Or someone who would not be calling unless it was rather serious. Thus, with a sigh, you pressed the green button to accept the call with a bland, noncommittal, “Hello?”

Depending on the nature of the call, you would decide on how currently busy you were.

“Ah, hello! I’m so sorry to be calling right now,” came the slightly frantic and strangely relieved voice of Kim Namjoon, you next-door neighbor. He fumbled with the words and asked if it was, in fact, you, to which you confirmed, “Unfortunately, still alive and kicking.” This made him laugh for some reason. Perhaps it was your dry delivery. Or because he was nervous, which was a hilarious thought, as Namjoon was over one-hundred eighty centimeters tall with imposing broad shoulders and the chest of an ox. He had said something before about how he used physical exercise as a coping mechanism. For what? Impeding existential crisis from being highly educated? A question of another time.

You snapped out of your sidetracking as Namjoon said, “I was going to text you but then I remembered you said if it was important to call instead.”

You recalled the angry red bubble of unread messages. “Yes, the call was the right move,” you agreed. “Is something wrong? Have you locked yourself out of your apartment again?”

Indeed, there was a reason you had Kim Namjoon’s number. Because despite his towering frame and heavy canvas bags full of self-help books, you had previously found him sitting outside his apartment, looking like a dejected puppy, said canvas bags tucked around him, his pockets inside-out. At first, you weren’t going to ask – quite frankly you weren’t about the people-person life – but it would be a bit weird to just ignore the giant dejected puppy slouched against the unit next to yours. So, you inwardly sighed and walked up to him, asking why he was camping out at his front door.

He had locked himself out.

You nearly facepalmed. This late at night? Of course, the leasing office wasn’t open at this hour. Security didn’t have keys to the tenants’ apartments for safety reasons. You had debated on leaving him there, but it was too late, you had already asked what was wrong and now Kim Namjoon was doing that polite thing of saying he didn’t want to be any trouble, that he would be fine, and before you could remember to be rude, you had invited a stranger into your apartment to rot on your sofa, at least until the next morning when someone could let him into his apartment. Foolishly brave on your part. He could have been a serial killer. Could have bludgeoned you to death with those bags of books, which, considering the current trajectory of the world…

Never mind.

In any case, you didn’t feel threatened. Namjoon had those soulful eyes and double cheek dimples when he smiled, so the probability of homicidal psychosis was pretty low. And you were right. He was just forgetful. How he stayed alive this long was beyond you. Namjoon was the most incapable capable person you had ever met. He was a whiz with public transportation, bus and train. Had a bicycle when he needed it. He didn’t own a car for the good of the people (his words). The second time he had locked himself out, you had joked to Namjoon that he fuckin’ owed you. The third time, you had forced him to make you an extra key and gave him your number so he could call you to let him into his own apartment. He had felt like he owed you and, even though you told him that it would be more than enough if he simply learned to remember his damn apartment key for once, he had taken you out to dinner to make up for it, which surely explained how you ended up in bed with him the next morning.

Listen.

It wasn’t that serious. Really. There was nothing brewing here except wine-induced impulse and a why-the-fuck-not attitude. But all that might explain the awkward laughing. Not because anyone was harboring any secret feelings, just mostly because he was about to ask you for a weirder favor. Sucking his dick again would probably be a more expected ask than what he was about to say next.

“Ahaha, no, um…”

You could hear loud thump-thump noises on the other side of the line. No, not familiar thump-thump noises. You frowned. Was that the boom-boom of bass?

“Actually, I’m by the coast right now. I’m at a welcome party for a wedding of one of my closest friends. Er, what I mean to say is that I’m not close to my apartment right now,” Namjoon rambled, making you stretch your ears to understand. “I’m a couple hours away by train, it’s late, I thought about maybe trying to make it to and back, but I–”

“With all due respect,” you interrupted, realizing he was tipsy, over-polite, and overexplaining. “Can you tell me what you need me to do?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” his deep voice quickly apologized. “Could you open the door for my friend when he drops by?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, I guess.”

Before you could ask what said friend looked like, Namjoon let out a whoosh of relief. “Oh, thank you. Thanks a lot. Um, if you could…? Please be nice to him.”

“Have you known me to be a rude person?” you inquired impassively.

He glossed over your question like a champ. “It’s… Complicated. He found out tonight his longtime girlfriend was cheating on him. I wish I could be there. He might not seem like it, but I know he’s very emotional right now. I told him to crash at my place, but if something seems amiss, please let me know, okay? I’m worried about him. I thought about going back, but I’m in the wedding party and…”

Despite everything within you being completely and utterly disinterested in babysitting a grown man with hurt feelings and probably a temporary poor perspective of women, your mouth was saying, “I’ll take care of it, Namjoon. And I will call you if I think it is necessary. You know I won’t let anything get out of hand. What’s his name? What does he look like?”

Twenty minutes later of you standing in Kim Namjoon’s beige apartment inspecting his rather impressive bonsai collection – something you had sadly missed the last time you were here as the living room was not the focus of the night – you heard the panicked smashing of the doorbell, indicating your visitor. You put a little more perk in your step and hurried to the door, opening it to the blubbering mess that was Jeon Jungkook.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

From your side, you were looking at a rather disheveled man with wide bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks, and windswept ear-length black hair clutching two big silver suitcases and a huge black duffel bag that looked like he had stuffed every skeleton of his closet into it. He was wearing a big white t-shirt with a big wet spot down the collar, torn-up slate blue jeans that appeared to have come that way, and untied white sneakers that had seen the streets of Seoul way too many times. As Namjoon had informed you earlier, his right arm was covered in dark and colorful tattoos, all the way to his hand, including a crown on his index finger. His big, dark brown eyes were pools of hurt and sadness that quickly twisted into confusion as he saw you. You suddenly realized how this looked to him. From his side, the door of one his best male friends had opened to a woman wearing flared black pajama shorts and a loose white tank top with a single red chili pepper embroidered in the center of the chest.

Which could mean a lot of things.

Or nothing.

“Jeon Jungkook?” you asked as a greeting.

“Uh… Y-Yeah…”

His voice cracked and he shook like a shaken leaf in the last days of autumn.

You waved him in. “Namjoon-ah let me know to expect you. Come in.”

He hesitated. Reasonably so. His ears were red, maybe from running, but a deep flush was developing on his cheeks. You could tell he was feeling somewhat embarrassed about it all. He had a youth about him, both in naïveté and in the anxiety of being ashamed at his emotional state. You softened. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you said, “I’ll make you some tea. The bathroom is around the corner if you would like to freshen up. Don’t stand out here.”

There was a flash of defiance in his gaze, but it died when you didn’t react in a hostile manner. You simply moved out of the way, holding the door open for him. After an awkward shuffle and dance, Jeon Jungkook and his excessive amount of luggage was in the apartment. You closed the front door behind him, locking it.

“Did…”

His voice cracked. Distraught, he looked away and you politely stared vacantly in the other direction. A little part of you had wondered if Namjoon had put you in an unsafe situation – after all, you knew him but not his friends – yet upon seeing Jungkook, you were getting domestic pet vibes again. Puppy, or perhaps the big-eyed, trembling upper lip expression was giving bunny. He didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe you were being too trusting. Eh. Only one way to found out.

“Did Namjoon-hyung tell you…?”

Your eyes flickered to him. He was staring down at the floor. Damn. You could tell he was trying to put on a brave front as if his face wasn’t splotchy and his t-shirt wasn’t soaked in tears, but it was weak. Broken. He might be a stranger, but his current state was familiar enough to anyone who had experienced crushing disappointment. That was a lot of people, including you.

“That you were staying a while? Yup. Although he didn’t tell me where the spare towels were,” you added distractedly, crossing your arms. “He just told me you could use anything. But now that I think about it, you wouldn’t want to use his bath towel, no matter how close you two are. Hmmmm. I’ll go looking while you get settled then.”

“Are you… his girlfriend?”

You stiffened. You glanced at Jungkook, who was giving you a scrutinizing and halfway-jealous glare. You grimaced, shaking your head.

“No, I’m not. I’m the next-door neighbor. Which, contrary to what bad porn storylines might lead you to believe, does not equate to relationship material. Just a convenient person to ask to keep your spare house key when you constantly forget it,” you lightheartedly replied. “Which is a lot of the time, when you’re Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook relaxed a bit, but he was still giving you that guarded expression. You realized he must have noticed that you were using rather familiar terms for Namjoon, which was the natural progression after the whole getting naked and sixty-nine-ing incident that he was very likely unaware of. Uh. You sort of hoped he would accept the neighbor explanation, because there was truly not much more to it. You probably wouldn’t have even done it if Namjoon hadn’t spoken so miserably about his last breakup, how he had felt so unloved and like he never mattered, and maybe you had been trying to convince him he did matter, even if only for a fleeting moment, which said a lot about your preferred coping mechanism versus his.

But.

Anyway. Haha. This wasn’t going to become a pattern. Surely.

Ahem.

“I’m sorry…”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

The not-so-strange stranger clutched his duffel bag, fidgeting, his face scrunching up, unable to look directly at you. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Jungkook shuddered, tensing up. His shaking voice struggled to hold itself together. “I… It’s late… I couldn’t… I drove, my parents live in Busan, dunno if I could… I didn’t want to trouble… I’m so worthless…”

“You drove in this state?” you cut in sharply. You snapped your jaw shut, not wanting to scold him. His face looked stricken. Well, you’d been called heartless before, but you didn’t claim the title yourself. You calmed your tone. “Hey, I’m not here to judge you. Look, you don’t have to tell me anything. This is a safe place. I’m just here to prepare you a cup of hot tea. Maybe heat up some hotteok if I can find any in the freezer. Or I can leave you alone, right now, if you promise not to do anything stupid before your friend comes back.”

For a moment, Jungkook didn’t say anything. He was taller, bigger, more muscular than you, but he seemed small right now. The world stilled.

“Be honest… Do I seem like a pathetic man?” he asked in a broken whisper.

You looked at his frail form and answered rather confidently.

“Do pathetic men have the self-awareness to call themselves pathetic?”

Those big bloodshot eyes rose to meet your wry smile.

“Just be sad in peace. Emotions are not an attack on your masculinity.”

You spotted the flash of defiance once again. “What would you know?” Jungkook snapped. Then you could tell he instantly regretted it, shrinking back slightly. He didn’t apologize though. You waited. Minutes passed. The timing became awkward. His eyes shifted, lips quivering, trying to get the words out. You thought about forcing it out of him, but you let him have this one.

“I’m not against you,” you reminded him quietly.

“S… Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “It’s… My girlfriend… um, ex… ex-girlfriend. Cheated on me.”

You could tell it hurt him to even say it out loud. His voice was thick and on the brink of tears.

“I… I was going to ask her to…”

He fell apart before your eyes.

“…To m-marry me.”

Jungkook sank to the floor and cried.

You didn’t know what to do.

Well, you did know what to do. It was a matter of whether or not to do it. You had only known Jeon Jungkook for less than ten minutes after all. You hadn’t even known he existed until barely thirty minutes ago. And you didn’t know if he wanted to be consoled by an almost stranger, as he had been holding back this entire time, albeit poorly and without experienced restraint, but who could blame him, his world as he had known it had fallen apart less than an hour ago.

Yeah.

His world as he had known it had fallen apart less than an hour ago.

It was entirely possible that Jungkook would recoil from you, and validly so. You knelt anyway, not yet saying anything. It was pointless to tell him not to cry, for he was already crying. Hell, you would cry too if your innocence was still intact. Deep down, you were glad that he was. It showed that he still believed enough to shed tears over a moment called love. Besides, sadness was better than misplaced anger.

You reached towards him and experimentally placed your hand on his shoulder.

What should have felt solid felt so very breakable under your palm.

“You don’t have to say any more,” you reminded him quietly.

His face was buried in his duffel bag, covered by his arms. A sob ravaged his entire body, possessing him with emotion. Frustration and sadness and regret and shame and self-blame, maybe warranted, maybe not. He was saying something, wetly, something about being not enough, not deserving, unable to make anyone stay. It was a jumbled, anguished mess. You didn’t refute any of his cries, because they were more for him than they were for you to respond to, and because you weren’t even sure he meant to be this vulnerable. You were sure that, at some point in the future, he would no longer relate to any of the statements he was declaring now, but he just didn’t know and couldn’t believe that yet so there was no point in saying it now.

You weren’t good at this kind of stuff, but you simply said what you told yourself when you were in a similar low point.

“These might be your consequences, but these consequences don’t have to define who you are.”

It was several more minutes of sniffing and clutching his duffel bag. You could tell the tears were subsiding though. It could have been what you said. Or it could have been him remembering you were there next to him. A woman he didn’t know was witnessing his breakdown. You almost pulled your hand away, but you sensed a ripple of discomfort in his demeanor, as if to ask, are you ashamed of me? The thought stayed in your mind. You shifted your hand and gently rubbed his upper back.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” you suggested softly, not leaning too close but close enough to be there as a physical presence. “Get into some fresh clothes. I’ll find a towel for you. Take your time. If you still want that cup of tea, I’ll be here to get that ready too.”

It was not your nature to give s single shit about a stranger.

It didn’t seem to be Jeon Jungkook’s nature to accept help either, and yet you felt those strong shoulders slump under your palm, giving up.

“O… Okay….”

-

You rapped your knuckle against the bathroom door.

“Hey, I’m going to put the towel by the sink and leave,” you called, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the falling water. “Take your ti–”

Everything happened very quickly.

You turned the knob with one hand as the other was holding the fluffy white bath towel you had found in the linen closet. Steam poured from the crack through the door, and you felt the heat before you felt the dampness of it. You heard the water shut off. You froze. And then, all of a sudden, the door was yanked open from the other side, revealing a dripping, wide-eyed, unquestionably naked Jeon Jungkook.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Was it something about doors or was it something about your poor timing? Perhaps he hadn’t heard you. You were looking up, at his face, by instinct. Droplets clung to his cheekbone and jaw. His black hair was flat against his head and did absolutely nothing in blocking those big dark brown pools of shock who really should not be shocked since he had opened the door on you. Unless he hadn’t known. But then why would he open the door trailing water everywhere butt-ass-naked knowing full well a stranger was somewhere on the other side?

Your eyes narrowed.

His ears were turning red.

The more you looked at his expression, the less you felt that he was inclined to move, hide himself, or literally anything else that would obviously provide the perception that he didn’t orchestrate this moment to some extent. Which is a lot of words to say – he had known you were there. He had opened the door on purpose. As this epiphany dawned on you, you saw his eyes dart. Flutter. He might have known but he hadn’t planned much else after that. You wondered what kind of reaction he had been trying to illicit by this, but the more time that elapsed and the more you thought about it, the more you understood that he was trying to do something reckless on purpose or worse.

Which would make you unintentional – or intentional – collateral to his current skewed judgement.

You didn’t like that.

You unfurled the towel and held it up lengthwise, pinching it by the two upper corners and continued directly staring into Jungkook’s face. With this action, he clearly caught on that you were catching on.

You saw him hold his breath.

You did not look down.

Oh, there were definitely things to look at. Even the hint of his defined shoulders and the toned upper half of his pecs was enough to give anyone a reason to look. But you didn’t, because that was basically the same as taking advantage of a drunk person. Although you didn’t really have qualms about giving the middle finger to other faux pas, questionable consent wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t thinking straight right now or, rather, you had no reason to believe that he was thinking straight because who the fuck is trying to sex up their friend’s next-door neighbor that they just met? He had just been cheated on.

So.

For revenge?

You pressed the corners of the towel to Jungkook’s wet shoulders and curled your fingers around them, touching his skin.

His inhale caught.

He stared into your eyes.

You dummy bunny, you thought.

His body was warm, and he was trembling. You still didn’t look down. You probably would have seen some things. Or one very obvious tent. In any case, you leaned in, not breaking eye contact. Jungkook seemed to realize that your approach was not giving what he thought he was going to be getting. Strangely, you could see a mixture of relief and disappointment in his expression. As if he was glad that you weren’t that kind of person, but also upset that the mere sight of his bare-and-available body couldn’t break your demeanor, somehow making him less in his own eyes.

This wasn’t your first rodeo, though. You’d seen all this shit before.

Maybe even been on his side of it.

Teenagers, right? No? Oh. Anyway.

He smelled clean. Herbal. A hint of yuzu. You synchronized your breathing to his. He didn’t seem to notice, but the shallowness waned. Dampness seeped to your palms. You felt him relax slightly, realizing you weren’t about to have an angry outburst at his appearance or his choice of, ahem, confrontation.

You stared into his eyes.

“You look better when you’re not crying,” you commented.

Jungkook flushed a little. There was good-naturedness in his awkward laugh though. “Uh… Thanks? I’d… I’d hope so…”

Your face was close to his. He seemed to notice it now. You let him have this suspended moment of heated wonder. You smiled at him.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” you asked.

A borrowed towel hung between his wet, naked body and your dry, clothed one.

His eyes held more life to them than before. “Ah… Yeah. Yes. If… If it’s not too much trouble,” he trailed off, embarrassment creeping into the timbre of his voice. “I don’t know… I dunno if there’s any hotteok.”

You held the edges of the towel. “I’ll look,” you reassured him.

He wasn’t looking away.

Your hair was messy from laying around all evening. You weren’t wearing any makeup because, again, it was evening and you weren’t expecting to leave your home. Your face might have been puffy from the salty soup of your dinner earlier in the night but, then again, there was always a little roundness to your cheeks. But Jungkook was observing your face very closely, and you were starting to think it wasn’t because of your appearance.

Or maybe it was.

You cut into his personal space just a little bit more.

“You need to hold onto the towel,” you advised.

Realization lit his ears bright red. You sensed his hands flying up, splaying over the soft white towel and pinning it to his chest, but you weren’t focused on that. You barely noticed. Instead, you were raising your eyebrows at the sound that came out of him.

Almost.

A whimper?

The moment hung into the air.

He knew you heard. You were still holding onto his shoulders. It wasn’t weird. You caught the look in his eyes. Well. You breathed out silently, backing away so he couldn’t feel the weight of your exhale. You had a task. Right. Your eyes connected for a split second. He saw something in yours that you didn’t conceal fast enough. You turned quickly, walking out of the hallway. Here you were, going out of your way for someone you barely knew. Make the tea, find a snack, get out, you told yourself, creating the mental checklist. He probably wanted to be alone to brood and all that. Yeah.

You made your way to the kitchen. Raised your hand to open the cupboards to begin your search for consumable comfort and noticed you were trembling. You frowned.

You smacked the back of your hand.

The shakes disappeared with the sting.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, and prepared the damn cup of tea.

-

Thankfully, the following encounter with Jeon Jungkook didn’t involve a door and an awkward stare-down. You were beginning to think it was going to become a pattern, but thankfully it was only correlation, not causation.

Instead, now the two of you were awkwardly at Kim Namjoon’s kitchen counter. Him sitting. You standing. He was staring at the cup of tea and two circles of pan-warmed hotteok with tears in his eyes.

Improvement.

You cleaned up after yourself quietly, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable by you watching him eating, but you noticed he wasn’t touching the food or drink. After what seemed like an eternity of gazing into the abyss, he gulped down a lungful of air and closed his eyes. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt and a pair of loose blue plaid cotton pants. His hair was still a little damp. As you washed the frying pan, you saw Jungkook scoot closer to the counter and nibble on the hotteok.

Whew.

He jolted a bit at the temperature of the tea but didn’t complain. You wiped down the counters and busied yourself in making sure everything was how you found it. Acquainting yourself with Namjoon’s kitchen was easier than acknowledging the heaviness in the room right now. Not quite between you and Jungkook, but, well, the circumstances in him being here in the first place.

You turned around, washcloth in hand.

Jungkook turned slightly, reached down, and pulled his hand up.

Your eyes immediately followed the movement, even before your registered the emotion in his eyes.

With a sharp snap, a small jewelry box now sat on the grey granite.

Namjoon’s kitchen was set in a C-shape. The refrigerator and stove on one wall, sink and cabinets on another, and an extension entering the living space that doubled as more countertop area that could accommodate two barstools. You had been a little surprised at how little there was in the kitchen, as there had been no special kitchen gadgets or appliances. Just the basics. Still, it was a small space. So, there you were, boxed in the kitchen, looking down at an emerald velvet jewelry box, and Jungkook was on the other side of the counter, chewing on his sweet snack, and looking down at it with you.

You glanced at him.

Emotionless, he reached over. The snake tattoo on his right wrist was what you fixated on, dark and winding and coiled, and you watched his forearm muscle underneath ripple as he cracked open the box, revealing a ring.

An engagement ring, you guessed.

He sat back, hollow.

You looked down at it.

The focal point was a round, clear stone. It didn’t quite hold the intense, prismatic sparkle of diamond, but it was large. Several carats mounted on a shining yellow gold band. Expensive, yet not extravagant or gaudy. Classic. You searched Jungkook’s body language to see if he wanted some type of reaction out of you, but he simply looked deflated. Out of it. Chewing and swallowing and taking another bite until all of the hotteok was gone. He drank the tea as the engagement ring glittered between you and him, now in Namjoon’s apartment, oblivious that it would never grace the hand of its intended owner.

“I hid it in the pocket of the pajama pants I’m wearing now.”

You almost didn’t register that Jungkook was talking because he sounded nearly robotic. Dissociated.

“I didn’t have to worry about her finding it. I always did the laundry. She hated doing laundry.”

You lived alone, so whether or not you hated doing laundry was irrelevant. You still had to do it. Hating it only made the chore worse. Hating doing the dishes was allowed because the dishwasher could do all the hard work for you. Not that any of this mattered. You were trying to mentally distract yourself to avoid interrupting him or forming any opinion.

“I didn’t mind though,” he continued, looking somewhere only he knew. “I like cleaning. I’m good at it.”

You weren’t sure if you liked this version of Jeon Jungkook speaking in complete sentences. His detached tone was becoming disconcerting. He looked somewhere between falling apart at any given moment and hurling the mug in his hand with a torn scream.

“She told me something once. About how my birthstone and her birthstone are the same. Sapphire.” You did the math. September children. Christmas-to-New-Years boinking for their parents. You tried not to grimace so Jungkook wouldn’t notice, although he was rambling to himself and had probably forgotten that you were right there. “I don’t know about that stuff but she showed me and I guess it’s true. I didn’t know they had white sapphires. The jeweler told me they were associated to new beginnings. Perfect for the start of a martial journey, he said. I thought that would be nice, and I could afford a bigger stone too. Girls like that, right? I don’t know. Once I got it, I thought, wow. It would look perfect on her hand. She could show it to all her friends every time she goes out. She loved going out and doing stuff. I stopped going because I felt like I was invading on her special time with friends. Or something. I trusted her, anyway. Right? I should. She…���

His head moved, his dark eyes shifting.

You raised your head, and he breathed out, gazing at you from far away.

“It was my fault,” he said, his voice cracking.

You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t know anything about the situation but I kinda doubt it.”

He looked down. “It must have been. I was too suffocating, she said. Too clingy. Her friends thought I acted too childish. She told me not to care… I could tell she cared. Two years. What was it for?”

You wished you had a good answer for him, if only to ease his misery. The best you could do was continue listening.

“I found out by accident,” Jungkook whispered. Small but enough for you to hear. “She didn’t mind if I touched her phone. She was sleeping, and it kept ringing. I took it to another room and turned off the sound, but someone kept calling. Wouldn’t stop. I knew the guy’s name. I remembered her talking about him before. She had a couple guy friends. She always talked about them just as much as her female friends. I never liked it, but I have to be a grown up about it, right? And then her KaokaoTalk started popping off. She didn’t have an existing thread with the guy. Weird. I didn’t mean to read the messages, but they kept coming one after another, it was just…”

His eyes hollowed again. He was reliving it. Second by second. Minute by minute. Pain clouded his expression. His voice became tight. His hand on the mug clutched hard, knuckles tense.

“He kept warning her he would tell me. Tell everyone. I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t believe it. Then my phone started going off. Screenshot after screenshot. Messages. Photos. Videos. And she was asking him in all of them. Initiating. Begging. Then her phone was going off again, all the other chats she had. Like a fucking bomb went off.” He seethed, dark brows furrowing, jaw tightening. But then a strange look superseded all of the anger, replacing it with emptiness. “And all at once I felt it.”

He raised his head and looked…

Guilty?

“Empty.”

You tilted your head curiously.

“Nothing,” Jungkook repeated, exhaling hard. “Just nothing. I didn’t feel anything for her. How fucking scary is that? Did I even love her at all? One moment I felt anger, betrayal, hatred. And the next, I felt nothing. I wish I could delete it all. Everything. She had moved into my place, but I don’t even want to look at that apartment anymore. I don’t want the furniture. I don’t want to walk down that street. I’ll pay until the lease is up but I just don’t want to be there. I packed my clothes, my game consoles, my equipment, but anything we shared I left because I don’t want to fucking see any of it. She woke up while I was packing. Trying to act all sweet and surprised. I just shoved her phone in her face and let her deal with that. She was yelling at me, saying all kinds of bullshit, trying to take stuff from my hands, and I told her not to fucking touch me and not to fucking speak to me ever again.”

Well.

Shit.

He glanced at you again. Apologetic.

“Sorry. I’m a bad person. I’m sorry you had to help me…”

You blinked at him.

He couldn’t raise his head.

“You sure about that?” you asked the silence.

His eyes shifted but didn’t rise. “What?”

“You sure I don’t help bad people on the regular?”

He lifted his head and frowned at you, searching your face. You didn’t elaborate. Your hands were on the edge of the counter, away from the sparkly trinket at the center, a symbol of something shattered still so pristine, then it was an empty plate, empty cup, and finally Jungkook, his features contorted, trying to understand what you were saying.

Good luck, because you mostly said it to break him out of his self-pity party. Although, all things considered, it wasn’t a lie. How many good people were there on this forsaken planet, truly? Meh.

“Yeah…” he mumbled. “I don’t know anything about you.”

You shrugged and figured that was it.

“So, tell me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His brow furrowed defiantly. “Yeah. Tell me.” He repeated himself, sharper this time. You made a face at him. He remained stubborn. “I told you about my life. What about yours?”

You weren’t impressed by his delusions. “Uh, unsolicited, by the way. I didn’t ask. You’re the one who started yapping.”

Jungkook blinked at you, startled by your dismissive tone or perhaps your word choice. You folded the washcloth primly and scrutinized him back. He faltered under your gaze, looking down at the empty light blue plate. There were a few tiny crumbs left, but its purpose had already been served.

“R… Right. Sorry.”

A little thought in the back of your mind nagged you. Please be nice to him. Namjoon’s words rang in your ear. You winced, and Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, too busy being ashamed for himself. There was a brief mental tug of war within yourself before you finally said, “I’m not currently dating anyone.”

His form ruffled a bit but it wasn’t much.

You tried not to roll your eyes. “I’ve had a couple of serious boyfriends,” you admitted. “But they didn’t work out for one reason or another. Nothing dramatic. For example, one of them we simply broke up because his parents hated me.”

“Why?” He perked up and was looking at you now.

You twisted your lip. “Because I’m a whore,” you sneered.

Jungkook blinked at you, taken aback.

“Anyway,” you continued, glossing over it. “It’s not for me.”

“What isn’t?”

“Romance.”

“Why?”

You narrowed your eyes and then sighed. What an exchange. “Because what I want is not something other people want.”

“What do you want?” Jungkook followed up, curious, sitting up in his chair now. “What’s different?”

You rubbed the back of your head. “Different…” You mulled over the word. You looked down at the ring between you and him. “What is this ring to you?”

His eyes followed, downcast. “Uh… well… it means I want to be married…?”

“That you want other people to know, hey, that’s my future wife?”

Something flashed over his expression but disappeared just as quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

The ring shone, its many facets silvery and sparkling.

“Well, I want to have sex,” you professed.

On cue, Jungkook tore his eyes away from the counter to gawk, startled at your forwardness. You made eye contact. Half-smiled. What? He had a cute face.

“Most people have sex because of what sex means. Then there are people like me who have sex because of what sex is.”

He was staring at you like a fish out of water.

“This ring is an example of the things humans do to create an image for others.” Your finger circled around the ring, toying with light and shadow above the shine. “Which is not a bad thing, to want your bond to be acknowledged by others. It can be empowering. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s something we do to protect ourselves. Something we do to strengthen the walls of the house that is slowly revealed to be made of cards.” You pulled your hand back. Jungkook’s face fell, gradually understanding what you meant. “Me, I don’t care what the outside of the house looks like. Sure, it would be cool for the outside to be perfected just the way I like it, but ultimately I don’t care. I only care about what’s inside. I find most actions connected to the word ‘romance’ are things we do to be acknowledged by others. There is an unnecessary pressure to fit your story into an ideal that other people need to approve of. And I hate that. So, I don’t pursue it.”

There was a pause.

Through a filtered gaze of his messy bangs, Jungkook asked, “What did you mean?”

“About what?”

“About having sex… for what it is.”

That’s what he got out of that? Still, you raised a hand to ask him a question. “Why do you have sex?”

The tips of his cheeks blushed red. “Uh.”

You started ticking down fingers.

“To express your love to your partner. To feel connection with someone else. To do something for someone that, supposing you both agreed, is an act of service you can’t get anywhere else. To make up for your mistakes to them. To show your worth and value to them.”

Your hand a fist.

“To get off.”

Jungkook’s big eyes shifted from your fist to your face. You hadn’t raised or lowered your hand for the last one.

“Selfishness is usually last on the list,” you said, uncurling your hand. “And the first and main reason why people break relationships. So, it’s bad. Supposedly.” You placed your hand on the cool stone. “And maybe I am selfish, which would theoretically put me at the bottom of the list, since I don’t have sex for other people. I have sex for the act itself. To explore the complexity of physical and mental interacting. To satiate my curiosity in that unique type of pleasure and all the things that contribute to it. To me, sex is pure. You cannot hide. You cannot lie. People try to do both, and I find that type of dishonesty exhausting and ugly.”

You looked back to Jungkook to see if he was following. His eyes were glazing over a little bit, but he seemed to understand the general sentiment. That was okay. It would be better not to spend too long on the soapbox.

“Anyway, it never feels like anyone is fully committed to the act. They are trapped in the reasons of what sex means to them. Or their relationship with sex is more deteriorated than they like to admit. The sex sucks. I can taste that it is tainted, and not in a good way.” You cocked your head. “People tend to seek to replicate what they felt before. Or they want something better than what they currently have. The past and future constantly compete with the present. Achieving orgasm has become more important than anything else. In search of meaning, the fundamentals have become an afterthought. I’m not saying love isn’t important, but I can’t accept that sex plays second fiddle to everything else. That sex needs some other reason than itself to be valid. We’ve lost the damn plot, I fear,” you chuckled, giving him a moment to absorb that.

Jungkook frowned. He didn’t look wholly lost though. “So… Romance isn’t for you because, uh.” He paused. “The purity of sex? Or something?”

You half-laughed. “That and because no one wants to put up with my bullshit.”

A beat before a soft, “Oh.”

His pensive face was rather charming. You continued to smile.

“I kinda agree though,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

Discomfort invaded his thoughtful demeanor. “Uh… Whenever we had sex… It was on her terms. Because she had to give her consent first. Since I wanted it more than her.” He wasn’t looking at you nor speaking that clearly. Still, you stayed attentive. “I’d… uh. I’d get hard and then put it in her and then finish and… yeah. Yeah. That was it.”

You blinked.

And blinked again, more rapidly this time. “Sorry, what?”

Jungkook grimaced, cowering a bit at your tone. “It felt good. And stuff,” he said defensively.

You felt offended for him. “You’re joking.”

He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. “It wasn’t good. But I figured it wouldn’t be like the pornos.”

“Well, it’s not,” you agreed. “But sex sure as hell isn’t… whatever fuckery you just described.”

His spine was emulating a shrimp at the moment. “Yeah.”

You looked down at the ring.

“You wanted to marry this woman?”

His eyes followed yours. “The parts of it that were good were good.”

You doubted it but you bit that lackluster lure anyway. “Like what?”

Something in his eyes broke. “Like… We watched the same shows. She loved to dance. Had a great smile, loved to laugh… I used to make her laugh all the time.” His lashes lowered. “In the beginning, she’d surprise me by signing us up for random classes around the city. Pottery, painting, cooking, flower arrangement, making traditional Korean alcohol. We learned a lot of stuff together. It was good,” he breathed out, his hands clasped around each other. “And then… One time, she signed us up for some activity but I already had plans. I didn’t want to cancel them. We argued. I remember she was so uncharacteristically angry about it. She was almost never like that. So, I must have been the wrong one, right? She never enrolled us for another class again. We had fun, until…” He trailed off.

Leaving the empty calendar as his constant reminder, you thought. It was a clever tactic. Even now, he was questioning himself. You narrowed your eyes. Poked the bear a bit. “Sounds more like she dragged you around without even asking you first. Did you actually have fun at any of these things?”

His gaze shifted. “I… I did…”

It didn’t even sound like he believed himself.

You sighed, defeated. “A ring wasn’t gonna save that house of cards.”

His eyes went to the almost-engagement ring. You tried to imagine it. Something so alive becoming so catatonic over time. Trying to do everything you could to resurrect what was lost, only to learn it had been alive after all.

Just not with you.

“No. It wouldn’t,” he agreed hollowly.

Silence.

Back to square one.

You reached over and took the plate and mug. Washed them, lathering up with the dish soap, rinsing it off. Dried them, because you were unsure if Namjoon’s dishwasher was a frequently used appliance or a drying rack. It was empty so it was hard to tell. You squeezed out the sponge and set it back into its niche. Placed the dishes back into their respective places. Dried off your hands. Turned around.

Jungkook was still staring at the ring.

“Life only gets harder,” you said softly.

He raised his head, confronting you with a devastating desolation in his eyes. Part of you wanted to lie. Lie, and say it got easier. Lie, and say he would find someone better. Lie, but what would be the point to lie to someone that had already been lied to so deeply, so cruelly, still bleeding from a wound that would become a scar someday? You couldn’t assure anything. You couldn’t lie. It got harder the more you cared. It got harder the more hurt you had time to witness. It got harder as time slipped away. You just had to hope that random chance and a bit of luck was on your side.

“Could I put it on your finger?” Jungkook asked.

You set down the washcloth. The comprehension of his question sank in. “What?”

He reached down.

Wrapped his shaking fingers around the box, and tilted it towards you. The white sapphire glistened, foreign, beautiful, and not yours. Not for your eyes. Not for your hand. Not meaning anything to you, to that relationship, to anything anymore.

It was another shiny thing that had become dull without meaning.

“Could I put this ring on your hand, please?” he pleaded again. “Just once. Just once since… Since I don’t know if I… If I will ever get the chance to do it.”

You wanted to tell him, of course you will. Of course, being that handsome and naïve and innocent and, goddamn, he has such big wistful eyes, fuck, you thought, taking one step. Two. Three. That was all it took. You looked down at the ring. You saw his tattooed fingers fumble a little with the thin band. It was almost comical. You were in your house clothes. Jungkook was in his pajamas. Namjoon’s kitchen counter was not a place for a not-proposal. Your left hand came forward. Your fingers spread out a little, and Jungkook’s left hand gently slid under, lifting your wrist, warm and careful, and your eyes found his.

A complex maze of emotions met you.

You lifted your ring finger.

Jungkook said your name, very quietly. It appeared that he had finally read those tests Namjoon had sent him ages ago. Probably before or after his shower. You nodded, not really knowing what to say. This wasn’t in the life handbook, per se. And the way he said your name, delicately and with such breakability, made you not want to dispute it.

He looked down and slid the engagement ring on your finger.

Stared.

Pulled his hands away, letting out a tense exhale.

The large stone gleamed.

You moved your fingers ever-so-slightly, and the ring flipped, the stone dropping down to the inside of your hand.

Awkward.

“Oh…”

You used your right to adjust it. “It’s… Sorry. It’s slightly too big for my ring finger,” you muttered, trying to jam the gold band down a bit to help. “Welp.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook chuckled and, to your surprise, he sounded almost amused. “I just wanted to see what it would look like on you.”

“It’s very shiny,” you admitted. Namjoon’s previous words gave you another swift kick to the pants. “I mean, it’s nice. It’s a lovely ring. You made a good choice.” You held the band delicately and switched it to your middle finger. It fit perfectly, without moving. “Ah, there we go.” You held your left hand up, palm towards you and showed it off to him. “Now you can see it without it slipping and sliding anywhere.”

You stilled once you saw his expression.

A longing for something no longer possible.

And yet there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

He noticed your focus on him and Jungkook smiled for real, the action not reaching his eyes at all.

“It looks good on you. Pretty hands.”

It was a compliment but he said it with all the joy of one getting their heart ripped from their chest.

A strange surge of protectiveness overcame you.

You had never met Jungkook’s would-be fiancé, but in this moment, if you did, she sure as hell would not want to meet you. You couldn’t keep it in your damn pants, woman? Bitch. You scowled even at the thought. Jungkook was too transfixed on his engagement ring on your middle finger to give a fuck. This whole situation was infuriating. Sure, you were too clinically cynical for a mushy-gushy fairytale but, fuck, couldn’t we bend life’s rules just once for this sucker? You lowered your hands. His eyes followed, dulled in the presence of the sparkle. You moved to take it off.

His gaze snapped to yours.

You stopped.

It was like seeing someone alive and dead at the same time. He seemed to be in the midst of a daydream and a nightmare, thoughts crossed between what could have been and what was lost. You wanted to say something movie-script worthy, something to make it all better, and yet you held back once more, not quite believing in them yourself. The ring seemed unusually heavy now.

“It doesn’t match you though,” Jungkook suddenly muttered.

You looked down at the ring. “No. Not really.”

“White gold would look better.”

He was correct. Maybe he could tell from the small hoops in your ears. “Ah, yeah. I’m more of a white gold girl.”

“You deserve a diamond.”

You scoffed. He caught your eye. For once, you were the one to look away, breaking that contact.

“Hah… No, I don’t.”

Not like you did anything to deserve a diamond. You went to work. Went home, puttered around. Passed out. Sometimes you went out in search of a fuck. Sometimes you traveled a bit to cut through the mundane. But there was no charity work here. For what? To end up like Jungkook? To have your trust broken, shattered by someone you thought would keep it safe? And you couldn’t blame them and take revenge, because the high road had no room for low blows. Supposedly heaven was only for the most righteous, which already excluded you. Might as well live to the bare minimum instead of chasing an ideal knowing you could never be forgiven.

And all that shit.

Somehow your space-out had resulted in you completely losing track of Jungkook. One second, he was sitting in the tan leather barstool in front of you. The next, it was empty. You started, and then turned.

Face-to-face.

Jungkook took your left hand in his right.

Held it.

The conversation had gone on so long that his hair was dry now. A little frizzy from being air-dried. It covered his forehead, but not his eyes. His warmth and yours connected. From palm to palm. Under those big eyes was heavy darkness, hinting at sleepless nights. You paused, unsure of his motive. He seemed to be searching for something.

You caught his wrist.

Jungkook froze in mid-movement, about to lean his head down.

You shook yours.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t advance but also didn’t back off. “… Don’t what?”

You squeezed his wrist. His expression rippled. A sound muted in his throat.

“Don’t do it,” you warned again. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Contemplation flitted over his face. His eyes went from his ring on your middle finger to you. Tense, elongated seconds passed. You could tell Jungkook hadn’t quite expected that answer from you. He had expected the rejection, and yet. There was a mixture of defiance and innocence in his gaze. You could smell his scent under the body wash he had used. Masculine and earthy.

You inhaled deeply.

Don’t, you thought, but this time it was to scold yourself.

“It won’t make you feel better,” you assured him.

He was more focused on your hand gripping his wrist than your words. You did not let go. In fact, you tightened your hold, your fingers pressing into his tattoos, the ring digging into you and into him. His dark eyes raised.

“You sure about that?” he whispered.

Uh oh.

Jungkook reached up with his left hand and brought your joined hands to his body. For a brief suspended moment, the round cut white sapphire cut into his clothed chest, close enough for you to feel the racing beat of his heart. You let go of his wrist, giving way to the pressure, and immediately he turned your hand, placing your palm to fabric.

Grazed your touch over his quivering pecs.

He sucked in a breath, his expression hazing over.

You stared at him.

He stared back, his lips forming your name.

Your right hand shot up and covered his mouth. You were trembling. You seized up immediately, wondering if he noticed, but at this point what did it matter? His left hand was still keeping yours on his body, pressing your fingers to the contours of his muscle. “What… What are you doing?” You sharpened your tone, trying to drag him back into reality. You almost expected a cliché answer at this point, but Jungkook only replied breathlessly, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know.

For someone that had been practically disintegrating before your eyes minutes ago, Jeon Jungkook was feeling very solid right now. But it was obvious what he was doing. Right? You looked into his eyes but couldn’t hold it. He just wanted comfort. He just wanted a feeling more than anything. He just wanted to prove that he was worthy of some kind of intimacy, any kind of intimacy, and he was using you, but it didn’t have to be you, it could be anyone.

You clenched your jaw, curling your fingernails inward.

Jungkook’s low moan cut through your venom.

You raised your head, turning your head to him. It didn’t have to be you. But he was looking at you like that. It doesn’t have to be you, and you kept telling yourself that, you kept thinking that but Jungkook kept looking at you like you could save him, from the first meeting at the front door to the standoff at the door of the bathroom to the gaze over empty dishes and a sparkling stone, save you, shit, I can’t even save myself, and you were still wearing his almost engagement ring for another woman on your middle finger, a big fuck-you to that shattered martial life, and before you knew it there was a collision of your lips to his. Your right hand had shot up, hooking around his head, and you dragged Jungkook down to your level.

Low, because the high road had already fucked him over.

He let out a startled squeak that you swallowed, consumed, devoured, and you stole every breath he took in lips and tongue, clawing your fingers through his hair. Then your mind caught up with your body still electrified with craving, asking yourself if you should stop, but then you noticed Jungkook’s hands were grasping for your upper arms, dragging you to him. There was a brief thought of how this was not the kind of intimacy he had received in a long time, and so perhaps his hunger was justified.

Truthfully, hunger was putting it mildly.

You bit his lower lip and sucked hard, opening your eyes.

Jungkook was looking back, and he was falling.

You released him, your tongue snaking out, and simultaneous shivers sprang forth from the fork in the road. Your nails raked over clothes and skin, drawing out his gasps like droplets during a thunderstorm, and you gleefully drowned in his sound. Your tongue pressed to his throat, teeth soon after, leaving bruises in your wake, dying for that taste of flushed skin. Bodies close but pain even closer, and there was no good reason that this should feel good which was precisely why it felt heavenly.

You dragged your hands up to his head, caged into his hair possessively, feeling the unrelenting trap of the ring still on your bent fingers.

Your right eye and his left locked as your tingling lips moved against his cheek.

“I’m still wearing your ring.”

His hot, heavy breath radiated against your neck.

“The ring,” he corrected.

The rebellion in his eyes gleamed.

The ring.

Your left hand trailed down, onto his chest, turning your nails inward, and you watched him follow it, fixated on the ring, replacing any former thoughts he had of it with right now, with the way you slipped your fingers under the hem of his shirt, deliberately catching it onto the large stone, all those expensive carats brought for someone else and now worn by a deviant, creeping up his torso, pushing away the fabric between his nakedness and your carnal intent.

Your eyes connected.

You licked the side of your lip, slowly smirking. “Your plan was for me to fuck you wearing it?”

His cheeks turned pink at your teasing.

“N-No, I d-didn’t… I…”

Jungkook sucked in a tight breath as the pad of your finger brushed over his nipple. You did it again. He looked embarrassed. You weren’t. You pressed your other hand against his abdomen and felt him tense, exposing muscle that was surely crafted from long hours at the gym. You dug your nails in. He moaned, and you hissed his name like a fond prayer, mesmerized by the way his hair fell over his eyes, his body bowing towards you. You gripped his shirt in one hand, his pants in the other, and pulled them away from his body, up and down respectively, exposing skin and desperation.

He grabbed the sides of his shirt and yanked it up and over his head.

Your tongue touched his chest, sliding upwards.

His head fell back, black hair flaring, dark eyes half-moons of lust, his mouth open and depraved sound escaping, all the way up his throat until you reached his chin, rising to tiptoes, and then Jungkook returned, catching your lips with a persistent kiss, possessed by instinct.

You thrust your tongue into his mouth and felt his hands slide under your tank top, wrapping around your waist. You weren��t wearing a bra. After all, you had originally intended on not spending much time here. That hadn’t worked out. The looseness of the top had prevented you from revealing any obvious shape and until now you hadn’t given it much thought. You felt Jungkook pinch the edges of the fabric and tug back, shaping the white jersey into the soft curve of your breasts and the peaks of your hard nipples. He was looking too, even with your tongue in his mouth.

He let out a muffled, “Fuck…” in between gasps.

You pulled back with a nick of his lower lip. Entranced, he leaned down, his hands pressing into the small of your back, and you bent into it, arching your spine as you felt warm wetness rub against one of your nipples.

You watched him.

He watched you back, circling the tip of his pink tongue around the nub, soaking the fabric and sticking it to your skin. Sucking on it, sending a flare of pleasure up your torso, his palms solidly in the bend of your waist. Your pulse snaked upwards, catching in your throat, reducing all thoughts to white noise, and you lost yourself in the way his tongue moved, licked, trailing from one nipple to the other, saliva soaking through your shirt and clinging to your skin, painting you in clear lust.

You hooked a leg around his hip and you could feel him.

You reached between your bodies and dragged the hem up your chest, baring your breasts to his eyes and searching mouth. Jungkook didn’t need to be asked twice. It was as if everything he had seen, longed for, dreamed of, all that he had repressed and tried to forget burst up to the surface, uninhibited any longer, and the feeling of his eager tongue on your wet, hard nipples was intoxicatingly electric. Your grip dug into his hair, pressing his head into your chest. Heat rising from your bodies, sparks igniting in your blood at his frantic licks, rolling your hips into his growing erection.

There really was very littler separating his hard cock and your dampening pussy.

Your nails raked over his back.

“Harder,” he groaned, clutching your waist so hard that it was impossible to get away.

You growled and delivered.

His eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttering, and you had a fistful of his hair, pulling hard. You wondered if this was actually his kink or a product of circumstance. The glazed-over look in his eyes and violent twitching of his hardness between your thighs was hinting towards the former, which wasn’t a good thing.

Mostly because being on the other side of masochism was your kink.

Fuck.

You shoved his face into your chest and muffled his desperate moan as you yanked on his hair again, striking your hips into his hard-on, putting more force in it than necessary. He held your waist and grinded into the dip of your upper thigh. You closed your legs around him. The friction was sending him over the edge, even to the point of you being able to hear and feel the squish of drenched fabrics between you and him. Your breathing was rapid, shallow, thinning.

You shoved him off you.

Jungkook had a moment of disoriented breathlessness.

Your shirt flew off, over the counter and somewhere into the living room. You immediately dropped with such speed that he had no time to react when you snagged your fingers over the two waistbands of his pants and underwear, and yanked them down to the floor. Those big eyes widened, but you fixated on his thick, hard cock that sprang out, the tip dark red and angry. Slick with pre-cum. You would smell him. Heady and needy. He had nice balls, you observed. Supple and full.

Not for long.

You slid your right hand up. Covering his balls with your palm, anchoring his shaft between your middle and ring finger. Raised your left hand, and looked up at him.

Jungkook looked back, mouth open, eyes widening.

You slapped his erection.

Hard.

His entire body jolted and his gasp morphed into a strangled moan. You watched flashes of reaction overtake his expression. Shame. Desire. Regret. Then regret at that regret. Then need, want, starvation, his hands curling into fists, his chest rapidly rising and falling, and you took his breath away by smacking the shaft again, hard. His cock snapped back into place instantly, twitching, harder than before. He sucked in a tight breath, shaking his head with his lips whispering, “P… Please…”

You tipped your head back and slapped his dick, the ring on your hand visible every time you smacked it down.

Ecstasy rippled through his body. You could tell Jungkook could see the whisper of the sapphire too, maybe even feel the gold band, and it was turning him on even more. Due to the placement of your other hand, you could keep him still and increase the force, even pressing your palm into his balls to add further pressure. He fell apart in real time, but in pain superimposed with pleasure, each strike a spike to your core, thundering heartbeat roaring in your ears.

You stopped mid-slap.

Jungkook nearly protested.

Until you swallowed his cock.

You felt him swell and shudder at the contact of your tongue and throat closing in around his girth, and you pushed up, swirling wet muscle around him, covering him in saliva, drunk at the taste and fullness trapped between your lips. Up, down, vibrating the low point of your throat before drawing back, grazing your lips around the head, slow-fucking the tip.

You raised your eyes to stare into his face.

He was looking back, in awe and intoxication. He had fallen over a bit, draping you in shadow, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, and you sucked lightly, arcing your spine to delight him with the perkiness of your breasts.

“Oh… fuck… O-Oh, god…”

You tilted your head back and took him in deep, circling your tongue around the length before closing in at the back of your mouth and gently stroking the throbbing head with the contraction of your inner muscles. A low groan drifted from his lips, astonished at the precision of your control. You reached up and kneaded his balls, applying even pressure throughout before pulsing tighter. His reaction was immediate, yelping as his eyelids fluttered, letting out a weak and desperate, “A-Again…” You squeezed again, sucking hard in unison. “F-Fuck, again, p-please…”

But you did him one better.

You smacked his balls with the pads of your fingers.

Jungkook threw his head back and bit back an intense moan, his shoulders shaking.

“Holy… w-what…?”

The trick to it was to apply force but immediately cease all movement after contact with skin. His nerves would immediately register the power of the hit while the recoil repercussions would be minimal. His nuts couldn’t handle being a springboard, after all. It took a lot of control, and was easier to do if you angled upwards, as it would prevent your fingernails from getting caught on his balls while also allowing his body to absorb the shock. You didn’t hit him that hard. It was very likely that he didn’t have much experience in this – unless he was smacking his own balls while jacking himself off. Unlikely, though. And this was confirmed by the way he froze up and simply allowed you to choke with dick with your mouth as you smacked his balls. No part of him resisted. He left himself be at your mercy, even asking for more, nonsensical pleas above your head, and you could feel that he was nearing the end, mostly because he was biting hard on his lower lip, his obscene noises even louder despite being stifled in his throat, and so for the very end you switched to keeping his balls in a locked grip, maintaining constant pressure as you focused on his cock, up, down, repeat, over and over, feeling him twitch against your tongue.

His thick cum flooded the back of your mouth.

His head snapped back and Jungkook screamed behind closed lips, orgasming in your punishing mouth in the middle of Namjoon’s kitchen, his pants and underwear at his ankles, his chest beaded with sweat, and his cock jolted again, streaming more down your throat. You swallowed shallowly, and Jungkook’s pitch hitched to pathetic. His right hand flew to his chest and he dug his blunt nails into his skin, scratching down his chest roughly, moaning to the ceiling as your tongue ghosted around his still-hard cock.

You swallowed again.

Jungkook cried out and thrust his hips into your face.

His chin tipped down and you caught his surprised cry, “I… I’m still hard?” As if he wasn’t trying to end your life right here on foreign tile. You grabbed his hips, easing him back a little, then resumed a deliberate, leisurely back-and-forth, watching his every move.

His arm lowered, his dark tattoos glimmering with sweat. Panting. You raised your left hand and spread your fingers along his v-line. Traced his abs with your middle finger, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes chased your actions with wanton fervor. As if he almost forgot you were still wearing the ring, but then remembered once you put it in his vision again. It aroused him. You felt his cock shiver as you touched him. The wrongness of it all turned him on.

A very expensive turn-on, but a rare silver lining of the day.

His gaze shifted to your face, shame clouding his eyes.

You pulled back, resting the head of his cock on the flat of your tongue.

“Tell me you like it,” you ordered, talking around his dick.

“Uh… W-What?”

Your eye-line went from the ring to his face. You pinched your lips around the base of the head, causing him to gasp sharply, before opening your mouth again to speak.

“Tell me you like watching me get you off while wearing the ring.”

His eyes widened.

You slipped your left thumb along the underside of his drenched length and sucked on the head, closing your fingers around the shaft. His breath caught. You pulled your head back, perfected your grip, and started jacking him off.

With that very expensive rock completing the obscene image.

The whine Jungkook made was in between raw shock and intense bliss, gawking at your audacity. Or depravity. Whichever. He was going to need a good jewelry cleaner before selling this ring back, but you wouldn’t mind paying for that. The gold band was slippery with spit and a hint of cum, but you kept your fingers together, preventing the stone from moving, dispersing tight and firm pressure throughout his pulsing hardness, feeling a grin creep onto your lips, relishing in his whimper and panic, betrayed by his body leaning into the punishment.

“I… oh, f-fuck… Fuck…”

You lifted an eyebrow and slowed down just a tad.

“N-No, please...! I… I like it,” he whispered, his normally deep voice strained.

You smacked the front of his balls with the backs of two fingers from your free hand.

Jungkook moaned and crumpled, almost into a ninety-degree bow, clasping the edge of the counter. “A-Ah, g-god… I l-like it…” His eyes swam with desire, ensnaring you in his immoral feelings. “I need it… It’s so fucking hot… You getting me off while wearing the ring I brought for a-another woman…” His voice wavered. He clenched his jaw, tightening his core, giving you more room to continue. “Spit on it. Let me cum on it. Fuck. Fuck, ruin me.”

Your hand was rapidly moving on its own while your lips parted, locked in the twisted passion of this fucked-up context.

“Ruin me.”

Jungkook was staring right at you, an order and a plea in the same breath, his eyes so dark in this shadow that they seemed black. A bolt of sinful pleasure slid down your spine. You gripped his cock, tighter, imprisoning him. Somehow he had become even harder, his rapid pulse against the palm of your hand. You could feel his greed for pain, his appetite for your power, his directed attention locked on you, just you, you and everything you were right now, fighting the burn in your bicep but not stopping, fueled by feral willpower and corrupt adrenaline that was better than any runner’s high.

You smiled, unable to hide your enjoyment any longer.

He saw it, acknowledged it, and shuddered.

“I-I’m gonna cum, oh fuck–!”

You opened your mouth and Jungkook shot onto your tongue. Thick, hot, viscous streaks, the bittersweet taste coating your tongue. Devilishly divine. You pressed the tip to your wet muscle and he whined, forcing his eyes open to watch himself dump his load into your mouth. You rubbed it back and forth, making him flinch all over, and so you subsided in seeing him reach his limit even though his eyes were devouring every second of this wickedness.

You drew back a little.

Closed your knees inward, which lifted up your torso.

And spat onto your hand.

Onto the ring. Coating it in an unholy mixture of cum and saliva over a still glimmering white sapphire and shining yellow gold. Jungkook gasped your name in amazement, speechless at the depravity. You tucked your head back, watching the silky fluids sink in between your fingers, smirking, your skin tingling as you witnessed it.

You looked up at him.

He looked back at you. Jaw slack. Eyes wide. Half-hard in your hand and getting harder as you slowly, deliberately, stroked his cock with the slick, milky, makeshift lubricant. You felt it stick to his balls, run down your wrist, making a mess, the heady scent of his release saturating the air and this memory.

“You’re persistent,” you remarked, ticking your chin to his dick.

A whimper bubbled from his chest. “That’s… That’s n-not me.”

You shot him an oh-really look.

“That’s all him,” Jungkook protested, gesturing wildly to his lower half. “I don’t even… I’m not normally like this!”

“Uh huh,” you agreed dismissively.

“It’s true!”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” you pointed out.

“I… Oh, f-fuck…”

-

You opened the front door to your apartment to a shirtless Jeon Jungkook with his blue plaid pajama pants so hastily yanked on that you wondered if half a butt cheek was hanging out. Then you wondered what the fuck he was doing here.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Out of breath, clutching one side of the doorframe, relief crushing through the panic in his eyes. His hair was sticking up halfway, as if he had attempted do it something about it but ultimately decided he didn’t care. He stood in the dark hallway, the light from your apartment washing over him. You had a good reason for being in your home at the moment. Ultimately the idea of using Namjoon’s dishes to clean off Jungkook’s bodily fluids on a very expensive ring was, uh, too much. Overstepping an unspoken boundary, mayhap. As if having sex with his friend in his kitchen wasn’t. Anyway, you had jewelry cleaner under your kitchen sink. The plan was simple. Get in your apartment, put the ring in one of the shallow metal saucers you had, rinse off your hands while heating up a bit of hot water, wash off the ring with said hot water in the safety of the saucer, polish it up with jewelry cleaner. It was dying on a paper towel in your kitchen right now. Nowhere close to the sink because you weren’t about to lose millions of won that didn’t belong to you to the sewer.

So, yeah. That was why you were here.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you loudly whispered.

Jungkook exhaled hard, his dark brows knitting together. “What? You have the ring,” he hiss-whispered back.

You bristled. “I told you I was cleaning it off.”

His eyes darted up and down, as if disapproving that you had put your tank top back on. Of course you had put your shirt back on. What were you going to do, slink back into your apartment with your tits out and one of your hands covered in his cum? Yes, that happened. After spitting on him, you had put his hard cock back into your mouth, sucked him until about halfway to the high, and finished him off with your right hand, all so you could make him orgasm onto the ring on your left, onto your middle finger, cum sliding down your forearm. It hadn’t taken long. You had pointed that out to Jungkook too. He had told you to shut up, his ears bright red as he did so.

Naturally, you took that moment to hightail it out of there so he could fix himself up in peace and relative dignity.

“How would I know you weren’t stealing it?” he snapped.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’m totally going to drive to the pawn shop with a cum-covered ring and get extra for your excellent sperm sample. It’s time sensitive, after all,” you added sarcastically, not backing down despite his irritated demeanor. 

He flapped his jaw, likely not knowing how to respond to that, and then collected himself. “Well, just because you’re washing it off doesn’t mean you would come back!”

You were personally offended. “I was coming back,” you retorted.

A darkness laced into his gaze.

“I have no reason to believe that,” Jungkook muttered.

Any anger you had dissipated upon hearing his words. Your shoulders slumped and you lowered your eyes. Right. Yeah, obviously. The fight seemed to deflate out of him too, as if you both suddenly remembered why he was here at all, why you even knew who he was, why an almost-engagement ring was sparkling in your kitchen right now. You raised your head, and yet you hesitated at his hunched-up form before you, because in this equation the most probable outcome was you being nothing more than temporary comfort for a temporary wound.

Right?

Yeah, obviously.

Jungkook looked up, meeting your eyes, and, despite your best self-deprecation, something in his expression told you that he didn’t run over here half-naked for the stupid ring.

Your lips parted.

Somewhere down the hall, a bubble of laughter and conversation began to rise.

Panic shot through your chest. He caught on just as quickly, his big eyes widening, half-turning, as if there was time to gauge how much time he had to make his getaway, but your hands moved on their own, snatching him by the shoulders and pulling hard, throwing both of you into the confines of your apartment. His arms flew about like a rag doll. Jungkook stumbled in with a wheezing, “Wah!” You twisted, clearing the curve of the closing door, and pinned his back to it, slamming it shut.

Sudden quiet.

Except for the heightened awareness of your own rapid breathing. You closed your eyes, mentally counting, one two three four, two two three four, taking stock of each inhale and exhale. Shit. Shit, what the fuck were people doing out at this hour? Having fun?! With friends?!? Goddamnit, you thought, hoping nobody saw the shirtless man standing outside your door bickering with you, and suddenly you remembered said shirtless man was in your hands.

You opened your eyes to see Jungkook gawking at you with those innocent-looking big eyes of his.

He didn’t say anything.

You wondered if he would believe you.

“I was coming back,” you repeated, emphasizing it with a nod.

A complicated set of emotions flashed through the shadows of his expression. He nodded back, and you could tell he was doing it only to appease you. You shook him against the door and smacked your hands down on his shoulders, glaring back at him.

“I was coming back,” you growled.

Jungkook looked pained, as if he wanted to believe you more than anything, but just couldn’t.

You sucked on the inside of your cheek and flung yourself from him, spinning around sharply so he couldn’t see your face. You couldn’t blame him. Oh, you had lied before, lied with a straight face and no remorse, but for some reason the idea of Jungkook thinking that you were doing so made you terribly upset. Fuck, yeah, it pissed you off. And it wasn’t his fault, Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that shit, yet some part of you wanted to scream, believe me, please believe me, and you couldn’t for the life of you make heads or tails of why that was, walking in a circle, wringing your hands, rubbing your temples with a grimace, not wanting to take your outburst out on him.

It was such a small thing.

You were coming back, he didn’t believe you, and that was that, you would have to accept it.

But you couldn’t.

You just needed a second to accept it. Right?

“How the fuck did I get myself in this situation?”

You muttered under your breath, abruptly ceasing your pacing and turning around, intending to march over to the ring, drop it in Jungkook’s palm, and shove him out of your apartment. Shove him and his stupid sexy butt into Namjoon’s place to neatly compartmentalize that, so long and goodnight, and promptly flop onto your bed to sleep and forget any of this ever happened.

Except, when you faced him, Jungkook caught you.

You started, not realizing he had followed. One second his hands were on your upper arms, and the next they were wrapped around your back, pulling you to him and trapping you in a tight, encompassing embrace that was not for you.

Your hands instinctively came up to cradle his waist.

He buried his face into your hair and inhaled deeply, holding onto you as if his life depended on it. Almost crushing. You thought he was trembling but perhaps it was just your imagination as you felt each shuddering breath steady against your chest. Honestly, you weren’t the hugging type, but this night was proving to be a night of exceptions. You closed your arms around him, not saying anything, letting him have this. Probably the most normal interaction of the night, truly. Jungkook wasn’t crying. He might have, if you had rejected him, but your instinct didn’t have the heart to. You caressed his back, running your fingers over his soft skin.

You didn’t know him.

He could be a serial killer.

Well, if he was, you were considering to offer to bury the bodies.

“Hey… You shouldn’t…”

Even so, you trailed off. You weren’t sure you quite believed what you were trying to say.

“I don’t care.”

His warm breath haloed the crown of your head. He pressed his lips to your hair.

“I don’t care,” he said again, softer this time.

A small, sweet, wrong happiness fluttered at those words.

“Okay,” you breathed, your lips brushing against his neck. You kissed him lightly. Felt him shiver. You smiled. Truth was, you didn’t care either. That was pretty selfish of you. But he was here of his own volition. And Jungkook held you first. And who the fuck were you justifying this to? I’ve lost it, you told yourself for the umpteenth time as he was turned his head and suddenly his lips were a centimeter from yours.

In shadows, your eyes met his.

“I turned your whole world upside down,” you confessed, warning him that this was a one-way highway and he was breaking the speed limit.

You felt Jungkook smile.

“Thank fuck for that,” and then he put pedal to the metal.

Upon reflection, what the fuck was Jungkook thinking, bursting into your apartment with only pajama pants and a dream? Oh, and some sandals borrowed from Namjoon, which quickly flew off as you both stumbled into your living room, abandoning your clothes at an alarming rate. Your top over your head, your hands down his sides, and he hadn’t even bothered with his underwear, this would be my luck, I would want a lunatic, you thought as his thumbs hooked onto the edge of your shorts, pulling down. All the while with your tongue in his mouth.

Normally you would have a conversation about limits and intent and what this was all supposed to mean afterwards but under normal circumstances you would also never imagine having sex with someone you barely met after watching him cry within the first ten minutes.

So.

There was that.

You felt your panties slide down your ass and you grabbed his wrists, yanking them back up as your shorts and underwear slowly migrated down to the floor.

“Wha… W-What?” Jungkook sputtered, breaking out of the kiss and looking like a startled deer confronted by the headlights of your abrupt shift in body language. You sucked in a breath, your lips tingling.

Taking notes.

He immediately stopped even without you explicitly saying stop. He was not trying to overpower you to coerce you for more, even if he was now explicitly staring at your naked body with a bug-eyed expression. You pushed your hands forward and Jungkook stepped back, not quite understanding and blindly trusting you, which was not indicative of a sane headspace.

“You’ve done this before,” you breathed out, glaring up at him from below.

He shook his head very quickly. “No. Well… I mean… it is n-normally what I search for when I wanna get off, so you’re kinda a dream come true for me…”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

A flutter of confusion.

“Uh… Being dominated by a hot woman?”

You stared at him.

Jungkook tilted his head.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you said while gripping his wrists and in command of the situation.

His eyes shifted from side to side. “A… Aren’t you?”

A chill crept up your back. “What did you think I was going to do?” you pressed.

He looked back at you, blinking. “I don’t know,” Jungkook answered, sounding truthful.

You squeezed tighter. He gasped a little, his inhale hitching. You relaxed. He seemed disappointed.

“What’s wrong with you?” you snapped.

He paused for a moment and then replied with, “Trauma?”

Well, he wasn't wrong.

“Get on the sofa.”

“What?”

“Now.”

You had one of those viral extra-comfy modular sofas that could be placed in various orientations. Currently, it was as it always was – all linked together, turning the couch into more of a bed than anything else. Hey, there was a reason you enjoyed rotting on your sofa. Maybe you should have taken him to your bed, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care, reacting immediately when you shoved him. Actually, he seemed to approve of your furniture choices. He sat. You planted your hands on his chest and pushed him down, straddling his waist. He yelped, which you immediately silenced with a hand over his mouth and one on his dick, sliding down the underside and squeezing his balls.

His big eyes got bigger.

You slid up his torso, realizing you where dripping pussy juice everywhere. His hands ended up on your breasts. You raised your eyebrows. Those big eyes pleaded with you. You didn’t say anything, instead tilting your head back and toying with his balls, testing the waters. It was a little distracting with the pinching and rubbing of your nipples, but you took a second to test how much pressure he liked, if he enjoyed scratches (he did), if he enjoyed a tug (he did), and if he was fine with your weight on top of him (he was and he seemed to be trying to get you to move up a little higher for personal reasons). His dick was definitely into it. His stiff length was smacking your wrist. Pre-cum was smearing onto your forearm.

Without much warning, you sat back up, climbed over him, and turned around.

Your knees hit his shoulders. There was a gasping, “Wow, oh my god,” when Jungkook came face-to-face with your pussy. You leaned down to your elbows, hovered your hands over his inner thighs, his erection centimeters from your face, and slapped him extremely close to his balls.

Jungkook let out an inhuman noise and muffled him with your ass.

Hot, wet muscle slid against soaked skin. His arms wrapped around your thighs, his hands on your hips, sending a wave of sparks up your core as you descended, wrapping your tongue around his cock, running your fingernails over his balls, relishing in the sensation of tightened skin, tense muscle, and his taste, oh, fuck, his taste, your tongue running over the swollen tip. You kissed downwards. Your teeth braced around one of his balls, licking the curve while pressing the warm shaft against your cheek, using your palm to stroke up and down. Your hair was getting in the way, annoyingly, so you switched sides and swept it aside in the same movement, practically laying on his hard thigh and your upper arm as you kept a hand around his cock and sucked on one of his balls roughly while pinching the other between your knuckles as you jacked him off.

With your pussy rocking against his hungry mouth, of course.

You felt his tongue hit your clit and your body stiffened from the unexpected burst of concentrated pleasure, but that was soon replaced by his lips sealed around it, desperately sucking. He lacked technique, but then again it probably wasn’t that easy to concentrate either. A perverse sense of accomplishment simmered through you as you realized his blunt nails were digging into your ass, aiding you in the pace and his own suffocation. So, instead of actually getting him off, you edged him.

And continued edging him.

Until he made you cum.

You knew exactly when he was going to orgasm because he would pause, gasping, breaking the seal for a breath, and then at the very last second you would release his cock, making him whine and cry out before planting your pussy onto his mouth again. You did it again, and somewhere in Jungkook’s lizard brain he got the hint, gripping you harder and licking faster with his stifled groans vibrating against your thighs, building heat, the muscles in your back tightening, sucking harder as you felt the coil within tighten, so close, throbbing in your palm, close, the thinning thread almost at breaking point, and you lifted your head, tugging, his wet ball popping out of your mouth, and replaced your hand with your lips as something inside you snapped.

For a fleeting, desperate moment, you were plummeting through euphoric freefall.

The next, your contracted muscles suddenly relaxed with a pins-and-needles sensation shooting all throughout your nerves, overwhelming euphoria almost unbearable, barely registering that it was slippery and sticky between your thighs, realizing that you haven’t moved your head, but Jungkook was gasping, clutching your legs and arching his back so his chest pressed against your stomach. Aggressive flinches shot through his entire body, ricocheting from his core. His cock jerked in your mouth, beginning to soften. You didn’t taste any bitterness. Ah. He orgasmed without delivering any unpleasant package. In the back of your mind, you were relieved. This would have been the fourth nut of the night. It probably would have tasted quite bitter and you weren’t a quitter; you were lucky to be spared this time.

He couldn’t control it but you patted his thigh with gratitude anyway.

When you unpeeled yourself from him, Jungkook looked like he badly needed another shower.

“You okay?” you asked, poking his shoulder.

His chest was glistening with sweat. His hair was a mess. He looked like he was discovering oxygen for the first time. His eyes were unfocused. He didn’t even try to lift his arms, or move at all for that matter.

“Y… Yeah…” Jungkook wheezed.

You sat on your sofa and wondered how you ended up in the same place that you started this night.

-

Well.

As it was with life, things didn’t go as intended and now you were stuck in the usual fuckery. But that was fine. You could go back to your regular life of existing in what would most call a frivolous manner quite easily as long as you could somehow get rid of Jeon Jungkook. Which wasn’t happening. Oh. Great. You nodded at yourself in the bathroom mirror after washing up. Everything is going to be fine, you reminded yourself.

You turned around and Jungkook was standing behind you.

In the doorframe of your bathroom. Of course. You and Jeon Jungkook and doors. You blinked quickly, a little disoriented at how quickly he cleaned himself up in your kitchen. Such was the way of men that you would never understand. His hair was still unbrushed and wild, and he was rubbing his shoulder slightly with a grunt of discomfort, jolting to attention when he realized you were done. He was sans pajama pants. Your clothes were somewhere on the floor too.

“Um.”

You really thought at some moment Jungkook would have this internal revelation and shrink away from you, the burden of the past twenty-four hours finally hitting him, but instead he was in la-la land of following you around. A hair’s breath short of a musical number, probably. Delulu was the solulu. And while you wouldn’t advise the avoidance tactic yourself, you weren’t ready to break his reverie just yet.

But.

Sooner was better than later.

“Do you feel better?” you asked.

The dark cloud poisoned his eyes a little but not as much as before. “Uh… I don’t know.”

You hadn’t expected much of an answer. There was still a little sting of disappointment, though. “Pain is not as bad as everyone makes it out to be,” you said. “And a complicated emotion at that.”

His shoulder leaned against the doorframe but not in the stance of blocking your way out. It was more like he needed something else to hold him up. He still put on a brave face though. “I… I just feel like I wasted my time more than anything else,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair and making it worse. “Shit, even fucking around like this was a million times better than whatever the fuck I was doing for the last two years.” He started, realizing how that sounded. “Not that – Not that this was fucking around, I mean…!”

You laughed.

Jungkook stared at you, his panic frozen.

You shook your head. “It was fucking around,” you said with a smirk.

“No, I don’t–”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the only way I know how to cope myself.”

The conversation died.

The words from your mouth finally caught up to your brain. You stiffened, shooting Jungkook a flustered look and seeing a reflection of your emotion in his expression. “I mean… Comfort others. No. Well. I… It sounds worse than it is…” You trailed off, making it indeed sound worse than it was. “You’re… You wanted it?” It was supposed to be a statement but it came out as a question.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I did,” he stuttered, his eyes darted away swiftly, embarrassment evident. “S-Sorry.”

“No, I did too,” you added, and then abruptly cleared your throat. You sighed, annoyed at yourself for making this more difficult than it should be. “I… I really didn’t want you to do anything stupid. You seemed so… so sad. It bothered me. I wanted to do something for you,” you confessed after a pause. You chewed on the side of your lower lip. “Not that anything I’ve done mattered, I don’t think I’m a god or anything, I can’t control your feelings, so…”

“You are… You are probably the closest thing to a god I know.”

You raised your head and Jungkook was trying not to look at you and failing. He was picking at the paint on your doorframe, or at least pretending like he was.

“In the flesh. ‘Cause I guess we can’t really see gods and stuff…”

He was rambling a bunch of nonsense.

And you didn’t know why, but there was this feeling. It wasn’t about if you found him physically appealing. It wasn’t even about how endearing you found his habits, or about how he told you everything while pretending like he wasn’t, or about how you had an affinity for doing things that were not really the hallmarks of a good person. There was just this feeling. This awkwardness that somehow didn’t feel negative. This state of high that wasn’t going away even though you weren’t really thinking about screwing him again. You might never see him after this. You might see him for a little bit and part. These were all probable outcomes. Forever only existed in the afterlife which was why you lived on a false prayer and a why-the-fuck-not attitude. You knew all this.

And yet, the feeling persisted.

“I must say,” you mused, staring at him, this feeling bubbling up your ribcage. “I haven’t done a stupid thing like this since I was in university.”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“Which was years ago,” you clarified. “I thought I was over that phase.”

Your eyes went to his tattoos. Then back to his face. He had a bunch of ear piercings you noticed right now. To be fair, you weren’t exactly ogling his earlobes while he was sobbing into his duffel bag. That would be weird. He noticed you looking. Consciously but trying to play it cool, he shifted his right arm to show off a little more. You pretended that you didn’t notice while totally noticing. This close to an eyebrow wiggle. And then you suddenly remembered something.

“Erm… Where are you gonna live?”

He frowned as if he, too, hadn’t thought that far. “Uh. I dunno. I was gonna stay with Namjoon-hyung a couple days and then look up apartments…” He looked pained. “I might have to rent a room… I can’t go back to Busan. My work is here. Man…”

“Ah,” you timidly agreed. “Yeah. Good call.”

There was a pregnant silence.

“But the leasing office only gives out two keys,” you thought out loud. “And I have his other one. So… I could give it to you. But then you would have to be the one that comes to rescue him every time he’s locked himself out. I guess I could let him stay my place until you arrive. Or maybe you have a flexible schedule, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Jungkook rubbed his chest, wincing. “Oh… I’m a videographer. I have a schedule every two weeks, but there are odd call times, especially when we are filming outside… depends on the client and what they need. Uh…”

You coughed awkwardly. “Hm. I work from home. So. I’m always here, basically.”

Both of you were avoiding each other’s eyes. There was another, heavily pregnant silence.

You cast him a sidelong glance.

He gave you a similar hesitant but hopeful look.

“You don’t know me,” you reminded him. “I could be really horrible to live with.”

Jungkook peered over your head to observe the state of your bathroom. He glanced back to you. “Looks clean to me.” His eyes were shining. So bright. So adorable. It was over for you.

“I spend all of my free time rotting on my couch and watching YouTube,” you admitted, weakly trying to dissuade him.

“Me too!” He chimed in, a little too excitedly. He coughed and straightened a bit. “Uh… I cook too. And do laundry. I’m really good at household chores. I can show you. I can clean right now!”

You grabbed his arm before he could shoot away and top-down scrub your apartment at three in the morning butt naked. “Er, we could… Do a trial run. Of you…” You noticed that you had yanked him hard enough so that you were now staring at his chest as you spoke. With each word, you raised your line of vision. From his clavicle, to his neck, to his dark pink lips clearly indicative of shared kisses, to his soulful eyes gazing down at you.

Yearning.

“Living with me,” you finished, loosening your hold a bit. Trailing down to his wrist. “If you want.”

His eyes shifted but he was doing anything but resisting. “You sure… About that?”

You weren’t and at the same time you were.

“It’s only until you get back on your feet.” You tried to sound firm about it but somehow you were holding his hand now, clutching it tightly. “I’m sure you want… More space. Or there will be something you don’t like about this apartment. For example, I only have one bed. And it’s a full-sized bed.”

Jungkook was staring into your eyes and his face was getting closer.

“Sounds nice,” he murmured, his breath against your nose.

“It’s not,” you assured him, and you tilted your head up to kiss him.

--

masterpost

[shockercoco]

Whiskey

Major John Egan x reader

Warnings - few swear words, flirting, alcohol

Word count - 1418

a/n - it's been sooo long, mainly because I've been focused on doing applications to transfer colleges. I also didn't know who to write about for a while after farleigh, lol. I hope you enjoy :)

“How much longer are you going to be back there?” your friend groans from the other side of the bar. The bar staff requested extra hands since a large number of pilots and crew had arrived, and for some reason you volunteered to help out. 

“I have another hour left, and then I’m finished,” you say as you hand the guy next to her his drink. She just groans in response. “Plus, you said you were planning on ditching me and finding someone to entertain you for the night.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same when I’m doing it alone.”

“You do realize I’m not the only person you know here, right?” You tell her as another uniformed man walks up to the bar.

“Can I get a round of whiskeys and a ginger beer, please?” the man asks before your friend could answer. You nod and get started on his order.

“Ginger beer?” you hear your friend ask in a judgemental yet light tone.

“Don’t worry it’s not for me,” the man lets out a small laugh. You hand him his drinks on a tray, and he thanks you before walking away.

“You may not be the only person I know, but you're the only one I really like. But I’ll leave you alone to do your job and make my way to where that man just went,” your friend nudges her head in his direction. After following him with your eyes you give her a ‘really’ look once you spot the table and she gives you an innocent shrug in return.

The table is surrounded by nothing but higher ups. It also happens to include the inseparable best friends Major John “Bucky” Egan and Major Gale “Buck” Cleven.

“Maybe once you get Major Egan you’ll be able to put in a good word for me with Major Cleven, or if I get to Cleven first, I could put in a good word for you. We could do the whole double date thing. Their names have a nice ring to it don’t you think?” 

“Lower your voice,” you shush her as you glance around for any listening ears. All of the men in the bar know one another in some way, and word travels fast.

“What? You’ve had a crush on the guy for the longest time, and you do nothing about it every time he flies in,” she tells you. “If you ask him out and he turns you down, it's not like you have to see him for long.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me? What makes you think I would ever go up to a guy and ask him out?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess I’ll just have to be bold for the both of us. Can I get a shot before I go, I’m going to need some liquid courage to take these men on.”

“Take your shot and go,” you say as you wave her off with your hand after placing her shot down in front of her. She takes her shot and wanders off, but not before giving you a smirk. You just playfully roll your eyes in return.

You don’t realize how much time goes by with the constant swarm of men coming up to the bar, but when you decide to look up at the clock on the wall you notice you only have ten minutes left until you're free. It has pretty much slowed down given the fact that most of the men were already drunk out of their minds, but the room was far from quiet.

“Next time it’ll be me who knocks his ass out,” you hear a voice say as they come up to the bar you currently had your back to.

You turn around confused, planning to question the person, but you freeze a little once you notice Major Eagan infront of you. You feel yourself panic a little given the fact that this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. He must see your confused expression though because he begins to explain himself.

“Sorry not you, I was talking to one of my buddies. He knocked some brit out on the first punch,” he says, but not before quickly adding, “It was well deserved though, the man was a prick.”

You just nod in response, not knowing what to say to that other than, “Can I get you anything, Major?”

“Yes, whiskey please,” he smiles as he leans his uniform covered arms on the bar top.

“You wouldn’t happen to belong to the table that requested all those whiskeys tonight would you?” you ask as you turn around to grab a bottle and glass. You also try to keep your hands steady and your face as neutral as possible.

“Guilty,” he lets out a small laugh as you set his drink in front of him. He doesn’t reach out to touch it, but keeps those blue eyes of his on you. “Got a problem with whiskey?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Because I could’ve sworn you made a face when I said it,” he tells you, but there’s no attitude behind it. Good observation skills on his part, bad concealing skills on your part. He is a soldier after all.

“Oh, you caught that,” you let out a little laugh as you try to busy yourself with something behind the bar. As much as you would like to keep talking to him – because you would most likely never get the chance again – you kind of wish he would walk away so you could control your sweating. Your friend would probably slap you if you turned this interaction down though.

“Yeah, is there a story behind it or you just don’t like whiskey?” 

“I just don’t like it,” you say, and it’s true. You feel it’s way too strong, especially to be drinking so casually.

“You have one of the best whiskeys sitting on that shelf behind you, and you're telling me you don’t like it?” you’re not looking at him, but you can hear a playful tone in his voice. If only your friend could see you now, wherever she is.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Uh huh,” he replies in a tone that tells you he doesn’t believe you. “When are you able to leave from behind there?” he motions to you behind the bar. 

You take a glance up at the clock at the wall and notice you’re not supposed to leave for another three  minutes. But, then again, a cute guy is standing across from you so who cares?

“Now actually,” you respond.

“Well then pour yourself a glass, and I’ll drink it with you,” he tells you, and you feel your stomach flutter. It also could be that you’re nauseous from being so nervous.

“This sounds an awful lot like peer pressure,” you joke and he lets out a laugh. 

You do as he says and pour yourself a glass because what the hell. He raises his up as a form of cheers, and you do the same before you both tilt your heads back and drink. You pull a face as the liquid burns going down your throat; he just laughs. 

“You really don’t like it,” he says as you set your glass down.

“I prefer sweeter things like wine. You know, the stuff that doesn’t taste like acid,” you say, and he just lets out another laugh at your response.

“Well I’ll remember that for next time,” he says, and you almost drop your guys’ cups, which you just picked up to put away.

“Next time?” you pause before looking up at him.

“Yes. I’m going to be here for a while, and I figured the two of us could do something,” he tells you like it was obvious,” Without any whiskey involved of course.”

“And what makes you think I want to?”

“Because you just spent the past ten minutes having a conversation with me. Oh, and your friend told me to come over here since I helped her get with my buddy Buck,” he gives you a smirk.

Your heart practically slaps the ground, and you feel like you actually might throw up. Part of you isn’t surprised because you were never going to do anything about your crush and your friend knew, and the other part of you is shocked because what happened to girl code?

“Well now I definitely don’t want to,” you tell him, half joking, as you resume cleaning up.

[yanderedrabbles]

What do you think about yan!Academic Rival who's obsessed with reader? Yan!Rival who has all the resources he needs to be the best but then there's reader who basically came from nothing/is a scholarship kid but is exceptional in her studies.

@casuallyanidiot did an amazing take on this! You can read it here.

Yandere Academic Rival x Reader

Yandere! Rival who comes from money and privilege. Who's been top of his class since grade school. Who has every resource at his fingertips - tutors for his difficult subjects, a heap of additional textbooks, teachers desperate to impress his parents with the attention they give him...

Yandere! Rival who's used to winning. Who expects to always be number one. Who's never had anyone even come close to being his equal.

Yandere! Rival who expects university to be exactly the same. So what if it's a tough school to get into? He didn't struggle in the slightest, so clearly he's already a cut above the regular applicants.

Yandere! Rival who gets a nasty shock when his class gets their first report back. He's not even in the top ten.

Yandere! Rival who feels himself unravel a little. This should have been easy.

Yandere! Rival who throws himself into his studies. Who spens every minute outside class with a tutor, textbooks and notes piled high on his desk. Who doesn't give a damn about making friends or going out to parties.

Yandere! Rival who feels more than smug when the next class ranking is out. Who rudely pushes his way through his classmates to see it firsthand.

Yandere! Rival who stands frozen when he sees the list. He came in second.

Somehow, someone managed to outdo him. Even with all the hours he poured in, even with the tutors and the one on ones with his professors. There's still someone better than him, someone smarter.

Yandere! Rival who looks you up the second he sees your name ranked above his. Who prowls your social media, hoping to find the secret behind your success.

Yandere! Rival who expects you to be just as dedicated to studying as he is.

Yandere! Rival who stares in disbelief at your profile. You're nothing like him at all. Parties on the weekends, extracurriculars, hikes, friends, boyfriends. He stares and stares, not understanding how you even have time to crack a book, much less beat him.

You're having fun.

Yandere! Rival who just doesn't understand it. Why does he have to work his ass off while you get to parade around, living life to the fullest?

Yandere! Rival who has never been so bitter in his entire life. Who has no idea how to deal with the way he feels. So he does the only thing he can. He studies you instead.

Yandere! Rival who starts sitting behind you in every class. Who takes the table right next to yours every time you visit the library or the campus café. Who listens to every conversation you have.

Yandere! Rival who needs just one chance to ruin your life. And foolishly, you give it to him.

Saturday night and Yandere! Rival knows exactly where you'll be. Who makes sure to arrive at the club extra early, just to beat you there.

Yandere! Rival who stalks you all night, waiting for his chance. The second he gets close enough, he's slipping something in your drink and slipping his arm around your waist.

Yandere! Rival who can't help the giddy feeling in his chest when you hang onto him to keep yourself from falling. Who loves the glazed look in your eyes, the way you're so helpless in his arms.

Yandere! Rival who keeps calling himself your boyfriend as you stagger out of the club, loving the way it sounds.

Yandere! Rival who keeps you locked away in his fancy uptown apartment. Why waste money on tutors when his pretty little girlfriend is twice as good?

Yandere! Rival who starves you for days until you stop fighting him.

Yandere! Rival who makes sure your assignments get turned in on time, but who always edits them just a little. Who let's you study as much as you want, but refuses to let you leave.

Yandere! Rival who focuses so much better with his head on your thighs and your fingers in his hair.

Yandere! Rival who promises he'll let you go after graduation. As long as you promise to always take second place.

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As the trial date creeps closer, Bradley is having a harder time keeping himself from panicking. After you learn some interesting things about Bradley from an unlikely source, you do a little bit of digging. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smut, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You slept in until ten. You were sore. The good kind. The kind where you couldn't stop smiling. As you sat up in Bradley's bed and stretched, your eyes caught on your purple crown. There was a piece of paper hanging from it now. You reached for it and read the note he had left for you.

Princess,

I left my computer and the charger in the kitchen. I also plugged your phone in before I left. There are Skittles in the kitchen cabinet. Please text me when you get up. Noah asked if you're staying for dinner. Please stay for dinner. 

I love you.

My computer password is password1234

You snorted and rolled your eyes. "Of course it is," you muttered, climbing out of bed and searching for something to wear. You made yourself some coffee with the vanilla creamer, and you spent the day filling out four job applications, eating Skittles, and attending a zoom lecture. You had done basically nothing strenuous, but by the time Bradley and Noah got back, you were yawning as you ran to see them. 

"Hello, boys," you said, kneeling to hug Noah. 

"Let's color dinosaurs," he told you, and you laughed as he led you to the table. 

"Don't I get a kiss or anything?" Bradley asked, unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

You looked at him and said, "You keep that on and I'll kiss you somewhere special later."

His hand paused on the buttons before doing them back up again. "Does that mean... you'd like me to have the uniform on later? Like after bedtime?"

You licked your lips and looked up at him, going for the most innocent look you could manage. "Please?"

Bradley grunted and kissed you a little rough. You tasted his tongue before pulling away from him. "I have dinosaurs to color," you informed him, dropping down onto the seat next to Noah. "And dinner is in the oven. I hope you like lasagna."

"You already know I'll eat anything you make," Bradley said, kissing you on the top of your head.

Noah tried to pronounce lasagna until you were barely holding in your laughter. "What's that?" he asked, handing you a pink crayon.

"It's kind of like spaghetti," you promised, coloring in a tyrannosaurus rex. "I already know you like spaghetti, so I'm just trying to expand your palate."

"Okay," he said with a shrug. "Can I have ants on logs?"

You knew he was going to ask, so you had already made them. When you took the container out of the refrigerator, Noah and Bradley had them polished off in a matter of minutes. "Your weekly grocery bill is probably more than mine is for the month."

"I don't doubt it, Princess," Bradley said, biting into the last carrot stick, still in that sinfully hot uniform. "Let's eat dinner, and then I'll clean up while you and Noah play."

"And then you'll take me home?" you asked cautiously looking up at him where he stood.

"Do you want me to?"

You didn't answer him. You just turned back toward the coloring book while he pulled dinner out of the oven. Did you want to leave? And go back to your tiny, lonely rental? No. You were still wearing Bradley's clothes, and you kind of wanted some more of your own stuff, but you didn't want to leave. Not really. You said nothing, and he didn't ask again. 

He did everything else to get dinner on the table. He plated the food, got drinks, and set the table. Then after everyone including Noah enjoyed the meal, he cleaned up. "You don't want help?" you asked, scooping Noah up in your arms. "Then we're going to watch some Mickey Mouse while we play with blocks."

"Sounds good," he said, putting some foil on the leftover. "Love you," he added casually as you took Noah into the other room. No, you did not want to leave.

------------------------

Bradley was still wearing his uniform. He'd tried to change out of the shirt twice now, but both times you had stopped him. Noah was looking a little sleepy, and Bradley didn't know what you wanted to do. He wanted you to stay over again. He wanted you to stay over until he got through the court appearance on Wednesday and hopefully returned home with Noah, free and clear of Meredith. But honestly, he wanted you with him longer than that.

"Princess?" he asked softly, and you stood up from the pile of blocks that Noah was working on.

"Yes, Daddy?" you asked, standing right in front of him and smirking. If he was alone with you right now, that smirk would be gone in an instant. 

"I need an answer, Baby. You want me to drive you home before I put Noah in bed for the night?"

Your hands found his waist as you gazed up at him. "I want to stay here, but I don't want to distract you leading up to Wednesday."

"Stay," he sighed. "Stay. We can swing by your place and pick up some of your things and then come right back here, okay? Stay."

So that's exactly what the three of you did. Bradley stayed in the Bronco with Noah while you ran inside your place for a couple minutes, and you came out with your usual tote bag plus a backpack. 

"You don't mind if I keep using your computer, right?" you asked before you climbed back in the front seat.

"You can use anything at my place."

The smile you gave him in response had him thinking about asking you things he had no business asking you yet. He closed his eyes briefly before putting the Bronco in reverse and heading back to his house. When you reached for his hand in the dying light, he held yours. And when you asked to turn on the playlist you made for Noah, he fell even more in love with you. 

Noah was half asleep by the time Bradley carried him inside, and when he reemerged from his son's room, you had changed into your own clothes. Bradley kind of missed his oversized shirts on you.

"I have a fun idea, Daddy," you said, and he was practically salivating in response. "I'm going to teach you how to cook."

His brow furrowed and he gave you a look. "That doesn't sound fun at all."

Your laughter in response had him agreeing with you anyway, and you were immediately coaxing him into the kitchen. "We can use up all of your food, and tomorrow I can go grocery shopping for you if you want. I could drop you and Noah off in the morning and then use your car."

"Baby, it's not a car.... it's a Bronco. And you can use it if you promise to be very, very careful with her. You can't park next to the cart return. Actually, you can't really park by anything. No trees, no shrubs, no other cars. Nothing."

You were trying not to laugh, he could tell. "Sure, Daddy. No problem. Now let's start cooking."

He kissed you softly. "You gonna let me change out of my uniform yet?"

"Don't ask me stupid questions. Of course not. You look hot. Now go ahead and grab all of the ingredients for this recipe," you told him, handing him your phone. He sighed and skimmed a recipe for chicken stir fry.

"Princess, there's no way I'm going to be able to make this," he murmured.

"That's an order, Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you snapped, and Bradley was instantly looking at you. "Or I'll make you do fifty push ups!" 

"That's nothing, Baby. I'll do a hundred for you," he said with a smirk, but what he got in response was a slap on his ass. 

"Get to work," you told him, hopping up on the counter with a bag of Skittles and a no-nonsense look on your face.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled, reading through the recipe again.

"And that dinner better be edible, or I'm not going to suck your cock, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am." He read the recipe a third time before he got the chicken out of the refrigerator. Bradley was starting to get a little nervous about Meredith, but you were certainly helping him keep his mind off of that. He got a cutting board and a knife ready along with some vegetables. 

"Don't forget the salt," you whispered, holding out a green Skittle and popping it in his mouth. 

"Thank you," he whispered back. And you kept offering him little hints here and there. You told him he was cutting the vegetables too small, and then you fed him a purple Skittle. You told him the oil needed to be hotter, and then you fed him a yellow one. You reminded him to keep moving the food around in the pan, and then you let him take a red Skittle from between your lips with his mouth.

"You're better at cooking than you think," you told him. "Noah won't have to keep eating boxed foods."

"That's really your goal here, isn't it?" he asked you, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead with his forearm.

"Of course. I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about him," you replied with a playful eye roll. "What's he supposed to eat when I'm not around?"

"Why would you not be around?" he asked cautiously. Then his mind started swarming with thoughts of Noah living with Meredith. 

He watched you chew on a Skittle before you softly said, "I'll be around." Your eyes dipped down his chest to his pins and buttons. You looked so young and sweet, and you reached for the knob to turn the burner off. "Don't want it to burn."

Bradley nodded and got a plate down. He carefully scooped some of the hot food onto the plate and handed it to you for inspection. "Give me a fork, Lieutenant," you commanded, and Bradley grabbed one from the drawer while you blew on the food. "I just ordered you a rice cooker and an apron from Amazon. The rice cooker will make your life easier, and you'll look cute in an apron that says Hot Daddy."

Bradley laughed as you raised the fork to your lips. "Thank you, but baby, I don't want you spending your money on me. You haven't even graduated yet."

"Just pretend like you never paid me to watch Noah, okay? I don't like that you ever did."

"Okay," he whispered, placing one hand on either side of you where you sat on the kitchen counter. He watched you take a bite of the chicken, and you moaned softly. Then you tried some of the vegetables before you fed him a bite.

"It's so good. And I barely helped you at all."

Bradley was actually impressed that he'd made something that tasted that nice. "So I have no excuse now but to make Noah a homemade dinner? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," you said, smiling at him as he set the plate aside. "You know how to cook, Lieutenant. I'm so proud of you."

He leaned in and rubbed his nose against yours before kissing you. "Do you still want me to do push ups for you?"

"Kind of," you replied, kissing his mustache. "Just because it would be sexy." 

Bradley did fifty push ups while you stood in front of him and counted them off, and he looked up at your legs and your denim shorts the whole time. 

"Damn, Daddy," you groaned as he hopped up when he was done like it was nothing. "My boyfriend is so strong!" He didn't even have time to respond before you were unzipping his pants and slipping your hand inside. 

When you knelt in front of him, he said, "You weren't kidding about sucking my cock, huh?"

"Not at all," you whispered looking up at him. Your lips were glossy again. Whatever you grabbed from your house, it must have included your lip stuff. God, he loved the way you looked. He loved the way you felt. He loved your tongue, licking the bead of his precum away as you stroked him with your hands.

"You're really fucking good at this," he moaned as you wrapped your lips around him and sucked gently. He stroked your cheek as you took him a little deeper, swirling your tongue as he throbbed. "Goddamn it." The slow, deliberate drag of your lips along his length was enough to make him buck gently.

You moaned around him before pulling him free, and then Bradley was treated to you sucking on his balls until he was panting. "Baby," he whined, his cock resting on your face. You weren't going to let him go any faster. He couldn't decide if fast or slow was what he wanted, so he left you in charge. 

And he was not disappointed when you licked him from balls to tip and said, "I want you to cum on my face."

He ran his knuckles along your cheek and chin. "You're so gorgeous, Princess. I'd love to paint you up and make you even prettier."

"Daddy," you whined before taking him so deep he saw stars. You bobbed along his length, gagging as you tried to take all of him. Your hand was cupping his balls and your saliva was dripping onto the floor as you gagged again. You looked up at him with watery eyes, and this time when he stroked your cheek, he could feel himself.

"So good," Bradley growled. "God, you're the best."

You sucked and bobbed until he was sure he was going to lose his mind, and then he withdrew with a snap of his hips. He stroked himself twice, whispered, "I'm about to cum," and then he watched you flinch and giggle as ribbons of white landed on your cheeks and lips. His cum hit your nose, and then you opened your mouth for him.

"Fuck," he grunted, pumping every last bit onto your beautiful features, and then he was between your lips again as you licked him clean.

"Baby, don't move," he begged, scrambling to find his phone. "Will you let me take a picture?"

"Yes," you said with a laugh, licking him from your lips. "You can add it to your dirty photo album. Remember the passcode?"

"I sure do," he grunted, snapping a few pictures of you kneeling on his kitchen floor with his cum on your face. And then he was kneeling too and kissing you and telling you he loved you. 

-------------------------

You slept better in Bradley's arms than you ever did at home. He told you once you were curled up in his bed with him that he was getting nervous about the custody hearing. You tried to be encouraging. "There's no way anyone would let someone take Noah away from you. You're his only parent as far as he's concerned. He only knows love from you, Bradley."

"And you," he said softly. Warmth filled your heart as he added, "Noah knows that you love him. He lights up around you, and he's just as comfortable with you as he is with me. You're the best thing that ever happened to us."

You were supposed to be the one comforting him. But you ended up dozing off in his arms filled with hope instead. The next morning, he let you drive his Bronco "as a test" on the way to Noah's daycare. You had offered to keep Noah with you for the day instead, but Bradley insisted you spend your time finishing your school projects. 

"Okay," Bradley said as you parked in the daycare lot. "I'm fine with you driving the Bronco around. Do you remember the rules about parking lots?"

"Oh my god," you mumbled. "You're really not going to get Noah out and move along with your day until I answer correctly, are you?"

"No." His face looked serious as you laughed and promised you wouldn't park next to the cart return, another car or any sort of living plant.

"That's my Princess," he crooned, running Noah inside once you'd said goodbye to him. Then you dropped Bradley off at work, but this time, you crawled across the seat to straddle his lap for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered as you combed your fingers through his hair and kissed him. 

"I love you too, Daddy. I'll pick you up here at five," you promised, pressing your forehead to his. "And then I'll cuddle you all night, and you won't be worried about tomorrow at all. I can see on your face that you're thinking about Meredith. But think about Noah instead."

He wrapped his arms around you and sighed. "I'm always thinking about Noah. And you. And us." He kissed you one last time, and you let him climb out. "I love you, Princess."

You waved to him on the sidewalk, and then Jake joined him, and you waved to both of them. Then you stuck your head out the window and called out, "Can't wait to have you again later, Bradley! Oh, hi, Jake."

Then you started the engine again as your boyfriend laughed while Jake walked away. If you could at least make him laugh today, maybe that would make dealing with tomorrow a little easier. But it was hard not to think about what he and Noah might be up against. You couldn't let yourself dwell on it. Instead you drove to the grocery store with Bradley's credit card tucked inside your wallet.

You got all the staples, including your coffee creamer and everything you would need to make a big batch of ants on logs. Then you picked out some things you could teach Bradley how to make along with everything Noah liked. And you spent over two hundred dollars. Bradley had assured you that you could get whatever you thought they all needed and put it on his credit card. 

You were skimming the receipt as you pushed your cart to the Bronco. "Yikes," you muttered, loading bag after bag into the back, extra careful not to bump his precious vehicle with the cart. Then you closed it up and took the cart to the return. 

Just as you were digging his key out of your pocket, you looked up. You made eye contact with Meredith. She was standing there, right next to the Bronco.

"What do you want?" you asked. Your voice sounded strong, and you realized you were not even slightly intimidated by this woman when Noah wasn't with you. What could she really do to you in the middle of a parking lot at nearly ten in the morning?

She looked angry, eyeing you up and down and glancing at the Bronco. "I can't believe he lets you drive that. It's worth a fortune," she said, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and scowling. 

The car key was digging into your clenched fist, but you didn't close the distance to her. "Let me rephrase my question: What the fuck do you want, Meredith?"

"Such a filthy mouth on you. And you're spending time with my child," she said casually. "Lovely."

"Are you following me?"

She rolled her eyes, and you hated her so much. You supposed you could see how she was physically attractive, but you only felt the desire to kick her. 

"I'm not following you. I'm about to go grocery shopping. This is the store I always come to. But I wouldn't mind chatting a bit. I'd be more than happy to use your potty mouth and the fact that you're sleeping with Bradley against him in court."

You laughed out loud. "Well, you'd have to actually show up first. Are you going to be there tomorrow? Or run and hide at the last minute again?"

Her scowl was back. "You have a lot of questions, huh? Well, so do I. Is all that life insurance money still in an account for Noah? Or did you spread your legs open wide enough to get Bradley to pay for your little nursing degree?"

You gasped out loud. You would never do that. You loved Noah and Bradley. And now you were afraid you'd just walked into a trap. Meredith was looking at you from ten feet away like it was a showdown. One that she intended to win, because she brought the correct ammunition when you clearly had not. 

"I guess the money is still there then," she said, starting to look more satisfied. "You know he'll never commit to you, right? He was always afraid of commitment."

"Yet you're the one who abandoned her child," you said softly, but not without conviction. 

She took a step closer to you, venom in her voice. "I didn't want to be held down, but things change."

"Do you even want him? Or are you just trying to get back at Bradley?" you asked, unable to stop yourself. "Because Noah deserves a family who loves him. You left them. But Bradley loves him. Bradley would do anything for him."

Her voice was like steel. "And I deserve a lot more than what I'm getting." She spun on her heel and started to charge away.

"What does that mean?!" you called after her. But she didn't stop or turn back. "Meredith!" You got nothing but the back of her blonde hair, and then she was in her BMW and driving away.

"What the hell?" you muttered to yourself, hands shaking as you put the key in the ignition and started the Bronco. You had to sit for a minute until you were calm enough to drive. Thank goodness you hadn't kept Noah with you today. Thank goodness you'd been alone. And at least Bradley didn't have to deal with this either. 

Oh, he was going to be so upset when you told him later. He'd be mad you didn't interrupt him at work this instant, but you weren't going to do that. You needed to get back to his house right away and get on his computer. Carefully, you put the Bronco in drive. Apparently this thing was worth a fortune. Bradley had a nice house, and he probably paid a pretty penny for Noah's fancy daycare. He told you to spend his money on whatever you wanted at the grocery store. But there was some sort of life insurance money, too? What was going on here?

Your brain was swimming, or maybe drowning as you parked in Bradley's driveway and forced yourself to carry in the groceries and put all of the food away before you locked the front door behind you and turned his computer on. You entered his ridiculous password which you were definitely going to have to make him change, and you started your search. 

Hours went by, and you subsided on only coffee. Then you checked the time on your phone. It was almost five o'clock. You were going to be late to pick them up, and now you had more questions than answers as you ran back out to the Bronco.

-------------------------

Okay, Meredith. Okay. Daddy will see you in the courtroom. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 24

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[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Part 8 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdolfsummerchallenge @hellishjoel

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 3000

Warning: angst

You were smitten. Head over heels. Everything felt perfect. The only stressor in the back of your mind were the lies you continued to tell your parents about your whereabouts. It wasn’t enough to become the focal point of your thoughts. That night you laid with Joel without a care in the world.

“I could do this every day,” you spoke in a sleepy, quiet voice. You laid naked, back pressed into his bare chest as Joel cuddled his body around you.

“Maybe we could make it a habit then,” he whispered into your ear from behind. His arm snaked over the top of yours and your fingers linked together.

The night was peaceful and you didn't remember waking up even once overnight at Joel’s house. That next morning you were walking on air. After prepping him a coffee and accompanying him to the door, Joel gave you a kiss that screamed, ‘I miss you and I'm not even away from you yet’.

When your phone chimed in your pocket, he looked intrigued and so you pulled it out. A new email, highlighted by a red number one at the bottom of your phone, caught your eye.

“Email.” It was about one of the applications you had filled out a few towns away. A smile formed on your face as you lip-read their desire to interview you. “Bee Cave wants me to interview with them.”

“That's amazing, baby.” Joel leaned in, pulling you to him by the back of your head. Your lips touched again and it was several seconds before he let you go. “What's there like ten residents in Bee Cave?” He teased, “Sounds like a safe enough town.”

“Mm hmm. And it's only twenty minutes away.”

“Perfect.” He kissed you again.

“Hey, Joel!” Your eyes widened and you parted from him, practically pushing back off his chest, when you heard your father’s voice.

Joel’s eyebrows raised and he soft-closed the door while addressing him.

You leaned an ear to the door as you heard your father extend an invitation to a picnic your parents were having that weekend. When Joel accepted you smiled to yourself, though you couldn't deny your heart rate had increased.

What would my father do if he found me here? You truly didn't know the answer.

“Do you play golf?” Your father asked next.

“Here and there,” Joel responded.

“We need a fourth guy Friday,” he went on. “Only doing the back nine, not eighteen. Thinking about happy hour time after work.”

“Oh, uh..” Joel cleared his throat, “I think I could play, yeah. I get out of work at three.”

“How’s about four-thirty? You know the course in town, right?”

“Yup.” He paused, “It's been a while since I've played.”

“Not to worry, we really just play for some fresh, a little exercise and a couple of beers.”

“Sounds good.”

The discussion ended with your father excusing himself to go to work and Joel claiming he forgot something inside. When the door reopened, Joel’s eyebrows were raised and he shut it quickly before leaning his back against it.

“Did I just hear you make golfing plans with my father?”

“You did.” He nodded and smiles spread on both of your faces simultaneously.

“Good opportunity to tell him about us,” you teased, closing the gap between you and resting both of your hands on his broad chest. Your lips pressed against his and Joel's head leaned back against the door.

“I don't think the best time would be when he has a golf club in his hand.”

You snickered against him and pulled back so you were face-to-face. “I guess I'll make plans with the real Holly Friday night then. Since you have a hot date with my dad.”

“I could use the company afterwards.”

“Mmm..” you leaned back in and kissed him a little firmer. Arousal surged through your body when his tongue massaged yours. When Joel suddenly picked you up so you were seated in hands, your lips parted from his and you wrapped your arms instinctively around the back of his neck.

“All this sneaking around and almost getting caught turns me on,” he admitted, speaking quietly despite the two of you being alone. Joel's lips pecked yours.

“Me too,” you admitted pecking his lips another few times in a row. Your legs wrapped firmly around the outsides of his hips. “Maybe we should do something about it.”

“Mmm..” he hummed the response, beginning to walk with you still in his arms down toward the bedroom. “I have seven minutes.”

You kissed him as he walked blindly with his eyes closed now. “I'll make them all count.”

***

The rest of the day you spent running errands, grocery shopping for your parents and buying a new outfit for your upcoming interview. The world felt like it was at your fingertips; a new beginning - both professionally and personally.

As you swept through the grocery store, a thought crossed your mind. You whipped out your phone and texted Joel: Can I cook for you tonight?

Only a minute or so went by before he replied: I ain't gonna deny that.

You smiled. What would you like?

The three dots on your screen disappeared a few times before Joel's response of ‘anything’ came in. You assured him that nothing would be a challenge, and so he suggested chicken cutlets and baked potatoes. That was easy enough.

You sighed to yourself. Even the thought of cooking for Joel made you feel on top of the world; and you couldn't wait to get to it.

When you cruised into the driveway your hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as you saw your mother talking with someone at the line where your yard met Joel’s.

Who is that? You wondered, knowing full well that your mother was likely to call you over so they could be introduced.

The woman wore her dark hair in a high bun with a hand band on to keep her hair back. She wore a flowery yellow summer dress with spaghetti straps that flowed down to a pair of brown flip flops.

When your mother waved you over you threw the car in park, killed the engine and wandered over to where the two women were speaking.

"Cecille, this is my daughter, (Y/N) . I don't know that you've met." She smiled, "She just graduated from college and just got back about a week ago."

"Hello." Cecille extended an arm in your direction with a smile, "Cecille Miller."

At the revelation of her name you felt your entire body grow heavy. A rush of butterflies traveled up your torso and you felt like you could throw up when your hands linked in a formal handshake. “Nice to meet you."

You swallowed hard, knowing your face was heated. Cecille Miller. This was Joel's soon-to-be ex-wife. How would you ever be able to look the woman in the eye? You took a deep breath and felt instant relief when your hand left hers.

"It's nice to see you," your mother went on, touching Cecille’s shoulder gently, "I'm not going to delve into your business but we're having a picnic Saturday and you're more than welcome to come on over.”

“Thank you.” She gave a nod but didn't elaborate one way or another if she intended to attend.

She can't… You were practically hyperventilating. Cecille was this gorgeous woman who suddenly made you feel like a child in comparison. You felt inferior and it triggered your flight complex.

Your eyes moved back and forth at the two of them feeling a bit third-wheelish. The phone suddenly buzzed in the pocket of your jeans and that was your out.

"Excuse me," you managed a closed-mouth smile and glanced at the screen, seeing Joel's number with an accompanied text message that read: Can't wait for those chicken cutlets.

Your face grew hot again and as bad as you wanted to write back you shoved the phone back down into your pocket. When your eyes rose both women were staring at her, forcing you to clear your throat and then smile nervously.

"She goes all out for picnics," you attempted to carry on a normal part of the conversation. "

"Oh, I might have you and Dad put up a volleyball net for me tonight," your mother explained.

"No problem." You continued to put on a fake smile as your phone went off again. You raised your eyebrows. "Well, it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Cecille gave a wave as you managed to wiggle your way out of the conversation. Much to your relief, your mother didn't attempt to call your back. As you took the steps up into the house you pulled the phone out of your pocket and began typing back to Joel.

You were beginning to wonder what your boundaries were, if you even had them anymore. Most women would have turned to run in the opposite direction after meeting the estranged wife of the man they were carrying on with - who also lived next door.

You glanced around the house noting your father wasn't home yet, before taking the stairs to your room. Out the window you could tell your mom and Cecille were wrapping up their conversation. It was then you noticed her blue BMW in the driveway next door.

Upon taking a composed breath, you decided to call Joel.

“Hey, you.” His voice was cheery and you almost didn't want to say what you called for, but you knew you had to.

“Hey.. um..” you took a deep breath.

“What's wrong?” Joel’s tone changed immediately.

“I, umm.. well.. my mom is talking with Cecille in our yard right now. She just introduced me and-”

“Cecille?”

“Is she your.. wife?”

“Ex,” Joel corrected. “She's..”

“In my yard,” you finished when he didn't continue.

There was silence on the other end. “I guess chicken cutlets will have to wait, huh?” You felt your chest tighten. You had no idea what Cecille’s presence meant.

“No,” Joel said right away. “I don't know.. what she's there for.”

“Why don't we reschedule.” It cut you to say that to him.

“No,” Joel said again and you heard him curse under his breath. “I'm on my way home from work now. Just.. I'll call you.. okay?”

Tears fell from your eyes without warning. You hesitated a moment.

“(Y/N)?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Please. It's.. we aren't together.”

“I know.” You held it together but knew you wouldn't be able to get paragraphs of words out. Your heart was aching even if it was over. Cecille being in your yard talking to your mother was completely unexpected and it left your mind and emotions trying to play catch up.

“I'll call you as soon as I figure out what's going on, and why she's here.”

“Joel..”

“Yeah?”

You took a deep breath. “Is there a chance that you and her would get back together?”

“No,” he responded right away. “No, there's not.”

“Okay.”

“I'll take care of it. Please just.. trust me,” Joel added a second time, “Please.”

“I trust you,” you said back. You meant it. You did trust Joel. Still, it didn't stop you from having that same heavy, sinking feeling in your chest.

Your eyes lifted as you watched Cecille wander back over next door and enter the house. In that one moment, your whole world felt off kilter.

“I'll call you tonight.”

“Okay.”

The call ended and, as dramatic as it felt, your world felt temporarily cracked. You slunk down to the ground in a seated position with your back against the wall and let your face rest in your hands.

As much as you told yourself that it was all fine, the reality was that Joel’s wife was in the house next door - the house that you fantasized about making your own, the house where you made love constantly, the house where you kissed Joel goodbye that morning as you fantasized about your future with him. The reality was, at least for the time being, that Cecille and Joel co-owned that house together. Not you.

“Hey, honey!” Your mom called up from the first floor, “I'm thinking about making chicken cutlets. Will you be home for dinner?”

Ironic.

You quietly sobbed harder into your hands before finally sniffing in and manning up a response. “Sounds good!” Your voice didn't crack, but no sooner than when the last syllable left your mouth the tears began to fall again.

You were in too deep, too fast; and this sudden curveball left your emotions running rampant. “Fuck.”

Joel white-knuckled it the whole ride home. He wasn't about to call his ex-wife. She was the last person he wanted to speak to. However, he had an earful to give her for just dropping in and her leisure without warning.

This better not fuck things up. On the surface, Joel knew it looked bad. How could (Y/N) feel secure with Cecille just randomly dropping into his life?

“Fuck!” Joel slammed his palm on the steering wheel of his truck and finally sped his way down the driveway. His eyes landed on the window to your bedroom and then he rushed inside the front door of his home.

When he entered, Cecille rounded out of the kitchen to come face-to-face with him.

“What're you doing here?” Joel asked bluntly.

A half-smile tipped up the order of their lips. “Hi, Joel.”

“You have no right to be here.”

“My name is on the paperwork, too, ya know.”

“I pay all the bills and we agreed,” he hissed through his teeth. “You can't just drop in here whenever you want.”

“My sister is selling her house.”

“Okay..”

“So, I'm just in between right now.”

“That's not my business.” Joel shook his head. “You need to leave.”

“Legally, you can't make me. I'll give you money if you'd like.”

“I'd like you to leave.”

“I need to pack up some things.” She began to March down the hall.

Joel trailed her into the bedroom. “And then you can get the fuck out.”

“Joel.” Cecille shook her head.

“You can't be here.”

“I can-”

“No, you really can't be here.” Joel slammed his hand down on top of his dresser, causing a bottle of his cologne to fall sideways. Cecille paused. She looked him up and down, a more serious expression in her face.

She then looked away and began go pace the length of the room with her arms folded across his chest. It was almost methodical.

“You were the one that begged me to work it out before we bought this house.” She ran her fingers over indents in the wall behind the headboard. “Something's changed.” Cecille shook her head.

“You need to go. I'll pay for a hotel,” Joel added.

Cecille walked up to him with her hands on her hips and looked him intently in the eye. A few seconds went by before she concluded, “You're seeing somebody.”

CLICK HERE FOR PART 9

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[ironskyfinder]

Taking Dictation

The ad was simple, running in such a nondescript fashion that she almost missed it, down at the bottom of the screen - plain black text on a gray background, so bland it was almost painful.

Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary. Seeking an experienced secretary proficient in dictation and transcription. Must adhere to a strict dress code based on long-term function; excellent communication skills required. Submit a resume online or text ‘SUBMIT’ to 67678.

She thought about it for a moment. 

Everyone at Hamilton & Greene was amazing - except, of course, for Ms Hamilton and Mr Greene - and she liked the fact that it was a short ten minute drive from her apartment. 

But….

The pay was terrible, the transition to the new ‘paperless’ system was a nightmare, and Eric still stunk so bad it was hard to go past his cubicle, even after Linda had a private conference with him. Everyone was overstressed and overworked, and with the lease coming due in two months there’d still been no word on whether they were moving offices, again.

Maybe it was time for a change, or at least time to scare everyone into thinking they’d have to go without her. She glanced back, but the ad and the link were gone - so, she picked up her phone, and texted 

��Submit”

to 67678, just like the ad said, and in seconds a reply popped up - a link, and she tapped it.

The page was similarly subdued, but it had all the information she wanted. The posting was as thorough and painstakingly specific as the job was straightforward - a freelance IT professional and technical writer needed a secretary that could help him run both his businesses. The only item that wasn’t extensively clarified was the dress code, but if it meant she’d be expected to be professional in front of clients, she wasn’t worried. 

She opened her resume, and skimmed it to make sure that it was current before she uploaded it; the next page simply read, “Thank you for your application”, and she stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief that it’d been that easy. 

By Tuesday, she'd forgotten about it, not least because of the fight that Mr Greene and Ms Hamilton were in over the Friemann case, and hearing that it meant bonuses were delayed had her trying not to cry in her car on her lunch break

The phone dinged - a text, from 67678, letting her know that her resume had been accepted.

And, seconds later, a text from a number she didn’t recognize. For an interview: 10AM or 11AM Thursday, or 10AM Friday?

She took a deep breath and steadied her hands. 10 on Friday would be perfect! she texted back, and got ready to head back into the office. 

The interview, and everything leading up to it, was a blur in her mind.

She had taken Friday off, calling in sick late the night before, and had spent a good hour longer than usual getting ready so that she looked sharp for her interview. 

It was at his residence, about a half hour’s drive away; she was on her way with plenty of time, and as much as she’d hate the commute, it was a nice upscale neighborhood, and on the map it looked like it was next to a park that she could walk to on breaks. 

When she arrived, though, all she could focus on was him. She didn’t remember walking in, taking off her jacket, or even what his name was - she was lost in those eyes, and in the sound of his voice. 

He was busy, he explained, too busy to keep up without assistance. He was employed and was about to be over-employed twice over, and there was just no time - his hands were too full. His previous assistant had gotten pregnant, and was looking for a change. She had all the right qualifications to replace her, and to perform even better in her role; she was an expert in taking dictation.

The pay he was offering was almost double what she was making - and, she would be free to use one of the bedroom suites downstairs, whenever she wanted - and she was so excited that she almost forgot to ask about the uniform requirement. 

Almost. 

She’d asked, and he’d chuckled, and she felt herself get wet. He’d said something - she couldn’t remember exactly what - and she’d flushed further. She’d followed him downstairs to one of the bedrooms - to her bedroom - and showed her the corset and stockings that were carefully laid out. 

The mix of arousal and astonishment and disbelief must’ve shown on her face. She didn’t have time to protest or ask questions before he was talking again, and she couldn’t help but melt into his voice. 

He wasn’t just a technical writer, he explained. He also wrote erotica, very successfully, and it was crucial to his process to have inspiration on hand, and reference material available. He was sure that she’d be a perfect fit for her role, all she needed to do was embrace it…

Six weeks in, and she was adapting extremely well to her role.

She rolled lazily out of bed - out of his bed - and quietly made her way downstairs to her room, where she stripped out of yesterday’s uniform and got ready for a quick shower. After last week’s shopping trip, she had everything here that she needed. 

That was another reason she hadn’t been to her apartment since last month. Drying her hair, she emerged from her on-suite bathroom in a cloud of steam and immediately set to getting ready.  

By the time he was coming downstairs to the office, she was dressed - in black today, the set she’d decided she liked the most - she was already there, their coffees in hand, ready to start the day. 

Today he had meetings all through the morning - so she sat at her desk and started working through the notes from the previous day. He was midway through a support call when he hit a button and his desk raised up so he could stand. As soon as he was comfortably standing, she knelt on the cushion in front of him and unzipped his fly, pulling out his cock.

She loved his cock. She got lost in his eyes, and his voice made her melt, but after the first time she saw his cock - on her fifth day, the first time he’d fingered her for reference, while dictating to her. She’d been dizzy, between the sensations of him ruthlessly stimulating her g-spot and  trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his words, and didn’t notice he was jacking off until he grunted softly.

She’d looked back, then - into his eyes, first, those hypnotic pools of gray, and only when he glanced down had her haze followed and - it was perfect, long, thick, throbbing, a drop of precum dripping from the tip as he gently stroked it. She’d begged him to fuck her, that later that afternoon, and that was the first night she’d spent at the office, working late. 

 And the best part - or the worst part, or the hardest part - was that he did expect her to work, despite it all. The uniform, she found, not only kept her on display and accessible, but she felt sexier in it, and even the heels were comfortable too, somehow - but it didn’t make it any easier to be bent over his desk, cockwarming him while he rattled off erotica to her to transcribe. She had to make sure his notes and files got organized, even if she was asked to bounce on a dildo for reference. She had to balance his schedules and make sure his emails were dealt with, even if she chose to spend the morning on her knees trying to distract him while he was on a call. 

Four months in, and she was starting to put a few things together. 

Sir kept assigning her more hypnosis to review, and no matter how good it felt to spend hours on his desk, fulfilling her role, she was only barely keeping up with the notes, and the scheduling, and taking his dick-tation - she giggled, now, whenever she thought of it like that - was even more intense now that he’d started writing a lot of breeding stories. 

She also barely ever slept in her own bed anymore. He liked having her close - for inspiration, he said - but he also liked picking a hole to use to satisfy himself in the middle of the night, and filling her up with another load.

She wasn’t complaining, of course - she would do it even if she wasn’t getting paid - but her birth control pills had vanished from the cabinet, and she couldn’t help but notice that over the next few months the scheduled titles were starting to shift from breeding into pregnancy stories.

A year into her employment and six months into her pregnancy, deskpet was starting to worry. 

She was falling behind now, everything was taking more and more time. The hypnos had made deskpet much, much happier, and now she barely had thoughts at all besides the ones that Sir put in her brain for her to use - but it meant that typing was harder, and now when she was cockwarming or taking dick-tation - she giggled - all she wanted to do was go blank and fulfill her role of serving his cock. 

But he worked so hard, and he deserved help - more help than she could give. 

She thought about it for a while, and set about posting an ad. 

‘Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary’ the ad began….

[gretavangroupie]

Bluebird Lane - Chapter One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Pining.

A/N: Gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. I hope you all enjoy chapter one of what will be a sweet little mini series. Thanks for reading!

“God I hope this one works,” you groan, hitting your blinker as you make a right turn. The AC is cranked up to ten in an effort to combat the Nashville heat, but right now, in the heat of the day, it was a losing battle.

“This will be what? The fourth, fifth one you’ve toured?” Blake asks, her voice filled with laughter.

You shake your head as a smile passes your lips, “It’s not funny, Blake, and yes. Fifth, and this one has to work. It’s my favorite one and it's the last one that's in my price range.”

“Damn, did that other one fall through?” she asks, sounding sympathetic from the other end of the phone. 

“Yes, my application was denied and they didn’t even tell me why. The others never even bothered to call me back. If this one doesn’t work out I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want to do another year in an apartment,” you say, feeling your heart rate start to pick up as you get closer to the house. “I cannot bear the hour commute for a minute longer, and I have thirty days until I have to be out of my apartment now.”

“There’s nowhere else?” she asks. 

“Not in my price range that’s close to work and has space for a little garden…” you answer, knowing that the last part isn’t the most important. 

She laughs because she has listened to you talk about starting a garden for the last two years,“So what is your plan, then?”

“I’m going to go to this open house, make sure it looks like the pictures online, and if I like it, I’m going to see if they will let me do the application right there. Like, this is the one. It’s right by my office, it’s close to everything, and it’s right in the sweet spot of my budget.” you answer, chewing the skin on your bottom lip as you pull up to the curb. A nervousness washes over you as you lay eyes on the old house, “Okay, I’m here, please wish me luck. I have to get this, Blake.”

“Sendin’ up prayers to the big man as we speak,” she giggles, “Call me after, let me know. I’ll be sitting on my couch stalking my ex's new girlfriend.”

“Blake–” you start, listening to the line beep as she ends the call. You let out a laugh and shake your head, taking a deep breath as you look over the outside of the house. It truly is perfect, the sweetest little historic cottage you’ve ever seen. You felt drawn to it, even from the photos online. You knew it was your last chance at a house before you signed a new lease on an apartment you didn’t want. 

You gather your courage and step out of the car, taking in the sights of the quaint neighborhood around you. Most of the houses on this street looked similar, in various states of aging. This one, however, looked well kept and cared for. The black numbers on the front porch post read ‘19’, and for some reason you just knew this house was meant to be yours, that is, until you heard the sound of a car door shutting behind you. 

Out stepped a guy, dressed fairly nice with a pair of dark sunglasses perched high on his nose. His hair was long and hung over the shoulders of his dark blazer. You knew it was an open house, but you didn’t expect others to be here when you got here. You felt a twinge of competition spark within you, and you found yourself thinking that you would do whatever it takes to get this house instead of him. 

The porch light was off and the front door was shut. You knew the open house didn’t start for  another few minutes so you didn’t dwell on the fact that the realtor wasn’t there yet. You took the time to walk around the yard, taking inventory of the current landscaping and seeing if you recognized any of the well established plants. Much to your surprise you were able to spot a flourishing blue hydrangea bush, and some creeping Ivy on the side of the house. There seemed to be decent shade from the giant Oak tree that hung over the house, setting the perfect scene for your new garden. You could already picture the vegetables you would grow here, and prepare in the little kitchen inside. You were absolutely dead set on this house, and as you stood in the shade of the Oak tree admiring the greenery all around you remembered him. 

He made his way to the side of the house, not caring at all about the plants the house was surrounded by,  but looking at the foundation of the home instead. He crouched down at the crawl space entry, taking a closer look. You felt your eyes cut towards him, already feeling possessive over the home you wanted so badly. He shouldn’t even be here, this house was for you. His eyes flick over to you, noticing you watching him with your arms crossed across your chest. 

“Cute place,” he says, peering up at you over his sunglasses. He seems smug, you aren’t sure if you like this guy too much. It doesn't help that he is mysteriously attractive.

“Sure is,” you answer shortly, not wanting to give him any inkling about you or your intentions. 

You both snap your heads towards the road as you hear a car door shut, knowing the realtor must have arrived. You start to walk towards the front of the house seeing an older man make his way up the front porch steps and into the house, shutting the door behind him. You find yourself walking a little faster up to the front door in an effort to beat the man behind you, really wanting to make the first impression with the realtor.

In a huff you knock on the front door first, stepping back a few inches as you clutched your purse to your side nervously. The man finally joins you on the porch, standing a few feet away from you with both hands in his pockets, waiting for the door to open just the same as you are. You can smell his cologne wafting off of him, and while you can admit it did smell good, he was your competition right now, and you weren’t giving him the time of day. 

Make a good first impression. This is your last chance at your own place. 

Finally, after what felt like way too long, the front door swung open, revealing the sight of the older man in a pair of pressed blue jeans and a white t-shirt. A trucker hat sat atop his head, and a warm friendly smile was on his face. 

“Well, hello there,” he said, waving the two of you inside, “I reckon you’re here for the open house, is that right?”

“Oh, um, yes sir,” you answer, looking suspiciously behind you at your competitor. 

The older man flicks his eyes from you to the man behind you and grins, nodding his head as he hobbles further into the house. 

“Well, alright then, sorry I kept you two. I’m Ralph, and this is 19 Bluebird Lane. Got two bedrooms and one bathroom, decent little kitchen to do your cookin’, and a nice family room. Yards’ just big enough to make ya’ sweat when you cut the grass, and the grocery store is just a few minutes up the road.”

You stand in the empty family room, taking a quick glance at the house and finding it has original wood flooring and vintage fixtures. Your heart swells as you imagine your things filling the space, and how you would decorate for holidays. It’s everything you ever imagined for yourself, and you have no doubts in your mind that this is the house for you. Your competitor walks around the house, the echo of his boots on the floor almost abrasive. He doesn’t say much, the occasional sound leaving his lips as Ralph continues to talk about the house. You try not to stare at him, but you can’t help it. You are hoping he will find it outdated or tacky and leave. You can only hope. 

“You know Ralph, I have had my eye on this place for some time. Always caught my eye when I drove by, and when I saw it up for rent I knew I needed to come check it out. Hard to find these old Craftsman style houses in such great condition. What was it, built around the thirties I’d say?” The man asks, and you suddenly feel stupid. You could never even guess what year this home was built, and now his praise has gotten the leg up on you. 

“Sure was son, built in 1931.” Ralph answers, positively beaming at the man's words. “I did my best to take care of her, put a lot of work into it years ago, and still today.”

“It definitely shows, it’s an amazing place.” the man says, sending you a smirk. 

Ralph leads the two of you down the small hallway towards the bedrooms, gesturing towards the master bedroom and the guestroom. The bathroom for the home sits across the hallway from the two with floor to ceiling baby blue tile and a matching tub. A small window lights up the bathroom in the late evening sun, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture yourself doing your makeup at the sink, soaking away in the vintage tub, or opening the windows to listen to the birds chirp early in the mornings. 

“Ralph, can I ask why you’re renting instead of selling it outright?” the man asks, rubbing his fingers over his chin.

“Well, son, because I have to pay for my new apartment. I don’t need this place all to myself and I know to sell it, it would need a lot of work that I don’t think I will be able to do by myself. I fixed a few things here and there, but I think renting is probably my only hope,” he answers, his features falling into a gloomy expression. 

“I see,” the man says, “Well, I’m sure glad you are. This place is fantastic. I love that it’s all original fixtures.”

Shit. This is not going how you hoped.

Your eyes flick to Ralph’s, the smile returning to his face as he listens to the man speak kind words of his home again. 

“What if you had someone who was willing to buy it as is, all cash?” the man asks, and suddenly you feel the blood drain from your face. He wants to buy it… You look at him with panic in your eyes, and you feel the hope of your dream house slipping through your fingers.

“It would have to be the right buyer. I ain’t gonna sell this to just anyone.” he pauses, “The developers have tried to buy me out of this place for years. Want to build condos just down the street and I won’t do it. ‘M afraid if I sell it to any old Joe Schmoe they will tear it down, and I can’t let that happen,” he says. “We sure did love this place. Forty years we lived here, and my parents before that,” he continues,  reminiscing on times past. 

“You and your wife,” you ask softly, confirming with him. 

“Yes, my Gail. She loved this place. Said she never wanted to live anywhere else. We sure did fill this place with memories, but I have to tell you it’s just not the same without her. The memories hurt a little without her to share ‘em with,” he says, twisting his hands together. 

“To be quite honest with you two, it was her dyin’ wish that this place would be home to another couple like us. I promised her I would try, and for several weeks now I have been havin’ people come view the house, and none of ‘em was ever a couple. It never felt right. I made that promise, ya know?  I was startin’ to lose hope on it, then you two showed up at the door.” he says, letting his eyes meet yours. 

You look over to the man standing next to you, seeing that he is just as perplexed as you are. You aren’t a couple. You don’t even know this man’s name. You decide that the best course of action is to tell the truth,  “Oh we–”

“You know Ralph, we really do love the place,” the man interrupts, looking over at you with an indecipherable look in his eye. You recoil slightly, realizing that the unknown man next to you is playing into this poor man’s fantasy.

“A place like this is meant to house love. That’s all it’s ever known,” Ralph pauses, nodding his head. “I’ll tell you what, if you two like this place, I would be more than happy to rent it to you. Rent is twenty-one hundred a month, with the utilities.”

“That’s amazing, Ralph,” the man smiles, “Actually, would you mind giving us just a moment to talk about it?” 

A smile crosses his face as he looks at the two of you, “Sure thing, I’m gonna go take a sit on the porch, you two just come find me when you’re ready,” he says, turning and making his way to the front porch. You hear the front door close and you turn to the man, practically fuming with anger.

“What are you thinking?” you scold, not even able to begin to process what could possibly be going through his mind. 

“I’m thinking we both want this house,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Aren’t you going to try and just buy it from him?” you ask, pouting a little. 

“Ahh, you know, coming into this, yeah. I think so, but I’ve had a sudden change of heart. I can see you have your heart set on it, and to be honest, so do I.” he pauses, starting to pace around the room. “He’s made it pretty clear he isn’t wanting to rent the house to a single renter, and I get that, so this is about the only option.”

“I don’t even know your name! Why would I– What are you, insane?”

A smug smile crosses his lips, “My apologies, I’m Jake.” he answers, peering at you through the lens of his sunglasses.

You cut your eyes at him a bit, trying to decide what to say, “D–Do you always wear sunglasses inside?”

Again, he smiles and nods his head, “Pretty often, yes. They are prescription.”

“Oh,” you squeak, suddenly feeling rude for asking. 

“And your name is?” he asks, his voice a little deeper and more sincere. 

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, do you want to live in this house?” he asks, leaning back onto the wall. 

“I mean, yeah. I do, but I wasn’t planning on having a roommate,” you answer truthfully.

“Well lucky for you I'm practically never home,” he says. “Would only be here from time to time to sleep and do laundry.”

“And why is that?” you ask, as if it’s your business. 

“I’m in a band, we travel a lot.”

“So why are you doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

“Because, like I told him, I like this house, I always have. It’s close to my office and my brothers and it’s not some cookie cutter new build. It’s what I want, but I know it’s what you want just by the look on your face when I talked about buying it from him. He doesn’t want to sell. He wants to rent it to a couple, and I’m pretty sure that since we both showed up alone, neither of us fit that bill.”

“So you– you want to just lie to that sweet old man and tell him that we are together?” you ask. 

“Essentially, yes.”

“You don’t feel bad?” you question, your brows furrowing together. 

A small laugh leaves his chest and a bright smile parts his lips, “Of course I do, but I’m trying to make this work for both of us.”

“You said you’re in a band…Is that your only job? Are you sure you can pay your part of the rent?” you ask accussingly. 

An even larger smile fills his face, “Yeah, sweetheart. I can afford my share of the rent.”

“And you’ll clean up after yourself?”

“You won’t even know I’m here,” he nods. 

For a moment you consider running out of the house. Running out and signing the lease on the shitty apartment across town and never looking back at this insane proposition. But something about the way he has presented this has you considering it. 

“Can I think for a second?” you ask, pacing around the room. 

“Be my guest,” he says, gesturing into the air. 

You step out of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen, letting your mind play through various scenarios to try and come to a decision. Truthfully, you don’t really have another option. You had been ghosted on every other property you looked at. It was this or the apartment you didn’t want. This way you get the house you want, and the garden space you want, but for less money and half of the responsibility. 

It seemed like a no brainer, but you were still feeling hesitant. Maybe you should keep looking. Maybe you should just let him have the house. 

You open a kitchen cabinet, seeing a few old recipes still taped on the inside door, where they have sat for twenty years at least, and you feel your heart drop. You know you will feel awful lying about being with Jake, but at the same time, you know this place is the one and you can’t keep second guessing it. 

You decide right there in that perfect little kitchen that you’re going to do it. You would rather live with a stranger than in a shitty, loud apartment for another second. With a deep breath you walk back into the bedroom, finding Jake taking a look out the window. 

“How do you know I’m not a serial killer or something?” you ask, quirking a brow at him as he turns to face you. 

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, “Well, I don’t. But I'm willing to risk it. Serial killers don’t typically seek out homes in the center of town while admiring the flower bushes...”

You suck in a deep breath, and let it go, licking your lips before answering him. “Okay.”

“Okay you want to do it?” he asks, stepping closer to you. 

“I don’t really have another option.” you admit.

“You won’t regret this, I promise,” he smiles, stepping forward and offering you his hand to hold. 

Your eyes flick down to his outstretched hand before flicking back up to his face, “What are you doing?” you ask, a bit taken aback. 

“I was hoping we could go tell Ralph the good news,” he smirks. “Kinda have to pretend to like me if we are going to sell this.”

You feel your blood run cold. You hadn’t considered that part until this very moment. It was just for a few minutes. You could do that, right? You placed your hand in his, letting him wrap his warm fingers around yours as he smiled, leading you out of the bedroom and towards the front door. 

“Just follow my lead, okay?” 

You nod and step out onto the large wrap around porch finding Ralph sitting in a rocking chair. 

“Did you two come up with a decision?” he asks, working hard to pull himself up out of the chair.

Jake pulls you closer to his side, never letting his hand leave yours, “We sure did, Ralph. We would love to rent this place from you. I promise we will take great care of it, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You feel a tingle in the pit of your stomach as the pet name washes over you, his eyes locked on you, urging you to answer his question. 

“Um, absolutely. We both love it. It’s exactly what we wanted,” you agree, tilting your head to rest on Jake’s shoulder. You feel his grip on your hand tighten, and you swallow nervously. 

“My Gail would be so happy. Thank you both so much,” he smiles, fighting back the tears coming to his eyes. “We can do the paperwork and I reckon you can move in a few days once the money is sorted.”

“I can write you a check for first and last month's rent and the security deposit today, if you’d like?” Jake offers, and you feel a twinge of shock. No wonder he laughed when you asked him about rent earlier. 

“That would be fantastic, son. Boy you sure are makin’ this easy for me.”

“That was the goal, sir,” he smiles, following Ralph back inside as he pulls you along behind him. 

—

You spend much of the next hour filling out the renter paperwork and sending the documents to the appropriate places. Jake definitely took the lead in all of this, writing the checks and getting the information to transfer the utilities into his name. You knew the two of you would discuss all of this later, but for now you just let him. 

Ralph led you both out of the house, practically beaming as he walked towards his car. “I sure am glad you two came by today. I can tell that you two are perfect for this place. I will get all this paperwork sent off and get some keys made and be in contact with you by the end of the week.”

“Thank you so much Ralph, we can’t wait!” you smiled, waving as he got into his car and drove away.

Jake immediately drops your hand, and for some reason you feel a twinge of sadness at the sudden loss of warmth. 

“Well, we did it,” he grins. 

“I can’t believe he bought it,” you laugh. 

“I can, you’re a great actress, I even believed it there for a minute,” he grins, giving you a subtle wink. 

“So…Now what?” you ask, quickly remembering that things were not just that simple. 

“Now, we figure out logistics I suppose…” he answers, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “Shit,” he grumbles. You take notice of the shiny silver wristwatch, wondering what he is late for. You stand awkwardly trying to figure out what to do next. 

“I have to run, but we need to talk everything through. I know Ralph said he will call me when the paperwork goes through and the check clears, so I’d give it a day or two until I hear from him.” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“Okay, so am I just supposed to wait to hear from you in the meantime?” you ask, feeling a little left out of the loop. 

“Yeah, I mean, I can call you as soon as I hear from him, and I know we need to figure out the money stuff– actually, let’s just exchange numbers really quick, then we can figure all this out. I can call or text or whatever you prefer.”

“Oh, okay yeah,” you answer. You pull your phone from your bag and open your contacts, handing it to him as you reach for his. You quickly type your number in deciding to be a little cheeky as you add your name in as ‘Girlfriend’.

“I sent myself a text to make sure it goes through,” he says, placing your phone back in your hand. You smile and nod, locking your phone and putting it back in your purse. You hand his phone back to him, watching him shove it into his pocket as he turns to head towards his car. 

“I’m really sorry, I hate to run like this but I am running really late to this thing, and really I don’t even want to go I just–Sorry, anyway,  I will text you here in a little bit to see if we can’t figure some of this stuff out.” he says, walking alongside you to your car. 

“No worries, I will start making arrangements for this weekend tentatively?” you ask, wondering if that's too soon. 

“Yeah, I think that sounds good, I will do the same, and I can help you with whatever, just let me know.” he says, reaching for his car door. 

“Alright, well, um thanks… for this, I will talk to you soon, I guess?” you giggle. 

“Yeah, you will,” he smiles, lifting his hand to wave as he gets into his Jeep. 

You wave as you get into your car, shutting the door behind you and letting out a breath. “Holyfuckingshit.” you breathe out. You had done it. You got your dream home. Maybe not the way you planned, but some way, somehow, you’d done it. 

His tail lights lit up your face as he started his car, pulling away from the curb as you started your car. Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline of it all, and you knew you still had to call Blake to fill her in. 

You turn your head to look at the house, the yellow porch light glowing in the dusky night, warm and inviting. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize that is your new home, and though it’s not exactly how you thought things would go today, you couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. 

You both turn your separate ways, and as your car hits the freeway you hit the speed dial to call Blake. The call rings out twice before you hear her exasperated breath on the phone. 

“Hello!?” she shouts, clearly feeling a bit concerned. 

“Yes, hello…” you answer. 

“What the hell! I thought you got kidnapped or something!” she continues, “You couldn’t text me or something?!”

“Well, things took a dramatic turn when I got there!” you laugh. 

“What kind of dramatic turn?” she asks. 

“Well when I got there there was another guy there to see the house at the same time. We ended up touring the place with the guy selling it, who is just the sweetest little old man named Ralph, and he was telling us all about his wife and how they lived their for forever, and at the end of the tour he basically told the two of us that he was hoping a couple would want to rent it because it was his wife’s dying wish or something…”

“Shit, so you didn’t get it, now what?” she asks. 

“No, actually, see… I did get it. Well, we kinda got it.”

“Huh?” she yells. 

“So the guy, his name is Jake, totally hot, you’d be obsessed with him, anyway, he wanted the house like, just as bad as I did. When Ralph said that to us he basically offered to buy it from him in cash and Ralph said no he wanted to rent it. So Jake kinda looked at me for a second, then when Ralph walked away he told me that he would be willing to rent the house with me if I wanted to.”

“Y/N, no. Oh my god, no?”

“I know, I know, it’s actually fully insane, but Blake what other option did I have?” you question. 

“Wait so how?”

“We…kinda just pretended to be a couple. Ralph thinks we are together. Offered it to us on the spot. We accepted. Did the paperwork and all that. That’s what took so long.” you answer nervously.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Who even is this guy? He could be a murderer!?”

“He’s not. I don’t think... His name is Jake, he is in a band and they tour a lot apparently. Said he will hardly be around. It sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me,” you say. “He also fronted all the money for the thing. We are gonna talk about it soon I think. We exchanged numbers.”

“So right now you’re telling me that you are going to be sharing a house with a guy that you don’t know at all, don’t know his last name, don’t know a thing about him other than he is in a band and has a little money…”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” you laugh. 

“And you’re not nervous about this, like at all?” she questions. 

You laugh a little, “I mean, no. Something about him was oddly comforting. I could just tell he is a good person.”

“Do you know how insane this is?”

“Yes. But, I really had no other choice. I decided right then and there that I was not getting another apartment. Now sharing this house is going to be even less of a financial burden because it will be split in half. This is the best case scenario for me, Blake.”

“I know. And as crazy as it sounds you have the best intuition of anyone I know. I know you’re smart. You also sound really happy so…I guess I am happy too.” she says, the smile audible in her voice. “So, tell me about this guy, you said he’s hot…”

“Oh, I’m going through a bad spot! I will call you tomorrow! Love you!” you say, tapping the red button on the screen and ending the call. You toss your phone to the passenger seat as you switch lanes on the highway, making the hour drive back to your apartment. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, so glad to finally be rid of that place. This time next week you would be moved into your new place, enjoying the quaint neighborhood and the peace and quiet, and you were hopeful you wouldn’t regret the decision to take on an unexpected roommate.

—

JAKE POV

The gravel crunches as you pull into the parking space, throwing your car into park and twisting the keys in the ignition. You were late, really fucking late. You jump out, throwing the car door shut behind you as you sprint into the front doors of your office. It’s pin drop silent except for the sound of Josh’s voice echoing from the conference room. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, knowing you aren’t going to hear the end of this. 

You quietly make your way into the conference room, seeing Josh sitting across from the laptop on the table, listening as the interviewer speaks. He cuts his eyes to you as you shut the door behind you, placing your keys and phone on the chair by the door. He silently tells you to ‘hurry the fuck up’ as he turns back to the interviewer, making a joke about your untimely arrival. 

You take the seat next to him apologizing for your tardiness and taking the brunt of the rest of the interview. You spent the next thirty minutes talking about the plans for the second half of tour and the excitement you held about making stops in Japan and Australia for the first time in several years. You finished out the interview on a positive note, knowing that as soon as the call ended you were going to catch some heat for being late. 

Of course, as expected as soon as the call ended Josh turned to you with a sour look. 

“Why the fuck do we schedule these meetings around your day if you can’t be bothered to show up at the time you fucking choose!?” he shouts, standing up from his chair. 

“Look, I know. I was just down the street. I fully expected I would be here on time, it’s my mistake.”

“Where the fuck were you? You know I hate doing this stuff alone.” he asks. 

“I finally got into that house over on Bluebird,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders. He knew the house, you’d spoken of it often since your arrival to Nashville a few years ago. 

“Oh, yeah?” he softens, “It’s for sale? You gonna buy it?”

“Wanted to, the owner doesn’t want to sell. Offered cash, too.” you pause. “Toured it and signed the lease just now. That’s why I was late.  Probably moving in this weekend.”

“Shit, really? That’s– Okay.”

“Yeah, but…” you pause, swallowing nervously. “I seem to have acquired a roommate in the process.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Someone else was at the showing. She wanted that house as bad as I did.” you nod, rubbing your hand over your chin. “Something about her… I just couldn’t take it from her…”

“A girl…” he asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Yeah, seem’s sweet. Super gorgeous. Her name is Y/N. She has no fuckin’ clue who I am, which, is even better.” you laugh. “The catch was that the owner wanted to rent it to a couple. His wifes dying wish or something… So, I talked her into pretending we were together so he would rent it to us. Kinda works out, she will be there to watch the place when we’re gone and she works so she won’t be around during the day…felt kinda, I don’t know. Just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Jake, you are moving into a house with a stranger.” he states. 

“Yes,” you answer plainly. “But she is cool, I promise.”

“This is a bad idea,” he says, beginning to pace the room. “She could– I don’t know, I thought you wanted privacy– she might tell the whole world–”

“She won’t,” you interrupt. “I can tell. She won’t.”

“How do you know she’s going to pay her share?” he asks.

You laugh and shake her head, “Because the first thing she asked me is how I’m going to pay mine.”

He tilts his head in agreement, “Fair enough.”

“It’ll be good. Just trust me. I have a good feeling about it.” you urge. “I don’t know much about her, at all actually, but I know you’re going to like her.”

“Will be the first roommate you have had that isn’t me,” he smiles. 

“And a girl,” you laugh, “But it will be fine. I want that house and if this is how I have to have it then so be it.”

“Whatever, man,” he sighs, “But definitely has nothing to do with the ‘super gorgeous’ girl, right?”

You smirk and shrug your shoulders, “You’ll see. You’ll get it.”

“Whatever, hey you wanna grab a bite?”

“Nah, actually, I need to uh– I need to get home, have some things to take care of.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow?” he asks, opening the door of the conference room. 

The two of you walk towards the doors, shutting off the lights in preparation to leave, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you then.”

“On time.” he points, opening the door. 

“F’course,” you smirk, knowing damn good and well you will be late to that too.

—

Two hours later you found yourself on your couch, watching highlights with a box of leftover Pad Thai. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you thought of your new place and how easily it fell into your hands. Though, you also found yourself feeling thankful for the girl who just so happened to arrive at the same place at the exact same time that made it so that things could fall into place. 

You reached forward, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and settling back into the couch cushions as you unlocked the screen. You scrolled through your contacts looking for her name and to your surprise you came up empty. You felt a wave of panic wash over you as you looked again, still not finding it. 

You sat up a little, trying to figure out what was going on until you remembered sending yourself a text from her phone. As you open your messages you smile, shaking your head as you see her contact, not labeled with her name at all, and instead, ‘Girlfriend’. You tap the thread, seeing your message to yourself as you type into the box to reach out for the first time. 

You

8:13PM: Girlfriend, huh?

Girlfriend

8:17PM: It felt only appropriate…

You grin to yourself that she answered so quickly, and you wonder if maybe she was thinking about you, too. 

You

8:18PM: Suppose you’re right, we made a deal after all…

8:19PM: Obviously I haven’t heard from Ralph yet, but I figured we could maybe figure out our end of things if you aren’t busy?

Girlfriend

8:20PM: Yeah, sure that works for me. 

You glance at the time realizing it is kind of late, and you know she likely is working tomorrow. 

You

8:22PM: You sure? I didn’t realize the time.

Girlfriend

8:23PM: Yeah totally! I was actually thinking about it earlier, and if you want I can just venmo you my share of the rent and utilities every month, that way it comes from just one of us and he won’t get suspicious?

You

8:25PM: Actually yeah, that would be perfect. I can just let you know how much when I get the bills?

Girlfriend

8:27PM: Yeah! Sounds good to me!

You

8:28PM: Also just so you know, in about three weeks I am leaving for tour and I will be gone for about two months. I will obviously still pay my half of everything, but you will have the place to yourself. Just wanted to give you a heads up. 

Girlfriend

8:29PM: Oh, wow, thats barely enough time for you to get moved in and settled lol 

You

8:30PM: Unfortunately that is just kind of how my life is, never can get too comfortable anywhere before its on to the next place. 

Girlfriend

8:31PM: What’s your band called? Have I heard of you?

You laugh a little at her message, wondering if you should rip the bandaid off now, or later. But as your fingers type your answer you wonder if this conversation is better suited to a phone call. 

You

8:32PM: Would you be opposed to a phone call? I feel like I could explain better than I can over a text.

Girlfriend

8:33PM: That’s fine!

Shit, okay. You didn’t think she would say yes. Alright, it’s fine. You’ve talked about this a thousand times. So why are you nervous?

You clear your throat and tap the phone icon, listening to the line ring out twice before she answers. 

“Hi,” she answers, her voice soft and attentive.

“Hey, um, thanks for letting me call, I just feel like it’s a lot to explain over a text,” you laugh, swallowing down your nerves again. 

“No, it’s fine I get it,” she giggles, “I mean, we kind of have to get over the formalities now that we are going to be roommates.”

You smile, thinking about how different your life will be in just a week's time, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“Okay, so your band. What kind of music is it?” she asks. 

“Alright, well, it’s rock music. It’s my brothers and I. We’ve been doing it for quite some time now, just moved to Nashville about three years ago, touring all over the place before that.” you pause, feeling your heart rate pick up as you dance around the answer. You don’t understand why you feel nervous to tell her, but something about her knowing that makes you feel like she may think differently of you. 

“Okay I have google pulled up, I’m ready to research,” she laughs. 

“No, no you don’t have to do that actually,” you say, “It’s just going to tell you a bunch of shit that they have been saying since we started the damn band.”

“The name, Jake…”

“Right, it’s Greta Van Fleet.” you answer, holding your breath a little. 

“Oh, interesting name, completely different from what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” you smirk, crossing your feet on the coffee table. 

“I don’t know, something, um…more hardcore, I guess?”

“Nah, we aren’t hardcore rock,” you say, “Common mix up.”

“Okay google says you are like, really famous.” she says, her tone suddenly sounding serious. 

“I told you not to do that!” you urge. 

“Oh gosh wait there you are! Those are you brothers? Oh my gosh how cute. Sick eyeliner, Jake…”

You feel a warmth creep to your chest, just the thought of her searching your band had your heart twisting up. “Close it, I’m begging. I’d rather you just ask me instead of the internet.”

“Four million monthly listeners on Spotify, holy shit.”

“Okay, yeah, we are doing pretty well,” you tease. 

“Yeah I would say so! Oh my god, why are you moving into this house with me? You could buy like ten houses!”

“I don’t want ten houses, I want that one. And I never really planned on having a roommate. It just…kind of happened.” you say truthfully. 

“I feel like I need to listen to one of your songs?” she says, and you can hear her typing on her computer. 

“Wait, can you just–” you are interrupted by the sound playing through her computer speakers, “Alright.”

“I think I know this actually!” She sounds excited as she hears the riff of ‘Highway Tune’ play through. 

“Yeah, that one is uh– yeah that's a popular one,” you smile, just letting her have her moment. You suffer through it, knowing if you interrupt her she will probably make you listen again. 

“Okay, I get it now.” she says, pausing the song. 

“Get what?”

“Your vibe,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“Do you?” you ask, genuinely curious how that song in particular has told her anything. 

“Yeah, kind of like old school rock and roll. I like it. I really like it.” 

You feel a spark in your chest, and a smile crosses your lips, “Yeah, thank you. I– I really love what I do.”

She is quiet for a minute, “So you’re the guitarist I see.”

“I am, yes...” you answer hesitantly.

“So you’re going to keep me up all night playing,” she teases. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that. I do tend to keep late hours and I do like to work on stuff during those late hours, but I will do my best to keep my noise to a minimum,” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice. 

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Okay so what about you, then. You know what I do, what do you do?” you ask, letting your head fall back to rest on the couch. The sound of her voice is oddly soothing, and you let your eyes close as you listen to her speak.

“I’m a massage therapist,” she says, “I work at a little clinic near the house, which is why I wanted it so badly. I have been driving an hour to and from work for a few months now waiting for my apartment lease to be up.”

“An hour? Shit,” you groan. 

“That house was actually my last hope. It was also my favorite one. I can’t even tell you how relieved I am that by some miracle it worked out.”

“Seems like it was meant to,” you say, feeling thankful. “So massage therapy, how did you get into that?”

“Actually my entire life I swore up and down that I was going to be a journalist, but when I found out I am a terrible writer I had to make some quick adjustments. I had a really long exam one day and scheduled a massage for the next day, and when I walked out of that massage I knew that it was what I wanted to do. I went to school, worked at a few different places until I earned my chops and ended up here. I got a job at Lotus Room a few months ago and everything just clicked. I know I am where I am meant to be and I look forward to going to work everyday.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. I have had my fair share of massages the past few years, playing guitar is actually a lot more strenuous than you may think.” you laugh.

“No I fully believe you, most of my clients these days are musicians.” 

You raise your brows in surprise, “Oh really?”

“Definitely, maybe I can give you a roommate discount,” she jokes, laughing into the phone. 

Her laugh brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but laugh too. “I feel like a girlfriend discount would be better.”

“Oh it is, but you aren’t ready for that. And it’s not a discount, it’s a special.” You feel a blush rise to your cheeks, and you catch a hint of playfulness in her voice. You have no right to even let your mind wander with that one.

You decide you need to change the subject, keep things professional, “So, let’s talk about furniture.”

“Okay, yeah, I have a shitty couch and a coffee table, my bedroom furniture, and a small kitchen table and chairs.”

“So, I have mostly everything because I am in a house already, but I will leave the decision up to you since I can throw my stuff in a storage unit.” you say, hoping not to stress her out. 

“I am going to go out on a limb and say that your stuff is probably a lot nicer than mine,” she laughs. You can hear that she is walking around her apartment, her voice softening as she sits down. 

“My couch is pretty nice, I think it will fit well in the house, too. If you hate it we can do something else. I’m going to kind of leave things up to you since I won’t be around too often.”

“That’s generous of you, Jake.”

Something about the way your name sounded falling from her lips has you squirming on your couch. 

“Yeah, no problem. I will send some pictures over to you and you can decide,” you say.

“Perfect. Anything else I should know about you as a roommate?” she asks, her voice sounding a little more tired. 

“Not that I can think of. I am a pretty clean person. I try my best to clean up after myself so you won’t have to worry about that. As I said earlier I am kind of all over the place with the times I will be around. I like to cook, so that's a plus I think.”

“Oh, that is good to know. I like to garden, so maybe you can benefit from that.” she answers. You feel another spark in your chest at the thought, but you don’t let yourself linger on it for too long. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for letting me call, I feel like this was good. I will let you know when I hear from Ralph, and I will send those pictures over sometime tomorrow.”

“Yeah, this was nice. I actually do have to go, I have a lot of listening to do before I go to bed since I am now suddenly roommates with some famous guitar guy.” she taunts. 

“I hear he is overrated and kind of an ass,” you add. 

“I guess I will be the judge of that,” she says playfully, letting a quietness fall between the two of you. 

“Alright, well I’ll talk to you soon…” Some part of you doesn’t want to hang up. You shove that part back down. 

“Talk to you soon, Jake! Goodnight…”

“Goodnight Y/N.” you say, ending the call and tossing your phone to the couch next to you. You run your hand over your face as you stare up at the ceiling, sitting in the silence as your mind replays the conversation and the sound of her laughter. 

You know it’s only a matter of time. You know it’s inevitable. In fact it may already be too late. 

That feeling in your gut told you so. Twice. You know you will fall for her. Your fate was sealed the minute you saw her admiring the flower bushes. The minute you signed those papers. You would have never offered the idea of being roommates if you didn’t intrinsically know your own fate. 

You may be going into this as roommates, but you wouldn’t be coming out of it that way. Of course, that was still to be decided, but if you had it your way, you know what you would choose.  

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[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 1

a/n: As of 10/25/24 this fic is complete. If you’re finding this after that date, please read and enjoy. And don’t be shy, share your thoughts along this wild ride 💜 HAVE FUN & BUCKLE UP!

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’, you decide to check it out. 

Chapter One: Of Breakups and New Housing

You’re sitting on the curb next to several suitcases and trash bags full of your belongings, feeling humiliated as cars pass by. You can’t fucking believe you thought it would be a good idea to rent an off campus apartment with your boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend, of three years. It’s not even a full two months into the semester and you both already decided to call it quits. Things had been rocky over the summer to begin with, but you hoped living together would fix it. 

You were wrong. And stupid for letting him put only his name on the lease.

So what are you gonna do now? You can’t call your parents, they told you this was a bad idea from the start. You can’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they were right. Your friends are all in the dorms and, sure, you can crash with them for a couple nights but you need to find something for the remainder of the year. 

You take out your phone, wiping the tears that fall from your eyes as you start looking for somewhere to live. A one bedroom apartment by yourself is completely out of the monthly budget your parents send. You’ll have to settle on a room or some sort of shared living environment. 

Your scrolling stops when you see a post that says ‘FREE IN-HOUSE STAY’. You click on it to read more. 

FREE IN-HOUSE STAY

It’s that time of year again. The members of Sigma Kappa Zeta (SKZ) have beds to fill. Stay will be free of charge, however there are stipulations. Further details will be provided in person. Send a direct message if you’re interested and we will provide the interview date.

You’ve heard of the SKZ fraternity in passing, but never participated much in Greek life on campus. The post feels a little sketchy, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you send the email anyways. If you can pocket the money your parents are sending and stay somewhere for free, maybe you can turn this shitty situation around in your favor. 

You receive an email the following day that advises you to fill out an NDA and an application complete with a picture of yourself. You also go to a nearby clinic to complete a drug test and various other checks. Your interest in the ad is piqued, but the night spent on the floor of your friends dorm encourages you to pursue it.   

Two days later you find yourself standing outside of the SKZ house with ten other women. The house is in a gated community and sits on a pretty large lot, enough room between it and the next that neighbors probably didn’t mind a bunch of college students staying there. It’s a three-story home and not too far from campus, maybe a thirty minute walk. 

At 1:00pm the door opens and a tall, kinda lanky boy with a slender face greets you all. His eyebrows and most of his eyes are hidden behind his bangs, but he dons a welcoming smile. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt with ΣΚΖ written across the chest in green letters. 

“Please, come in,” he says, gesturing for you all to enter. 

You all huddle in the foyer and he closes the door when the last girl enters before leading you into the living room. There’s a large, navy blue sectional where you all sit. When he exits the room, you fold your hands in your lap and cross your legs, shaking your nerves out through your foot. as you wait for whatever is about to happen.

You hear footsteps coming down the hall and eight men enter the room. If your life were a movie (it most definitely isn’t, you’re sleeping on a floor, remember?), this scene would play out in slow motion. They exude an air of confidence and nonchalance all at the same time. They’re all of similar heights, with hair color ranging from black to blonde, some are lanky, some are muscular—one is flat-out buff, and they’re all Korean. They’re…handsome? The word doesn’t feel like it suffices, though. Each and every one of them are breathtaking in a way that feels completely unfair and makes you question why you’re even there. 

They spread out in a line in front of the TV mounted on the wall opposite the sectional. They’re all wearing the same thing—jeans and the black shirt with their fraternity initial across the front. 

“Thank you for coming here today, ladies,” one of them starts to speak with a light Australian accent. 

As your eyes focus on him, he looks familiar. He’s in one of your classes. He seemed rather quiet and reserved in class, but here he’s easily taking charge and leading the situation. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment and he offers a tight-lipped half-smile and nod. 

“I’m Chan,” he continues. “The is Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin.”

Each member waves as he gestures to them and says their name. Seungmin is the one who had opened the door. 

“We’re sure you’re curious as to what our post entails…let me explain.” Chan begins. “Here at Sigma Kappa Zeta, we strongly pursue the strongest version of ourselves. We work hard, study hard, and play hard. We want all of our members to be at their best at all times. We cannot achieve the goals and dreams we have if we are weak in any area. Which brings us to having you here today.”

Your eyes dart to the other men standing in the line, but it’s impossible to read their expressions. 

“We are looking for four women to reside in our home. Your duties will be cooking and cleaning for the household, and pleasing the members you are assigned to.” 

You can only blink as you stare at him. Assigned to? And did he say please the members? Does he mean fuck?

“We believe that with these essential needs met,” he continues without missing a beat. As if he hasn’t just uttered something completely scandalous. “Our members will be free to flourish and earn our spots next to our SKZ predecessors.” 

He stops for a moment and steps forward from the others.

 “I know how this sounds. Misogynistic. Throughout the many years of this tradition, it has proved to work in our Stays’ favor as well, though. You’ll have your needs met, less stress and many Stays have reported a boost in their overall happiness and confidence.” He says. “We know you are students, too, and we don’t want to impede on your education or your own personal goals. That being said, it’s not a position suitable for everyone, we know that. We also know, that should you choose to participate, you will have an invaluable sense of community throughout your time here. You will have free room and board, and be allowed time to focus on your own success. Any resources we have access to can be yours as well.”

He claps his hands together.

“Now that you know what this entails, please remain seated if you’re still interested. If not, kindly exit—but we would like to remind you of the NDA you signed.”

He pauses for a beat. Two girls stand and promptly exits the home. You stay rooted in your seat. You’re a decent cook. You can clean. You think you could be a good fit for the position. You’ve also been with the same guy since your freshman year, so the prospect of experiencing something new in any capacity intrigues you. And honestly, right now, a free bed sounds more tantalizing than the floor, doesn’t it? You subconsciously roll out the kink in your neck at the thought. 

“Eight of you still here,” he says with a nod. “We’ll call each of you up, you’ll introduce yourself, walk past each member, then take your seat. We will then leave to deliberate. When we come back, we’ll let you know which of you are staying and who you’re assigned to.”

You shift around in your seat and nod your head. Chan steps back in line and calls the first name. You watch as each girl walks in front of the men, wondering what’s going through their head—what are they looking for exactly? 

When you hear your name called, your heart begins to race. You stand and announce your name, your major, and year in school. You then walk towards Jeongin and slowly make your way to Chan. It’s quick, but not painless. It’s fucking nerve-racking as they each stand there, stone faced. 

When all the girls are seated on the couch again, the men exit the room. You’re all quiet as you wait for them to come back. It takes nearly half an hour. 

Chan announces the names. The first girl called is assigned to Jeongin and Han. The second is assigned to Felix and Lee Know. The third goes to Seungmin and Changbin. 

There are five of you left on the couch. You begin to feel nervous that you may not be chosen, but the next name that falls from Chan’s lips is yours. 

Your try your best to hide your surprise as you stand and step forward, hearing that you’re with Chan and Hyunjin. 

“Thank you, ladies, for coming today. If you haven’t graduated next year, we welcome you to come back again.” Chan says to the others on the couch before showing them to the door. 

When he returns, the eight of them shift around to stand in front of their assignee.

In front of you is Chan. You can’t help but notice the way the sleeves fit tightly around his biceps, and the veins protruding from his arms. Hyunjin is standing next to him—he’s taller than Chan, but a little more thin. His overall presence is softer. You try not to stare too much. 

“We’ll give you a tour of the place, show you where you’re staying and then you may retrieve your belongings and return by 5:00pm to prepare dinner. You will cook for whoever you’re assigned to, and get to know each other over dinner.” Chan continues to take charge. 

You’re then led on a tour of the house. The first floor has the living room, kitchen, and a bathroom. The kitchen has two separate stoves, a huge pantry and a ton of cabinet space. There’s even an island with bar stools along one side of it. They then take you all down to the basement where there’s a pool table, an old keg, a bar, TV, and beer pong table. 

On the second floor is four bedrooms. They tell you who resides on each floor, but do not allow you into the rooms unless it’s someone you’re assigned to. Hyunjin is on the second floor. 

He opens the door to the room and you peek inside. You see that there’s a Queen sized bed, dresser, and desk covered in art supplies. Next to his bed is a twin sized bed, bare of any sheets. Is that where you’ll sleep? You wonder. 

“The bathroom at the end of the hall on the second floor is strictly for you all to use,” Chan announces as you all make your way up to the next floor.

On the third floor, you’re allowed to see Chan’s room. It’s significantly larger than Hyunjin’s, with it’s own bathroom. He also has a queen bed, nightstands, a dresser and desk. However, the twin sized bed is further from his own, against the opposite wall. It, too, is bare of any sheets. 

After the tour, everyone breaks off into groups of whomever their paired with. You’re in the kitchen with Hyunjin and Chan standing on either side of you. You exchange numbers with both of them. 

“So you’re majoring in Biology?” Hyunjin speaks to you for the first time. 

You nod, unable to find your voice. Still somewhat in shock of what the hell is even happening.

“She’s nervous,” Chan says, easily able to read you.  

“Don’t be,” Hyunjin says with softened eyes. “It sounds more intimidating than it really is. This is a mutual thing, okay? We help each other.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly.

“Do something simple for dinner tonight,” Hyunjin continues. “Pasta? With shrimp?”

He looks over to Chan who shrugs and nods in response. 

“We’re not as demanding as the others—we won’t be expecting full course meals.”

“You got lucky,” Chan adds. 

Got lucky? Did you? Or did you just get yourself into an inexplicable situation? They didn’t mention anything about what should happen if you change your mind. Are you even allowed to? Perhaps you should have read through the NDA a little better. First the lease, now this…you’re not the best with contracts, are you? 

Chan produces a credit card from his wallet and hands it to you. 

“Return with your things by 5:00pm. You can get groceries and bedding with this. Two twin-sized sets.”

You take the card from him and put it in your pocket. 

“We’ll see you soon,” Hyunjin says in a sing-songy voice with a smile. 

“See you,” you say lightly and try to return the smile. 

You’re still feeling awkward about the entire ordeal, but you’re somewhat at ease at how respectful they all seem. You’re not sure if you’ll be forced to do anything you don’t want to…but as you think about how handsome every single man in the house is…will you eventually want to?

After going to get groceries and bedding (two sets), you get your belongings from your friends dorm then take an Uber back to SKZ house. 

You’re a little early, but the door is open. You place your personal things to the side and go to the kitchen to start on dinner. You’re thankful they chose an easy meal, but go the extra mile to make the Alfredo sauce from scratch. It’s one of the few recipes you remember by heart from your mother. You season the shrimp and cook it up with butter and garlic. 

The other girls start to arrive and space in the kitchen becomes severely limited, even with two stoves for you all to use. You start to wonder if they’ll all have dinner at the same time every day because that may prove to be quite a challenge. You all move around each other easily enough, but you don’t really say much. 

When the food is done and plated, you send Hyunjin and Chan a text that dinner is ready. 

They come into the kitchen moments later, grab their plates, then lead you down to the basement for the second time today. 

It’s definitely not a fancy or romantic environment. Sitting at a beer pong table and seated on fold out chairs, but you’re not uncomfortable. Nervous as shit. But not uncomfortable. 

You wait for them to eat first. They both nod appreciatively after taking their fist bite. 

“You must have a lot of questions,” Chan says, twirling pasta around his fork. 

“Ask us anything,” Hyunjin prompts. 

You’re silent for a moment, chewing your food. You have what feels like a million questions, and want to get the most important one out of the way first.

“Am I gonna be fucking you both?”

Hyunjin coughs on the food he’s eating and Chan let’s out a soft chuckle. He hands Hyunjin his glass of water.

“Well…yes,” is Chan’s blatant reply. 

You expect him to say more, but he doesn’t. 

“Like…at the same time or is there some sort of schedule or…?” You trail off.

Hyunjin, finally recovered from his coughing fit replies, “It’s really up to the three of us to decide specifics. You’ll be in either of our rooms, on a rotating schedule. We could do every three nights. Monday-Wednesday and Thursday-Saturday? Sunday will be your choice.”

You nod slowly, more in understanding than agreement at this particular moment. 

“This tradition works best when it operates like a well oiled machine,” Chan says. “Always be honest with us. Let us know if you aren’t feeling well, if you have your period—anything.”

“There’s actually an app we can all access if you’re uncomfortable telling us, we can use that.” Hyunjin adds. 

“And when it comes to cooking and cleaning, you and the other girls can work out whatever kind of schedule works best for all of you.” Chan continues. 

The absurdity of the arrangement starts to feel less worrisome as they talk. The situation itself is still quite insane, but they speak about it so casually that it seems normal. 

They allow you to pester them with questions as you finish up the meal. They’re all business majors, Hyunjin’s minor is Art and Chan’s is music. They’re all legacies at Sigma Kappa Zeta—meaning their fathers, and grandfathers for some, had been members too. They have all been on a certain career track since they were born to father’s that are successful business owners in Korea and Australia. They each came to the states in high school, studied at a prestigious boarding school and now here they all are, in college, together. 

You can’t fathom having your entire life planned out that way. Perhaps it would take out some of the things you stress about regarding your future, though. Clearly, their parents all want what’s best for them. 

They explain a few other rules like—you’re not allowed to date or have sex with anyone outside of the members, and that’s a rule everyone in the house follows. Failure to adhere will result in immediate removal from the home. 

After you’ve asked all your questions, you all head back up stairs. The others are scattered throughout the house, some at the dining room table, some in the living room. Through the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, you see a few of them out there too. 

“We’ll handle the dishes for tonight,” Hyunjin tells you, taking the plate and glass from your hands. 

“Take your things upstairs, make up your bed in each of our rooms. There’s some closet and drawer space in each for you.” Chan says. 

“Where am I sleeping tonight?” You ask. 

“It's Sunday. Your choice,” replies Hyunjin. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s really just where you’ll sleep. It’s not like you won’t be able to interact with the other person or anyone else in the house based on where you sleep, okay?”

You nod. 

They take off towards the kitchen. You retrieve your belongings and head up stairs. In Hyunjin’s room you make the bed with the dark blue bedding set—it’s adorned with different flower types and feels fitting. You recalled seeing the flowers he was painting on his desk when you made this choice. You’re not sure how to divide up your clothing but decide to place a bit of everything in both rooms. 

When you make it up to Chan’s room, you put away the rest of your clothes then make up the bed here too. The set you chose for his room is black with teal and purple nebula on it. He has LED lights lining all four walls, near the ceiling. You thought it might look nice when they’re turned on. 

After making the bed, you sit down and allow yourself a break to think.

You now have to decide whose room you’ll be sleeping in tonight. 

[ read chapter two here ]

a/n: yeah, this was a random idea that i'm just gonna roll with. no idea where its gonna go yet, but this will be fun to write. have to set the scene with this first chapter, the smut is coming, don't worry :)

[airas-story]

Simple Gifts

“Here.” Stephen thrust the small package at Tony. He’d been debating with himself for the last three weeks. First about whether to get Tony something or not. Colonel Rhodes had assured him that Tony never expected anything from his friends, given how hard Tony could be to shop for—Stephen didn’t exactly want to stick himself in the friend category, anyways, even if he’d yet to make any sort of move. Then, when he’d finally decided to bite the bullet and do it, he’d had to decide what in the world he was supposed to give someone who had essentially everything.

Tony stared down at the package for a long moment, brow furrowed in bemusement, but he took the package. “What is it?”

Stephen would have thought that was obvious. “Your birthday present, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tony repeated. “People don’t get me presents,” he said the words as though Stephen should know better. “I’m kind of hard to shop for.”

“Trust me,” Stephen said. “I’m well aware of that.”

Tony eyed him for a long moment, then shrugged before carefully unwrapping the present. Stephen almost wished he’d just rip the wrapping paper off and get it over with, but Tony was apparently being contrary—even unknowingly—because he seemed to have decided that he was going to finish with a perfect thing of wrapping paper.

It seemed to take forever for Tony to unwrap the present, prying open the box carefully. He froze.

Stephen bit his lip. Had this been a bad idea? Vishanti, this had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have gotten anything. Or if he had, he should have gotten something normal.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“They’re spells,” Stephen explained. He moved closer, slipping into Tony’s space. “Here, dump them out.”

Tony carefully tilted the box; the three spells fell out into his hand, connected by a thin chain that could be hooked around Tony’s wrist. Stephen had contained each spell in a small containment unit, about the size of a standard dice.

The green and silver metal square was wrapped around the orange spells, seemingly contained by glass, though that was an illusion rather than a reality.

Stephen picked up the chain, settling it on his own hand. He pointed at the first one on the right. “This spell is a spell of invisibility. It’s not an entirely impressive piece of magic, but it will last about ten minutes and can be applied five times.” He pointed at the second spell, on the left. “This one is a mild levitation spell. You probably won’t need it often, with the suit, but it’ll last about five minutes and can be used five times as well.”

Tony looked up at him, the expression on his face difficult to read. “And the last one?”

Stephen rubbed a thumb over the spell in the middle. “This is a shield charm, it should withstand all but the most powerful of spells. It can be used twice.” He’d had to decide what was more important, a heavy-duty shield spell that could only be used a few times, or a light-weight shield spell that had a higher number of applications. Knowing Tony, though, if someone was going to go after him, they’d go after him with the worst they had. “I’ve charmed the container on this one so that I can re-apply the spell once they’ve been used.” The others would vanish once they’d fulfilled their purpose, but this one…

It had been a tricky bit of magic, but well worth it. The others he could replace based off what Tony wanted—if he did ever want more—but this one… well, shielding Tony… Protecting him... There was nothing Stephen would replace that with.

Tony examined him for a moment. Stephen tried not to let his anxiety show. “Is this… all right?” He knew that Tony had some reservations about magic, still, but Stephen… well, it was what he had to give.

And admittedly, once the idea had occurred to him, Stephen hadn’t been able to stop. The idea of being able to provide Tony with magical protection had been unrelenting.

Tony bit his lip, then nodded. He held out his wrist. “Want to do the honors?”

Stephen smiled, relief filling him. He wrapped the chain around Tony’s wrist and then used a quick spell to do the latch. “Only you can take it off,” he said. “Or me,” he acknowledged. “Since it’s my magic, but for all intents and purposes, just you.”

Tony shook his hand a little. There was a faint clink of the spells knocking into each other. It looked innocuous, like a simple charm bracelet—though admittedly, one that wasn’t entirely Tony’s style—certainly not like a minor magical relic.

“How much work did this take you?” Tony asked.

Stephen shrugged. Several weeks worth, but he didn’t want to admit that. “Not much.”

Tony nodded, looking down at his bracelet. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Stephen said. “I want you to be safe.”

Tony’s smile was soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever been safer.” He paused, considering Stephen for a long moment. A small smile crossed his lips and then he was pressing up. The kiss came, soft and gentle, pressed against Stephen’s cheek.

Stephen felt a flush rush over him; he was sure his cheeks were bright red. So, yes, maybe Stephen hadn't been entirely inconspicuous about his feelings. Tony’s kiss made Stephen think he wasn’t entirely alone in that, though.

“Happy Birthday, Tony.”

[syoddeye]

sy's reading recs

hi. i read a lot of fanfiction for COD and i love spreadsheets. i try to track my reads, and thought i'd make two reading rec lists. you are currently viewing the non-darkfic list. i've included blurbs from yours truly. the blurbs are short because there are a LOT of recs below the cut. now then.

beyond the read more, you are responsible for reading tags, warnings, and summaries.

pairings are indicated where applicable, although these may change or may not be established yet.

similarly fic ratings may change! again, it's your responsibility to read tags and warnings.

i've checked all the links, but if they're broken, i blame tumblr. there's enough info to find the fic if need be.

do not harass authors with "next part when" bullshit. it's tacky and i hate you.

previous lists: one, two | banner by @/cafekitsune

gaz x reader

Lavender Skies by @yeyinde

Late to the party but gd if you haven't read this, put it at the top of your list. Kebabs, back-up shoes, the feeling of someone knowing you, the pain and sublimity of being in your late 20s...Chef's kiss.

childfree!reader thoughts by @pfhwrittes

Tooth-rottingly sweet bit about finding someone with the same priorities and not being made to feel bad about it. Love it when the boys match-make a lil bit.

The Gym by @secretsynthetic

Very cute piece about meeting trainer!Gaz at a workout class. Kudos to Reader for making it through the class because I would've had to bail if Gaz perceived me for half a second. Love how observant and sweet he is in this.

Pluto by @groguspicklejar

Late to yet another party, but I got sucked in by the premise: 'vampire!Gaz is smitten with a girl who has no desire to be around his kind'. I love how the relationship progresses, the later chapters had me gigglin'. Except for that last chap. I got GOT.

ghost x reader

child free @391780

I tag it from time to time but one of my favorite things to see in fanfic is the love and intimacy of caring for someone. And that's what this is. Among my favorite oneshots I've seen shared in this fandom.

Roommate Simon by @tacticalgirlboss

Roommate Simon could go in so many directions, but I love this particular take. The slow evolution of the relationship from roommate to something else. Made me feel mushy as hell by the end.

Through Me (The Flood) by @peachesofteal

Another drop everything to read fic. Seeing Simon embrace a role he was not expecting to ever fulfill is both heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. Me with every installment.

soap x reader

mic work by @glossysoap

I have four words for you: Erotic audio artist Soap. Soap's hard at work (🥁), imagining best friend!Reader as the subject of his latest scripts. He is COMMITTED to his job. submissive Soap by @doeidawn

Dizzying. Schedule time to take a lap after reader. Something about that man begging. It needs to be studied and somehow distilled. Into what? I don't know, don't ask me, I can't think straight after re-reading this. bad reservation by @the-californicationist

I think I summed up my reaction to this in my tags: "reader's getting that michelin star dick". A prompt filled by Cali that made me giggle furiously for a smooth ten minutes after reading.

price x reader

Storm Chaser by @/the-californicationist

Save me, biker!Price...save me... Caution: You may need to lie down after reading. Truthfully, I'm terrified of motorcycles. But I would reconsider for this Price.

A Case of You by @alittleposhtoad

One of my favorite new series. A zombie apocalypse where you're hiding out on a remote island in Canada, and who finds you? Just my favorite man. Really enjoy the pieces of worldbuilding and seeing Price interact with what's left of Reader's community.

Words Like Violence by @deadbranch

BodyguardxBodyguard. Two professionals wanting one another and their jobs kind of getting in the way. Suits. Gear. Gloves. Pure catnip. An appearance from Simon that made me laugh, re-read, then rub my hands together like a raccoon.

141 x reader and other pairings

GhostGaz Week by @dragonnarrative-writes - gaz x ghost

Dragon knocked it out of the park on GhostGaz week. I love all of them, but 'afraid of the dark' and 'sweet talk' are two of my favorites.

An Offer You Won't Refuse by @lovifie - gaz x price

You know that clip of Kylo Ren screaming more? That's me, because this makes me want more GazPrice in my life. Delectable. Mean!Price and Gaz calling in a victory.

SCP!141 by @ghouljams - gen tf 141

Incredibly fun and freaky AU that I think has half of my lil circle of friends on here willing to overlook their personal safety to get at SCP-141....I may or may not be among them.

Fancy by @swordsandholly - 141 x reader

Subtle delicious morsels of worldbuilding and bleak, dystopian vibes with vampires. That should be enough to get you started. Had me at the Reba reference.

Tradie 141 by @/pfhwrittes - mix

The way I would be quickly banned from any worksite if they were real. The Tradie!verse is very, very important to me and I eat up every piece that comes out of P's big brain.

Autumn Embers by @/dragonnarrative-writes - 141 x reader

One of the most nuanced takes on the omegaverse paired with some of the hottest smut. The meta is a good place to start, imho, as it underpins the fic and bolsters the plot.

Mission Shenanigans by @kyletogaz - gazsoap x reader

Here's a taste: “You’ve got your tongue shoved in my pussy and you expect for me to be quiet?” Got it? Scurry on over for the oneshot that made me bluescreen at the end.

Service Dog Johnny by @void-my-warranty - ghoap x reader

Interesting spin on Ghoap x Reader that shows a level of intimacy between Simon x Reader (and by extension, Ghoap x Reader), that goes beyond the sex. Yes, the smut is fantastic, but the relationship dynamic hooked me.

Cool Girl x @/peachesofteal - ghoap x reader

As a former 'Cool Girl', reading this is both therapeutic and painful, and fuck me if I don't run to read every update. You will cry, laugh, tear your hair out, and enjoy it.

Fuck-ass mohawk by @sentientcave - ghoap x reader

Reader finally saying what I'm thinking. Fuck-ass mohawk. Hilarious piece. I definitely didn't finish this and think "oh dang I want Reader to be mean to ME". 👀

"romance" in the age of technology by @/pfhwrittes - soap x gaz

Let it be known that Johnny MacTavish is a giver. A good friend. So thoughtful of others. So while Gaz recovers from top surgery, obviously our Scottish saint takes it upon himself (literally?) to cheer him up. Funny and WHEW.

[augustinewrites]

listening to the amurta darshan’s faculty argue over budgets is positively mind-numbing, and alhaitham can feel his brain cells dying off with each agonizing minute that ticks by. 

this is only his second meeting as the acting grand sage, but he’s already looking forward to retiring. he’s been mapping out his retirement plan for the last ten minutes, actually. he’ll move to liyue, build a house on a very, very high mountaintop, and spend his days reading from sunrise to sunset—

“acting grand sage, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

listening to petty squabbles between old men in his capacity as the scribe is one thing, but having to direct the squabbles is wholly another. 

he sits up, doing his best to shake the stupor from his mind before quickly glancing down at the notes his assistant places in front of him. 

“naphis,” he says, genuinely surprised. “you intend to relinquish your position as sage?” 

alhaitham isn’t truly listening when amurta’s (now former) sage produces an explanation. the next step is to find a solution. find a new sage. naphis’ long-winded soliloquy about ‘ushering in the new generation’ and ‘starting anew’ were simply redundant. 

he tunes back into the conversation when naphis says, “i’d like to recommend a former student of mine. tighnari.” 

alhaitham knows tighnari. would even go as far as to say he likes him. “of the avidya forest watchers, yes,” he murmurs. “i will reach out.”

he glances over at you when you shift in your seat, glancing at him with that look in your eyes. the one that tells him you have something you want to say. 

but then one of the faculty members begins a highly dramaticized account of an lab incident in pardis dhyai that “demands” the proper allocation of funds, and he sighs, realizing this will have to be addressed another time.

_____

the next few days are busy, as the shift of power within the akademiya demands near the entirety of his attention. that, combined with his reluctance to bring work home, lead him to follow up with you a week after the amurta faculty meeting. 

“what were you going to tell me?”

“hm?” you roll onto your side to face him, eyes barely open, considering it’s two in the morning. “when?”

he feels bad for waking you, knowing you’re exhausted from a twelve hour shift at the bimarstan. but he’d been penning his letter to tighnari earlier, and couldn’t stop pondering what you’d wanted to tell him last week.

“at the meeting,” he clarifies. “you were giving me…a look.”

“i give you lots of looks,” you yawn, nudging your face further into your pillow. “you are quite handsome.”

“don’t be cute,” he mutters, hoping the darkness of the room hides his blush. “you were looking at me like you knew something i didn’t.”

you blink a few times as the memory comes back. “which time? i give you that look multiple times a day, darling.”

normally, he finds your sass to be quite a turn on. just not when it’s directed at him. “the first time.”

“when you were talking about research grants?”

“not that time,” he frowns. “but— what do you know about that?”

“nothing,” you say much too quickly, but then you lean over, cupping his chin and looking him in the eye. “but when someone so, so pretty and extremely smart submits a grant application…”

“i will set up a private channel just for your submissions,” he promises.

“i was actually talking about kaveh, but that is very much appreciated. we do need new stethoscopes.” you pat his cheek a little harder than necessary, smiling.

“wait, kaveh?” he asks. “really?”

“oh yes,” you nod. “he was talking about an affordable housing project the other night. if the akademiya could spare the funds, he could even move into one of said houses himself…”

“finally admitting you want him to leave?” 

“haitham, he used that last of that face cream i bought in fontaine and keeps moving our furniture around. i don’t just want him to leave, i need him to leave. remember when he organized your bookshelves by colour?”

oh, he remembers, trust him. “i’ll have amani pull his application for review first thing tomorrow.” 

“a most wise decision,” you hum, about to roll back around when he gently grips your arm.

 “we’re not done. i was talking about when i mentioned reaching out to tighnari.”

“oh, that look,” you blink. “he won’t accept the position.” 

his brows raise in surprise, because who in their right mind would deny the role of sage? “and you know this how?”

“because we’re friends,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “and i know he’s made a commitment to lead the forest watchers. he’s doing good work there, along withconducting his research. i doubt he’d want to be saddled with a desk job on top of that. let alone one with the akademiya.”

“okay,” he shrugs. if you say he doesn’t want the job, then he doesn’t want the job. there’s no need to delve further into the specifics. “you know the amurta faculty better than i do. who should i ask?”

this time you send him a flat look, pulling away from him and taking the duvet with you. “haitham, i’ve entertained your poor attempt at pillow talk thus far, but if you wish to continue discussing this so bad, why don’t you go find amani? i’m sure she’d love to spend the night with you.” 

he rolls his eyes, trying and failing to reclaim the duvet. “jealousy is quite the unbecoming trait, you know.” 

“go to sleep, acting grand sage.”

alhaitham shuts up, because, well, you’d titled him. that was a warning sign in itself that he’d deprived you of your sleep for long enough. but you don’t protest as he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to the back of your head, still overthinking. his mind won’t rest until he finds a solution. 

“stop overthinking it,” you mutter into your pillow. “you’ll figure something out. you always do.”

you’re right, he realizes. maybe the solution is right in front of him. 

_____

alhaitham is halfway through reading kaveh’s application when he hears your muffled threats to his assistant right outside his door.

“move, amani. or i’ll make you!”

amani has a much better sense of self-preservation than he thought, because it’s not a second later that his office doors burst open, and you let yourself in. 

“when i told you that you’d figure it out, i didn’t mean this!” you exclaim, waving his letter in his face.

he takes your hand, pressing his lips to the back of it in an attempt to placate you, murmuring, “you don’t want to be a sage?” 

“of course i do,” you huff, snatching your hand back. “but— but i’m—”

“the logical choice,” he finishes for you, folding his hands atop his desk. “you obtained two degrees before 25, your thesis on elemental healing techniques is the gold standard, you’re the head of medical and you’re decently versed in botany.” 

“botany?” you repeat incredulously. “so maybe the neighbors are jealous of our garden and tighnari taught me how to use naku weed to make special brownies that one time–”

“they were very good brownies,” he assures you. “and you’re still an excellent candidate.”

you go off again, listing off all the reasons why it shouldn’t be you, but all that alhaitham sees is someone who is brave enough to hold their own in council meetings and even yell at the acting grand sage. you’re perfect.

even you sigh unnecessarily loud, pinching the bridge of your nose. “you’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“i don’t intend to, no.”  

you’re silent for a long minute, clenching your jaw so hard that alhaitham worries for your teeth. 

“i want to make my own hours,” you tell him firmly. “i’m not going to be tied to a desk all day.” 

that was something he could certainly get on board with himself. “fine. anything else?”

“give me the day to think on it,” you shrug, moving to sit on the edge of his desk. alhaitham slides his chair back so your knees fit between his legs. “you really think i can do this?”

“the pros of you being amurta’s sage greatly outweigh the cons, so yes.” 

you fix him with a long-suffering look. “what were the cons?”

alhaitham thought himself an intelligent man, but he very nearly opens his mouth to answer your question before realizing the answer will likely end with him sleeping on the couch tonight. he chooses to keep his mouth shut, earning himself a little kiss before you sign the contract on his desk.

[sutashii]

Hoshina Soshiro x Doctor!Reader AU, pt. 3

setting: even if you two are together, you still need to act formal in front of everyone

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Doctor!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: not applicable

notes: aaaand this one also can be read as a separate story! sorry for these parts being short, just need to take these drabbles out of my head as fast as possible x3

another parts of this AU: part 1 part 2 part 3 (current one) part 4 part 5 part 6

Subordination

You knew you needed to respect subordination between you and Soshiro when you were on public.

For others, you were no more than a vice-captain of Third Division and a simple doctor. Soft touches, lingering feelings of passion and devotion were all perfectly hid behind formal greetings, emotionless phrases and conversations filled with things that should be included in reports and medical forms, exactly as written in the protocol.

You were making medical rounds to see patients’ condition, provide additional treatment and make sure that everything was going as planned. It was a part of your every day routine, and you were doing everything to make your patients’ recover come as soon as possible.

“Doctor [Y/N],” dry and unemotional voice suddenly interrupted you on your way back to the medical office.

Of course it was Soshiro… Vice-captain Hoshina, to be precise.

“Yes, vice-captain?” you turned around to face him, his frowning face was showing hints of worry and exhaustion.

“One of our cadets is injured,” Soshiro said. “They stabbed themselves during the training session.”

“Stabbed?” you raised an eyebrow. “Are they using swords, too?”

“At least they’ve tried to,” Soshiro said with a small smile that had a hint of sympathy to the cadet who also preferred close combat over other fighting styles.

“Noted. Please escort them to my office,” you said and leaded the way to the small medical room filled with equipment and kits.

Cadet settled into a medical chair with anxious look on their face, their right hand visibly injured. Soshiro was standing near to the exit, leaned on doorframe with arms crossed.

“This injury won’t require any stitches,” you said after examination. “But you’ll need to reduce the load on this arm until you’re fully recovered.”

Cadet exhaled with a relieve, and Soshiro’s face lit up with a small, restrained smile.

“Vice-captain Hoshina,” you suddenly said. “I’ll ask you and cadet to fill in a small form about this incident. Feel free to seek my help if needed,” you gave Soshiro and cadet some report forms and started to sterilise all equipment that was used.

Vice-captain and cadet, after ten long minutes, have finally finished their small task. With a sigh of relief, cadet left the medical office just to meet their friends who were waiting for them outside.

You and Soshiro were finally left alone.

“This is actually so exhausting,” Soshiro finally said, coming closer to you with few small steps.

“Yeah, looking for your subordinates was always a hard task to complete,” you smiled, perfectly understanding how much energy Soshiro puts into training and educating his cadets and rookies.

“No, I’m not talking about them. They may be the pain in the ass, but still,” Soshiro smiled and bent just a little, looking over your shoulder as you check medical reports. “I’m talking about us.”

“And what is it?” you turned around to face Soshiro. It was something in his always half-lidded eyes that drew your attention. It was something sad but gentle at the same time.

“That constant need of maintaining subordination between you and me in front of others,” Soshiro exhaled and took your hand into his, his movements filled with love and respect.

“I know,” you nodded. You were kinda tired of these formalities, too, but they’ve needed to be done anyways. “But we can’t be all lovey-dovey in front of your subordinates, you know?”

“You’re right,” Soshiro chuckled. “Otherwise they won’t hop off me until I’m dead.”

You smiled widely and placed a kiss on Soshiro’s cheek, and his face at this moment was worthy of being captured in an art museum.

“I can do this at least when we’re alone,” you said.

Even if you two couldn't show your feelings in public, the moments of closeness and intimacy were twice as dear for both of you when you were alone.