#the next room's door is indicated by a green sign with the number on it

[buggbuzz]

take my very sloppy artist's rendition of one of our most dramatic moments from pressure

skeleton buddy is @/pearlbatart on instagram :)

[vixensp1ce]

fem!reader, uni au

There's a stranger in your bed, and he's fucking you better than any of your boyfriends have before.

Veritas Ratio pistons into your abused cunt, puffy and raw from his tongue, fingers, and cock. It's slender but long, almost elegant in shape, reaching so deep into you that you're nearly satisfied by him bottoming out alone.

But you're not so easily filled. And it's part of the reason why you're out on town, having finally freed yourself of your previous boyfriend, looking for a good dick to get fucked by.

But no one told you a stranger's dick would be this insane.

"Giving up already?" Everything Veritas says manages to sound judgemental and disappointed. You squeeze tighter around him, whimpering as your pussy protests, but he doesn't even crack an inch. "Slut."

He has you crumpled, exhausted, every muscle twitching from your past orgasms, and still he shows no sign of stopping.

"Can't even cum for me." Those long, deft fingers release their grip on your hair. You lurch forward with a whine of relief - at least until his hand creeps down to your cunt.

"Don't- please- ah, ah, ah~"

He rubs harsh circles into your clit. Sparks rush up into your belly, slamming you shut on his hard, hard dick, the knot ready to snap.

He groans, one of a limited range of sounds you've heard from him this night, and if it was even possible, his strokes get even faster. "Don't, my ass. Make me cum, you little bi- hrrrrrrph."

The knot unravels. "Veri, Veri, please, ah, please-"

A syrupy warmth spills out over your back, and his scent fills your nose again. You whimper, legs trembling, flashing hot and cold as your pussy spasms emptily from your orgasm.

Finally, he lets go. You collapse shakily, turning over.

He's hunched over you, purple strands concealing his expression as he ducks his head to catch his breath. There's a full moon high in the sky, and even the streets have gone quiet on this Friday evening. Or Saturday morning.

Veritas lowers himself slowly onto the mattress next to you, the only indication that he'd ever exerted himself the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His amber eyes pass impersonally over you, roving over your room as if it were his.

That was how he typically was, you'd learnt. Veritas Ratio was indifferent, coldly analytical towards the softer parts of humanity. Even in the club, he hadn't had much to say about anything except "It's too loud in here."

He was an architecture major something-or-other, handsome in the same way his blueprints were - all flat planes and sharp angles. Veritas had been eyed by a number of girls all over campus (and professors too, so it was rumoured), but his chilling attitude toward each and every one of them had spoken its own message.

Then you'd gone out with some course friends to a club. His liquid amber eyes flashed blue, green, pink under the club lights, digging into the flesh visible just above your thigh-high boots, and you'd decided, hey, why not?

His phone buzzes insistently somewhere in the room. Veritas sighs impatiently, climbing over you to rummage for his possessions. You're too sore to move much and the sudden loss of warmth stirs up an unwelcome hint of disappointment.

You listen to him move around your room for a moment. Warm breath on your ear gives you reason to turn over.

"I have to go now," he says, face inches from yours. You jump in surprise, clutching your blankets to your chest.

"Already?" Maybe you should have expected it. "Do you need a shower first?"

He hesitates. "...That would be nice, thank you."

You wave a hand lazily in the direction of the bathroom, watching him go. "And raise the door up before you latch it!" you call after him.

You hear the brief sounds of struggle, then Veritas manages. The sound of running water starts shortly after.

You let yourself lie for a moment longer, then groan and get up. The sheets and laundry would need to be washed, the house cleaned, and your work for school still needed to be tackled.

You're in the kitchen, doing the dishes, when you hear the front door open and shut.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: In which Lockwood is late, and Reader ends up face-to-screaming-face with the consequences.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢!

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Canon typical violence, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, Lockwood & Co. are in their twenties, kind of an AU?, blood, graphic descriptions of moderate head injury, no use of y/n, strong language.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Aaaand we're back! If you're familiar with the work this used to be, I'm begging you to let me know how you feel about the changes! Without further ado - dig in!

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.08k

  She’s going to kill him.  

  The sun has long set and the blue light of dusk does no favours for the ambiance of the house in which she is the sole living visitor.  For the tenth time in half as many minutes the girl glares at the green numbers faintly glowing at her from the clock on the back of the stove.  Twenty minutes past six, and still no sign of the single most infuriating man born this millenia.  Her roommate/employer was supposed to be here almost an hour ago, having instead left her to complete a potentially deadly job all by her lonesome.     Okay, so maybe she’s being a touch dramatic.  All reports from their client indicate a Type One, but even with the weakest Visitor, one mistake can be fatal without backup.   Sighing loudly, she drains the thermos of tea clutched in cold hands and slams it down on the counter, using the motion to vent the last of her frustration.  Fighting a ghost on her own would be significantly easier if she wasn’t radiating enough negative emotion to keep it fat for a month.  

  She leaves her lamp on and resting on the counter, then hauls the heavy kit bag off of the kitchen’s marble counter and ventures into the living room with the intention of laying down a circle for when all hell inevitably breaks loose.

  Once inside the room, a quick scan of the space tells a decisive story about the occupants.  The furniture itself is uncannily clean, accents of sunshine yellow and navy blue scattered amongst a palette of white and cream that one would find between the pages of a 50’s home decor catalogue.    With more care than any other member of her agency would bother to show, she places the duffel on the floor in front of a dreadfully yellow loveseat to avoid soiling the vibrant fabric.  Iron filings had a way of working their way into the woven material of their kit bags; she'd spent enough time trying to scrub the rust stains out of her own clothes to know how dreadful it could be.  The recently widowed Mrs. Roland had more than enough to worry about without adding blemishes to an otherwise spotless space, especially one sure to see plenty of grieving guests over the next weeks.

  It becomes harder to maintain focus on her assessment of the space as the temperature in the room begins to drop, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight on end as the perverse feeling of being watched sets in.  She lifts her hand to smooth the prickling sensation, though the chill of her skin does little to soothe it.  Her attention is pulled to the closed door down the only hallway attached to the living space, something from within silently calling her to enter and discover what secrets lay beyond.     Who is she to deny the call of curiosity when it comes knocking?  Especially when it comes alongside another noticeable drop in temperature.

  With a calming breath that hangs visible in the air like a miniature stormcloud, she considers her next move.  The Fittes manual clearly states the first order of business in a situation such as this should be to prepare an iron circle so you have an avenue of escape should anything take a turn for the worst.  As such, this would be the first step of any by-the-book agent.

  Unfortunately one does not find themselves under the employ of Lockwood & Co. by behaving like a by-the-book agent, and in a streak of bad luck she’d broken both her primary and backup rapier’s on the job this week.  She’d called ahead for a new one of course, but Lockwood was supposed to be in charge of bringing it with him.  Obviously, this was proving to be a problem.

  Muttering a few choice words about ignorant manchildren with poor time management skills under her breath, she bends to unzip the kit bag and retrieve the chains.  The muttering becomes progressively more vulgar with every second the links refuse to come free, clearly caught on something else from the haphazard way they’d been tossed in after their previous job.  Lockwood had drawn the short straw and been left to stow their gear whilst her and George had set to work righting the furniture the Poltergeist had been lobbing at them all night.  Apparently he’d been displeased enough to simply pile everything in together instead of taking the time to place things properly.

  Forcing another a calming breath, she makes a mental note to explain the phrase ‘weaponized incompetence’ before bracing her foot against the rough canvas of the bag and tugging harshly on the chains.  They come unstuck abruptly, the remaining force behind the pull sending her backwards to land unceremoniously on her rear, whilst the momentum of her sliding foot shoots the bag underneath the yellow monstrosity.  It comes to a rest dead centre beneath the settee, its other contents partially spilled and glittering tauntingly at her from the shadows.

  Unable to deny herself a moment to wallow in frustration, she rolls onto her side to rub at her smarting tailbone as she contemplates what deity she must have pissed off in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment.  Whoever said the gods have no sense of humour had clearly never known anyone with luck like hers.     The shattering of glass from down the hall proves effective in disrupting her pity party, immediately on high alert as her instincts kick in with a vengeance.  Blood roars in her ears as she pushes herself to her feet, suddenly blissfully ignorant of the literal pain in her ass.

  “If there’s anyone up there I haven’t pissed off yet, please, not another bloody poltergeist…”  She mutters under her breath, sparing a few seconds to shoot a pleading look at the ceiling and bracing herself for whatever comes next.  

  Once she’s certain nothing is going to start flying across the room at her, she loops the cold links of chain into a vice grip in her left hand, letting roughly half of them fall loosely from her right as a makeshift flail.

  The floorboards creak eerily under her feet as she approaches the simple white door at the end of the hall, making her glad for the undeniably tacky runner in the middle that at least partially muffles the sound.  As an involuntary shiver wracks her frame, she curses the metaphorical pain in her ass for her lack of a proper weapon one final time before focusing her attention wholly on the matter at hand.    Although cold to the touch, the doorknob twists open easily.  Even the hinges are blessedly silent.  She wastes no time in pushing it open and crossing the threshold.  By-the-book or not, no agent worth their weight in salt would ever hesitate in a doorway.

The room on the other side is unassuming, the same shades of white and cream attempt to convey peaceful feelings, but something about them is downright unnerving tonight.  The moon outside bathes the room in white light, adding to the almost ethereal nature of the scene before her.   Her gaze is instantly drawn to the only splash of colour in the room.  A painting stands stark against the white wall on her left; shades of songbird-yellow illustrate a field of golden grass, a single leaf-bare tree standing tall and proud in the midst of it all.  When she looks closely, she can see the delicate lines of lightly fraying rope binding a low-hanging wooden board to a thick branch overhead  - a child’s swing.  The initials ‘H.R.’ are barely visible in the bottom right corner.   She can’t recall how she got close enough to see the details.   A deep yearning to return to the peace and innocence of childhood almost knocks her off her feet, knuckles white around the heavy chain as she strains against the urge to reach out and Touch it.  Losing herself in visions of the past now would be a death sentence without someone to watch over her.

  Swallowing thickly, she tears her eyes away from the painting and forces them to scan the room properly.  To the right there’s what seems to be a large window, though any view of the glass itself is obscured by the sheer white linen curtains swaying in the gentle breeze.  There’s a light layer of dust present on the surface of the bedside tables, evidence of the rooms lack of use over the past weeks.  Where had Mrs. Roland been sleeping, if not here?   Even in the dark she can see how perfectly the bed is made, each layer tucked and folded neatly to rival any upper class hotel.   Something is wrong.  She can feel it.  There’s something obvious right in front of her, a voice in her head screeches at her to figure it out before she gets herself killed.  If she wasn’t still reeling from the strength of the psychic imprint on that painting she would have already realised there should be no breeze present to disturb the curtains, no matter how light the material.

  She turns to inspect the left side of the room but in the process a flash of white in her peripheral vision has her blood running cold.  Time seems to slow around her as a series of unfortunate events occur in particularly rapid succession.   First, her eyes lock onto the shards of glass scattered across the white carpet in front of the window.  Then, her heart leaps into her throat as she realises the light they’re reflecting is coming from behind her.  Finally, she whips around to find a shapeless white shimmer in the air only inches from her face.

  In a split second she rushes through a mental checklist; no overwhelming malaise, no ectoplasm stains around the house, no ghost-fog, below freezing temperatures, delayed apparition.  The sudden flare up of bright other-light is the final piece of the puzzle.  A Changer.  Not the best possible option, but she’d take it over some of the alternatives any day.  At least she could drop a few of her mental walls to focus on physically evading the thing.

  …Strike one.

  Feeling at least partially in control of the situation again, she leaps towards the bed, tucking into herself to roll across the softness before springing to her feet on the other side.   The previously flawless bedding holds an imprint from her impact and subsequent dismount, but that’s not what she finds herself frozen staring at.  Technically she isn’t actually staring at anything, more at the absence of it.  When she tried to look back at the new shape of the Changer, she found the room completely empty.     Shit.

  If it had been a weak apparition, and that flare was it deciding it was better off without a corporeal form, then-- squeezing her eyes shut, she breathes deeply as she tries desperately to get a handle on her panic and replace the psychic defences she’d oh so foolishly abandoned.   It’s too late.  An ear piercing shriek erupts through the space, echoing off of every wall to create a cacophony of noise she only realises she’s adding to when her throat starts aching in protest of the violent treatment.  A bloody Screaming Spirit.  This is a problem - no pun intended.   A cold ache permeates her body, she can feel herself becoming more sluggish with every passing second.  If she could just lay down, cover her head with one of Mrs. Roland’s goose down pillows, surely that would block out enough noise to let her rest?

  That might have been the end of her, succumbing to ghost-lock alone in a house straight out of Home & Garden, if the front door hadn’t slammed open loud enough to wake the dead.  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she gathers her wits and sprints from the room.  It’s not until both feet are on the hardwood in the hallway that she notices she’s dropped the chains and is now completely unarmed.  Not the end of the world, but still not ideal.   Apparently having neglected to learn from her previous mistakes, she’s distracted enough to lose her footing and slip on the runner.  

  Strike two.

  As she slides into the living room, arms pinwheeling in an undignified manner in an attempt to stay upright, a part of her can’t help but wonder if this is revenge for mentally calling it tacky.  Regaining her balance just in time, she pivots on her heel, intending to make a beeline straight into the kitchen and out of the house to buy enough time to come up with a proper plan.  She makes it three steps into the kitchen before being stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious.”  An infuriatingly calm voice says behind her, making the slender arm wrapping around her waist a split second later only slightly less alarming.  He pulls her back firmly against him, his warmth enveloping her.  She curses her traitorous body for immediately relaxing into his chest.     Any verbal response she might have had to The World’s Worst Boss™ invading her personal space is cut short as he releases his hold and manoeuvres her to safety behind him, the singing of metal on metal filling the air as he draws his rapier.  

  “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!”  She seethes, smacking the back of his shoulder to emphasise every word in an attempt to vent some of her frustration before she implodes.  He huffs an absent laugh at her theatrics, still scanning the sunny sitting room for any sign of something chasing her.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?”   She gapes at him unabashedly, honestly attempting to drill holes in the back of his head with her eyes.  Was he really going to ignore her after subjecting her to this nightmare of an evening?  Lockwood looks back over his shoulder, flinching at whatever he finds in her eyes.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself.  You would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyway.”  She barely recognises her own voice without the warmth it usually carries when she speaks to him.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?”  

  It’s his genuine concern that throws her off first, second is the way he promptly turns to face her.  Her breath catches in her throat as she’s met with the undeniable fact of their proximity, face to face.  Well, face to chest, really.   He’s looking her up and down carefully for any sign of injury, a frown painted across his face as his hands hover between them, trembling gently but making no move to touch her.  

  Upon joining Lockwood & Co., she’d figured out rather quickly that he had some kind of touch aversion.  When she’d accidentally touch his hand or brush past him in Portland Row’s narrow entryway, he would jerk away from her like he’d been stung, stumbling over his words and staring at the ground before making a quick escape.  Lucy and George seemed to be safe for him by now, which made sense considering he’d known them so much longer, so she swore to herself she’d respect his space and give him whatever time he needed to open up to her.     It had been better in recent months, as long as he knew to expect contact he could stay calm.

  A shrill scream echoes across the house, jarring her from her thoughts.  She winces in pain at the sudden noise, tucking her hands beneath her hair to cover her ears.  Lockwood covers the minimal distance between them in an instant, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest to shield her the best he can from the sound.     As quickly as it started, the screaming stopped.  His arms loosen around her, allowing her enough room to pull her palms away from aching ears.  

  “You okay?”  His voice sounds farther away than it should.  

  She doesn’t have much time to worry about that though, not when his face is suddenly so close to her own.  Dark eyes find hers in the lamp light, worry overflowing within them.  Her thoughts run wild with images of closing the distance between them, each and every one making it harder to breathe.     Needing a second to compose herself, and entirely refusing to trust her tongue not to betray her, she raises her hands at him in an attempt at a placating gesture and tries to take a step back.

  His eyes sharpen, grabbing her by the wrists as she moves to lower her hands.  The movement startles her, instinct taking over as she tries in vain to pull away.  Tightening his grip, he uses his hold on her to guide her closer to the lamp.  As soon as they’re near enough the light that she can properly see every detail of his face, he releases her.  She opens her mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing manhandling her like that, but clamps it shut when he reaches for her face.

  His skin is soft against her own as he grabs her gently by the chin, she thinks she might pass out.  He slowly turns her head so the light is on her right, then uses his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she swears to god she’s going to combust.  Breathing is a distant memory when she feels his thumb swipe gently across the skin connecting her throat to her jaw, just below her ear.  But when he looks at her, his gaze is serious.  He retreats suddenly and she’s certain he’s taken part of her heart with him.   Then he shows her the blood on his hand, and her stomach drops.  She looks down at her own hands, finding more blood smeared across her right palm.  The side closest to the painting.  

  At least there really isn’t any doubt about what the Source is.

  “Now will you tell me about it?”  It might be fairly obvious the humour in his tone isn’t entirely sincere, but she laughs nonetheless.  Grateful for something to tether her back to reality, and for his own form of reassurance, she decides then that she won’t give him hell for dragging her around.   There’s still an edge to him, something sharp just behind the eyes that she’d never seen from him before - it dawns on her.  He’s angry, and not just a little.  

  For reasons unknown to her, the words come tumbling from her lips as if they can’t get out fast enough.

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  She pauses, wracking her brain to ensure she hadn’t forgotten any vital information, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  When he doesn’t reply, she looks back up at him.  She finds him already looking at her, an expression akin to a proud smirk gracing his features.  He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates.

  “Your rapier is on the table.”  It obviously isn’t what he first wanted to say, but right now all she can bring herself to care about is the promise of not being so damn helpless anymore.

  The unassuming cloth bag makes her giddy with excitement, but it’s expectedly short lived.  A bright other-light erupts in the other room, almost blinding them.  Lockwood recovers quickly, his blade whistling through the air as it cuts through the centre mass of the plasm figure throwing itself at him.   She quickly frees her own blade, barely sparing it a glance.  It feels lighter than she’s used to, which shouldn’t be possible considering she’d ordered the precise model she’d had previously, but that’s a problem for later.  The first order of business is trying to concoct a plan to get past the ghastly form of Mr. Roland without losing their hearing, or their lives.

  Striding back across the tile to stand behind him, she flicks her gaze around the room, her head moving restlessly while she tries to piece the loose ideas rattling around in her head into an actual plan.  If she had a salt bomb, maybe she could…     One metaphorical lightbulb moment later and she’s grinning as the final piece falls into place, sliding her rapier into its sheath on her belt.  She might have felt a little guilty about this if she hadn’t still been so bloody pissed at him, but as they stood now; any plan that involved getting the job done and short circuiting her boss at the same time was an excellent plan.  

  Leaning forward and pressing her chest against Lockwood’s back is the only way to get close enough to reach the first step of her plan, but she can’t help but feel a touch of vindictive pleasure at the way he goes rigid in response to her.     Sliding her palms down his sides, over his hips, and slipping her hands under his coat, she retrieves the salt bomb he always keeps in a hidden pocket behind his back.

  She’d learned this fun fact only a few months into her employment under him, having discovered it in a bonafide witch hunt for whichever irresponsible dunce kept leaving salt bombs in their laundry and ruining her favourite clothes.  Apparently he’d found himself without his kit in enough life threatening instances to always carry a backup plan.

  “Follow my lead.”  She says, not waiting for him to reply before stepping back and hurling the bundle of mineral and cloth over his shoulder.   The apparition wails and recoils as it explodes in its face, giving her an opportunity to slip past her colleague and make a break for the silver shimmer under the obnoxious loveseat before Mr. Roland could return to his murderous state.  Dropping to the ground and rolling to shove her arm as far under the settee as possible, she hooks a finger through the silver net, launching herself upright and letting it trail behind her as she sprints down the hallway.  She’s so focused on not wiping out on the carpet runner again, she almost misses Lockwood’s warning.

  “DUCK!”  There’s a sobering panic in his voice as he bellows from behind her.  Every warning bell in her head goes off at once and she barely has time to register the ghostly arm reaching for her through the wall before she’s diving into a tight roll underneath it.  

  The muscles in her legs ache with protest at the speed with which she springs back to her feet and skids through the doorway onto the carpet.  She tears the painting off of the wall and throws it to the floor before freezing, suddenly aware of her empty hands.  

  A quick glance confirms the net’s position on the floor in the hallway where it had been dropped in her evasion of the Visitor’s touch.  

  Well shit. 

  Three strikes, you’re out.

She doesn’t even have time to unsheath her rapier before Mr. Roland appears before her and shrieks at her.  The kinetic force of the psychic blast throws her back, directly into the solid wooden bed frame.  There’s a sickening thud as her head makes contact.  

  Nausea floods her body immediately, followed closely by the pain; her back aches from the impact, but she can’t move from the warped position her body had landed in.  With the shrill whistle heralding the arrival of blood rushing in her ears, the vibrations and flickering lights she’s assuming are related to Lockwood, and the horrifying sensation of the room pitching and reeling like a ship in a storm, the whole experience feels like some kind of twisted carnival ride.     Time begins behaving strangely, as does her memory.  Has it been ten seconds, or ten minutes?  Why is her body so angry with her?   A blanket of numbness creeps over her aches, pains, and anxieties, allowing her to become too aware of the sickening dizziness.

  At first she thinks it’s the whistling in her ears that’s beginning to fade, but no such luck.  Instead, it’s her awareness as a whole, dropping bit by bit until there’s just…

  Nothing.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[sjsmith56]

Two Steps to the Left - Part 3

Summary: With the serum in hand, Bucky heads to the secret lab to undergo the full super soldier treatment. Once there he meets his future counterpart who was the voice that guided him.

Length: 6 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes (WW2 and Modern), Steve Rogers, Colonel Phillips, Peggy Carter, Bruce Banner, Howard Stark.

Warnings: The elephant in the room - Steve leaving Modern Bucky behind.

Author notes: Hope you like this.

<<Part 2

⚡️ ⚡️ ⚡️

Transformation

The four of them were in a staff car, Colonel Phillips, and Bucky Barnes in the back, Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers in the front, heading towards a secret installation.  In the trunk, inside a strong case, was the supply of serum that Steve and Bucky liberated from the German concentration camp. 

"You know, Dr. Zola asked to be there when we put you through the treatment," said Phillips.

Bucky looked at him, surprised.

"You told him no, didn't you?"

"No, I said we could come to some sort of arrangement," he answered, then he smiled.  "I lied.  There was no way in hell I was letting that mad scientist anywhere near you, Sergeant.  Has your voice indicated anything about their arrival?"

"No, I told him where we were going, and he said they would be there."  Bucky looked out the window.  "Thank you, Colonel."

"For what, son?"

"Believing me.  I didn't think anyone except Steve would, but you and Agent Carter did.  I just hope that the treatment you used for him works for me."

"I had my doubts about Rogers," admitted the Colonel.  "I always thought we needed the strongest, meanest sons of bitches to defeat the Nazis, then HYDRA.  But Dr. Erskine proved that you need the right man.  From what I know of you and Captain Rogers' personal history, you're two of a kind.  I think you'll be just fine, Sergeant.  I believe that you are the right man."

He nodded his head at Bucky then looked out the window.  Bucky looked at Steve, driving the vehicle and Peggy sitting next to him, looking at him.  Every so often Steve would look at her in a way that Bucky knew meant something.  They were in love.  That was certain.  He smiled then looked out the window himself.  Never did he ever think Steve would find the right girl before he did.

"Turn right at the next crossroads," said the Colonel.  "Then turn left at the sign that says William's Dairy Farm."

"Yes, sir," answered Steve, slowing down at the crossroads and turning right. 

About a mile beyond that they saw the dairy farm, with black and white cows spread out on the lush green fields like something out of a painting.  A sign on the left indicated the next turn was into the farm and Steve downshifted, turning onto the gravel road.  As he pulled into the space between two buildings a man in farmer's clothes came out of one of the buildings, a barn, approaching the window on the driver's side.  By the time he reached it he had a gun in his hand.

"Colonel Phillips, Captain Rogers, Agent Carter and Sergeant Barnes," said Steve. 

"Identification cards, please," said the man.  He looked carefully at all of them, then nodded.  "Drive inside the barn and leave the vehicle.  You will be shown where to go.  Mr. Stark is already here."

He stepped back, the gun mysteriously disappearing and Steve drove inside the barn.  They stepped out and he opened the trunk, picking up the case.  Two armed soldiers appeared from a doorway and approached them.  They waited for a moment then walked through another doorway which led to a hallway.  At the end, a pair of doors opened, and they entered what appeared to be an elevator.  The two soldiers stayed outside but closed the doors.  Slowly, the elevator descended until it opened into another hallway.  Two armed soldiers opened the doors for them, then escorted them to a single door and set themselves up to guard it.  As they entered the large lab, a number of technicians that Steve recognized from his procedure looked up then returned their attention to their work.

"About time you got here," said a loud voice and Howard Stark approached them, wearing a white lab coat.  He gestured to the box.  "Is that the serum?"

"Yes," said Steve.  "We took as much as we could, but Dr. Zola said we needed less."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't believe him," said Stark.  "Based on the figure he gave the Colonel there was no way that amount of serum would do the trick.  I suspect he wanted to be here to watch you fail then offer his expertise, making up an excuse to get Sergeant Barnes off to a HYDRA lab."

"How do you know this, Stark?"  The Colonel was not amused.

"Because Dr. Banner here knows his stuff."  Howard gestured behind them.  They turned around to the sight of a large green skinned man in glasses and a lab coat.  "They arrived just after I did, directly into the lab via something they called a portal but won't explain to me.  Dr. Banner, may I introduce Colonel Phillips, Steve Rogers, who you knew in a different time, Agent Peggy Carter, and this time period's version of Sergeant Bucky Barnes.  The modern one is sitting over there watching all of us."

It was rather amusing to see how gently Bruce Banner shook hands with all of them.  His calm voice and manner surprised all of them.  Modern Bucky came forward.

"May I introduce you to the voice in your Bucky's ear, James Buchanan Barnes," said Bruce.

Younger Bucky stared at the older version of himself.  "How old are you?"

"By the calendar year, 108 years old," replied Bucky.  "Based on my memories of when I wasn't in cryostorage I'm about 39 years old.  It's good to see you again, Colonel, Peggy ... Steve."

"What's this about Zola's calculations being wrong?" asked Colonel Phillips.  "I thought I had him telling me the truth."

Bruce smiled.  "Truth is relative to a man like that.  We had the SSR records of Steve's procedure, including the dosage and that was with the serum that we consider the purest.  Zola's serum was based on the imperfect version given to Johann Schmidt and should be considered a copy of a copy.  You lose effectiveness at each level away from the original.  The amount he calculated for you wouldn't have been enough to lock in the serum.  Not only that, but it would also have resulted in Sergeant Barnes still being susceptible to brain reconditioning if HYDRA ever recaptured him, which is what we think Zola was planning.  It's a good thing you brought extra as we think we're going to need it all.  But first, I wish to examine Sergeant Barnes, height, weight, preliminary blood work, that sort of thing."  He noticed the look on their faces.  "I am an MD plus I have seven PhDs.  I worked on a super soldier serum myself, which is why I look the way I do as I didn't get it quite right.  I'm not inclined to allow anything bad to happen to Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky looked at his counterpart who nodded and he relaxed.  He and Bruce went to another room along with a nurse for his physical examination.  Stark took the box to a team of technicians who tested the contents of one vial then showed Bruce the results.  With his approval they began transferring the contents into a series of vials that were sized to be used in the pumps attached to the radiation chamber.  As he surmised, the amount brought was barely enough.  Only two of the original vials were still unused. 

While Howard continued to work on the settings for the chamber, the Colonel, Steve, Peggy and modern Bucky relocated to where he had been sitting.  He offered Peggy his chair, which she took then leaned against the counter with his arms folded.  The Colonel noticed he wore gloves, staring at them.

"I fell from the train in my timeline," said Bucky.  "Survived the fall but lost my left arm in the process.  HYDRA gave me a new one, a monstrosity with only one purpose ... to kill.  When I finally escaped, I lost the arm in a fight with ... another individual who didn't believe I had been their weapon unwillingly.  I was given sanctuary in another country who undid the programming done to my brain and they gave me a new arm.  It's certainly nothing you would see now so you'll excuse me if I keep it covered to avoid contaminating this timeline.  Our presence here is doing enough of that."

"Why did you come then?" asked Peggy.

He smiled softly at her, amazed at how the real woman was just as beautiful as he remembered her.

"It was a lot to ask of your Bucky to believe me," he replied.  "When more of this timeline became known to us and we realized what Zola was planning, Bruce offered to come and oversee the procedure, being somewhat familiar with the details.  He felt uncomfortable coming alone, so I agreed to come with him.  Everyone here has to swear not to tell anyone of our presence."

"Why did you contact Sergeant Barnes in the first place?" asked the Colonel, his face stern.

Bucky sighed and looked away for a moment.  "Bucky will be needed to make sure Steve survives an upcoming mission.  Then both of them will be needed to join a multi-universe task force against a formidable enemy who threatens all timelines.  That's why we're doing this and it's also why we've been permitted to do it, with limitations.  That's really all I can tell you at this time.  It is for the greater good, Colonel and if it works, everything should continue as it would have, with the exceptions that certain individuals will have a different future, like Bucky and Steve, for example."  He shook his head, slightly dismayed.  "See, I almost said too much there.  Please, let's take this one step at a time and get Bucky through the procedure."

He walked away from them, relocating to another quiet corner of the lab and sat on a stool, avoiding eye contact.  After a few minutes he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.  Colonel Phillips huffed a little, then asked a passing technician if there was something to drink.  The man led him to an office, pointing out the bar against the wall.  Steve and Peggy stood where they were watching the hustle and bustle of the people in the lab, while occasionally glancing at modern Bucky.

"He carries a great burden," she said.  "Whatever he went through in his timeline is with him still."

"Yeah," replied Steve.  "I'm just surprised that he hasn't said anything about me in his timeline.  What happened to me?  I would have thought with something this important I would have been involved, yet other than saying I was there, he hasn't said anything else."

She shook her head.  "You could ask him, but I don't think he would answer.  He's changed from the man he was.  It's sad, really."

As the time passed, they both relocated to the office, deciding to relax in the more comfortable chairs there.  They each had a drink, sipping it quietly.  Finally, modern Bucky appeared at the door.

"They're ready," he said.

The other three got up out of their chairs and came into the lab.  Younger Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed portion of the radiation chamber.  His feet were bare, his shirt was off, and he wore a pair of loose hospital shorts.  Bruce was attaching some small strips to him, placing them in certain positions on his body.  He turned slightly as the others approached.

"I brought some modern technology with me," he said.  "These will monitor the changes he is undergoing inside the chamber from the moment the serum is injected through the application of the Vita-Ray radiation.  It will tell me if he has achieved maximum serum efficiency so that we don't accidentally overdose him with the radiation.  No offence, Howard, but your dials aren't the most accurate.  It was the technology of the time, but you could just as easily have killed Steve when you dosed him during his procedure."

Stark raised his eyebrows slightly.  "How will those little strips tell you all that?"

Bruce reached inside his lab coat and brought out a small device, calling it a tablet computer.  Immediately, Howard put his hand out wanting to examine it, but Bruce held on to it. 

"Sorry, it's too soon for this type of technology and it only works because it is configured directly to these strips.  All I can tell you is that it will be about 50 years before society begins to develop this."  He looked at the younger Bucky with concern.  "It's going to hurt, a lot.  I know that based on what my timeline's Steve told me about this procedure and what Bucky told me of his.  Your treatments were spread out over months but were always accompanied by electroconvulsive therapy, which was applied at a level that we now consider barbaric.  But that was HYDRA.  They didn't care about hurting you because they were always pushing your limits to see how much pain you could withstand and how long it took you to recover from it.  It turns out that you withstood a lot.  The difference here is that the moment the monitors show that you are at maximum I'll signal to cut the radiation.  If at any point before then if it's too much for you, you can stop it, but we can't repeat it after.  This is an all or nothing procedure.  Do you understand?"

Bucky nodded then he smiled and offered Bruce his hand, shaking it.

"Thanks, Doc.  I wish more doctors were like you.  You explained everything and I appreciate that." 

Bruce smiled at him and stepped away.  Steve placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder and nodded.  Peggy touched his hand and smiled at him.  That left modern Bucky standing there.  They had barely talked since their arrival. 

"You can do this," said the older version.  "Bruce is a good man, and he won't let anything bad happen to you.  When you're done, you and I will go someplace quiet and have that drink.  I brought something special from the future that has a bit of a kick.  I think you'll like it."

"Okay, I have lots of questions," answered the young sergeant.  He looked past him at Steve and Peggy.  "Do they get married?"

He was puzzled at the flicker of pain that appeared in his counterpart's eyes then the older Bucky smiled.  "Yeah, they get married.  If you get through this and the next part, they can get married sooner."

He took the glove on his right hand off and shook hands with his younger version, then joined the others behind a barrier with a small window of thick glass at eye level.  A technician came, placing a pair of dark goggles over Bucky's eyes, then helped him lie down.  A series of pumps, attached to the larger vials they transferred the serum into lowered themselves onto Bucky's body.  There was one on each side of his chest, each arm above the elbow and below the elbow, and one on each of his thighs.  The lights were dimmed in the lab, except for a spotlight on the chamber.  Bruce, wearing the goggles around his neck, stepped forward and called out to each station, asking if they were ready to proceed.

"Bucky, we're going to inject the first batch of serum then switch to the second batch.  It's going to burn like hell but it's important that you stay as still as possible.  You good?"  Bucky gave him a thumbs up.  "Ready for first infusion of serum in three, two, one.  Activate the pumps."

The pumps began injecting Bucky with the first batch of serum.  Immediately, he could feel the increase in temperature in his skin then deeper as the serum was absorbed by his muscles.  The burning sensation started just before Bruce called for the second batch to begin.  As the serum was forced into his body, the sensation of burning alive increased exponentially and Bucky braced himself, clenching his jaw.  He became aware that the moving parts of the chamber were shifting into position to enclose him.  Desperately he filled his mind with everything and anything he could think of; baseball statistics, the plot of the last movie he saw, dancing with different girls at different dances.  When it became too much he yelled, and Bucky's voice sounded in his head.

"Steady.  They're just applying a hose to the chamber to increase the pressure while the radiation is applied.  You've got a couple of minutes more to do this and you can see it through."

The sound of a gas entering the chamber was followed by a sensation of being pressed into the cradle that held him then the chamber began shifting to an upright position. 

"Radiation being applied now.  Keep your eyes closed." 

Even with his eyes closed and wearing the goggles Bucky could see the light as it filled the chamber.  The pain levels amped up even more and he yelled for all that it was worth.  Then the light powered down and he could hear Bucky's voice in his head.

"It's done.  Bruce said you peaked exactly where he expected, and he stopped the procedure.  Just relax as they shut everything else down."

Breathing deeply, Bucky kept his eyes closed.  The pumps were pressed uncomfortably into his skin, then were suddenly released and raised as he felt the cool air of the lab flow over him.  He opened his eyes, but the goggles were so dark he couldn't see out of them.  Then a hand took them off and he blinked at the bright light focused on the chamber.  A chorus of murmurs audible to him were jumbled at first, but he could hear individual words then phrases as his ears adjusted.

"Perfect."

"Unbelievable."

"My goodness, he's magnificent."

"Buck?" It was Steve's voice, spoken softly, and he looked to his friend.  "Hey, how are you?"

"Not sure.  It feels strange, like everything is magnified."

"Yeah, your senses have increased.  You've grown as well."

Bucky looked down, noticing first of all that his legs were incredibly muscular but were in proportion to his now definitely longer limbs.  Steve offered a hand to him, and he noticed his forearm was also more muscular and the veins in his arm more defined.  When he stepped out of the chamber, he realized he was back to being taller than Steve again and couldn't help but laugh at that.  As he looked down, he was surprised to see that his physique was leaner in the waist but also more muscular in the chest and shoulders, and he definitely wasn't a welterweight anymore.  Bruce stood in front of him, making him feel small again but he smiled at the doctor.

"I'm good?"

"Yeah, perfect response," said the green-skinned man.  "The level of serum was enough, and you absorbed all of it.  In fact, you should already be hungry so let's get some measurements down, and the basic tests, then get some food inside of you.  How do you feel?"

"Good, like I could jump like Superman." 

"We'll test that, along with your strength, flexibility, speed and endurance, but I'm pretty sure you and Steve are pretty equal now."

Bucky went with him back to the examination room with a nurse following them.  Howard was already distributing glasses to everyone and filling them with scotch, finishing with the Colonel, Steve, Peggy and modern Bucky.  He raised his glass to them.

"Here's to Sergeant Bucky Barnes, America's second super soldier.  He'll need a catchy name and a promotion.  Captain Brooklyn.  Captain Manhattan.  The Brooklyn Boxer.  We'll come up with something.  I'll have to come up with a new uniform for him and find another shield.  If only I had more vibranium."

Bucky shook his head and looked at Steve, raising his eyebrows.  The blond smiled, sipping his drink.  Then he gestured to Bucky, and they stepped away from the others.  Nothing was said at first then Steve cleared his throat.

"Can I ask you a question?"  Bucky nodded.  "Why are you doing this and not me?  Am I not alive in the future?  I mean, I just thought if the threat was as bad as you say I would be part of this ...."

Immediately Bucky sighed then wished he could take it back.  He took several moments to choose his words. 

"You were around but then you made a decision and now you're not.  I don't want to say more with so many ears around because it is need to know.  I promised Bucky a talk and a drink with a kick.  I think you should join us so I'm only saying it once, just to you two."

Walking away without looking back he rejoined the Colonel and Peggy.  Steve looked at him for some time, wondering what happened in the future that made him ... leave.  His thoughts were interrupted by the younger Bucky's return to the lab, dressed in fatigues.  Two technicians and Steve were to accompany him to the surface to test his speed and strength, then he would return to the lab for the remaining tests.  While he was gone, Bruce and Howard spoke about some improvements that could be made to the chamber and serum delivery system.  They returned to the others and the older Bucky insisted that the existence of the two remaining vials be kept secret, known only to those staff who were there in the lab, to continue the work of Project Rebirth.

"If HYDRA, Army Intelligence or the CIA gets wind of these vials they'll try to steal them," said Bucky.  Noticing their confusion at the term CIA he explained further.  "The OSS became the CIA.  They'll become more secretive over the years, establishing their own network of spies that aren't always going to be doing the right thing.  There's one other thing."  He looked at Bruce who nodded his agreement with Bucky's disclosure.  "You need to find another soldier.  His name is Isaiah Bradley, a sergeant, and he's part of the other super soldier program that will be run by Army Intelligence and the CIA."  Colonel Phillips frowned.  "Yeah, they'll tell you it doesn't exist, but it does, using black soldiers as Guinea pigs for a serum that should never have seen the light of day.  He's the only survivor and he deserves to be treated with respect.  He was sent after me in 1951 and almost killed me.  They kept him imprisoned for 30 years, supposedly for the security of the country but it was their way of keeping a good soldier in slavery.  Promise me you'll find him and make him part of the SSR as an equal super soldier to Steve and Bucky."

"I promise," said Phillips, solemnly.  "You really can't trust some people to tell you the truth, can you?"

"No sir, you can't.  Give your trust out sparingly.  I'll give you a list of names of military personnel and others with a HYDRA connection before we return.  Remove them from power and make sure they don't do to this timeline what they did to mine."

As they waited for the younger Bucky to return, the older version wrote that list down.  Bruce and Howard kept conferring, with the former refusing to answer many of the latter's questions about future technology, saying he would just have to wait or discover it for himself.  After about an hour, Steve, younger Bucky, and the two technicians returned, appearing enthusiastic about the results of the physical testing.  A meal was laid out in a conference room, which they all took advantage of, then Bucky presented the list of names to Colonel Phillips, allowing him, Peggy and Howard to leave and begin their investigation of the people he identified as HYDRA supporters.  Closing and locking the door behind them, he brought out four glasses, then produced a small flask.  Bruce smiled.

"You're sure you want to give them that?" he asked.  "Once it's gone, they won't be able to get anymore until you know who shows up."

Bucky shrugged.  "They can save it for very special circumstances.  Might cut through any misunderstandings that might arise when they meet him and show him the flask."  He looked at his younger counterpart and Steve.  "This is Asgardian mead, once made on another planet until it was destroyed, and their surviving people took refuge on Earth.  Their champion is a Demi-god named Thor, and yes, he's the Norse god.  He'll become a friend of our planet and at some point, will stand with you to protect it against a being who would destroy the universe.  Take it sparingly, as even the stuff they make on Earth has a kick, and you will definitely get drunk if you have too much."

He poured out a finger's worth in each glass then, then took the smallest of sips, watching their reaction as they picked up their glasses.  Bruce downed his in one gulp, explaining it had little to no effect on him.  Cautiously, Bucky and Steve took a small sip, reacting positively to it then looked at the two modern men for what was coming next.

"In a few weeks, you're going to attack the base where Red Skull is," began modern Bucky.  "I wasn't there, so I only know what was filed in the mission reports.  Us being here may change things but ultimately what has to happen is Bucky, you have to make sure that Steve survives.  I don't know how you're going to do it because the chance of both of you being on the aircraft is unknown."

They looked confused, so Bruce told them what the history books in their timeline said about the attack on Red Skull's fortress, the battle in a giant aircraft between him and Captain America, and the decision by Steve to ditch the airplane into the Arctic to keep the bombs on board away from populated areas.  Then, he told them how Steve was thought to have been killed in the crash but the discovery of the wreckage in 2011, led to the unthawing of his body, and the miracle of him waking up with all of his attributes and faculties intact.  From there they told them about the formation of the original Avengers and their defence of Earth from alien invaders. 

"So, I survived to help the future against these beings," stated Steve.  "Won't they need me then, in that future timeline?"

Modern Bucky and Bruce looked at each other, then Bucky shook his head.  "No, because there's more than one universe.  In fact, there are many thousands of them, and the being who was originally behind that invasion, a Titan named Thanos, exists in many of them.  He used another being for that first invasion but when the Avengers defeated the invading force, he began to look for other ways to get what he wanted from us.  When he did finally invade us himself, we lost, and he basically wished away half of the population of our universe.  I disappeared for five years, along with trillions of others, all randomly disappearing.  When Steve and the remaining Avengers found a way to undo that, an earlier version of him found out and appeared, only this time with the goal of destroying our universe completely and rebuilding it the way he wanted, without anyone challenging him, especially the Avengers.  This time we were successful, and the lost people reappeared.  There's another version of Thanos who found out that we defeated him and he's rallying all his versions, in many timelines.  We're doing the same, rallying all of the super soldiers, all of the versions of Thor, Bruce, other past and future members of the Avengers, trying to bring them together sooner.  If Thor is successful, you could be meeting his counterpart in this timeline soon.  Another champion called the Black Panther will approach her grandfather Azzuri and try to convince him to make himself known to you.  He's the King of Wakanda, and the vibranium in your shield was stolen from there, so it may be awkward, but he has super soldier abilities.  There are others, and if they begin coming out of the woodwork then it will be you two who will connect with them and form the Avengers that you'll need to defend this timeline.  A soldier named Isaiah Bradley will be needed but he hasn't become a super soldier yet, so you have to wait until he is and make sure he's part of your group.  Even if the danger appears over, you still need the Avengers because HYDRA wasn't defeated.  They just hid in plain sight, although the list I gave the Colonel will root a good portion of them out.  There will always be a need for someone to protect the planet and you two are the beginnings of that.  But first, Bucky, you have to make sure that either Steve doesn't go down with the aircraft, or you find a way to get to him after he takes it down.  We can give you the coordinates of where to find him as it's common knowledge in our time.  I wish I could tell you more about the how, but at least you have the advance knowledge and the strength to make it happen."

Both younger men nodded their heads and sipped their drinks then Steve cleared his throat.

"What happens to me in the future?  You said I'm not there."

Older Bucky's jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched slightly until he breathed out.

"After all that you had been through, starting with the realization that HYDRA was still around, plus other things that really don't matter now, you chose to return to the past so that you could have a normal life.  I'm not going to lie and say I was okay with it because I wasn't.  I was still a mess after all my years of being a prisoner and unwilling weapon of HYDRA.  You gave up a lot to help free me, and I thought you were going to help me get used to living in the 21st century, then you just left and went back to 1949, back to Peggy.  You didn't look for your younger self, you didn't look for me, you told no one about HYDRA.  The person who provided the portal says it was because there are rules in time travel, rules about changing the past and it was explained to that Steve that he couldn't interfere, so he didn't."

"But you're here," said younger Bucky.  "You're changing this timeline.  Why is that permitted?"

"Because Thanos has already destroyed several timelines and those whose job it is to keep the timelines going aren't strong enough to deal with him, because he's attacking them too.  He's going to destroy everything they pledged to protect, and they need our help.  So, we were permitted to make changes, like making sure Bucky didn't fall off the train, and putting him through the full procedure now so that HYDRA won't be able to change him, ever.  Whatever consequences those changes make in your universe will be dealt with by that authority.  When you're needed, you won't get much notice.  A portal will open wherever you are and whoever comes through will say these words, "Time to go."  You drop everything, get ready, and when the portals reopen you go into them.  If it appears that you won't be successful in that timeline, another portal will allow you to return and the original members of that timeline will destroy it, taking that Thanos with them before he can do it."

"And if it's our timeline that is under attack?"  Steve looked at all of them.  "Who do we call to bring in help?"

A portal opened at that moment, and a woman with a bald head walked through, ignoring it when it closed behind her.  Her appearance was otherworldly, as she wore intricate robes the colour of saffron, but her face was both young and old at the same time.  She gazed kindly at all of the men before speaking.

"That would be me or my successor," she said, calmly.  "My name isn't important, but I will know before you do and will have raised the alarm.  James is the emissary of his time and when you two join the battle in another timeline you will be amongst many versions of yourselves, as well as other versions of Bruce, and anyone else who is either an enhanced or regular human who have the skills and desire to help protect that timeline.  No world will be alone to fight against Thanos, I can promise you that.  Until then you live as normal a life as you can.  You can marry, and have children, as they will inherit your abilities and will carry on your legacy, and you prepare for when you are needed."

"You're a wizard," stated the younger Bucky, a look of wonder on his face.

A ghost of a smile appeared on the woman's face.  "A sorcerer but it's just semantics.  Even we have been challenged by this threat to all universes, but we will do our part along with others to stand united against it."  She turned to the older version of Bucky and Bruce.  "It is almost time for you to return to your original timeline.  I will let you take your leave of the others then open a new portal for you."  She looked at the younger pair of men.  "Until I see you both again."

With a shifting of her hands, she opened a portal and disappeared into it.  Pushing the flask towards the two, Bucky and Bruce stood up.  Before they got to the door, Steve called out one more time.

"I'm sorry," he said to the older Bucky.  "I'm sorry for leaving you behind."  He looked at both the younger and older version.  "You know I love her."

"I know both versions of you did," said the older man.  "You didn't come to the decision lightly.  I was gone for five years with all the others, and you blamed yourself for that.  You thought we were all dead, just as you thought I died when I fell from the train and thought it was your fault.  I think you just reached a point where going back seemed to be the only chance to be happy.  It was good to see you again, but it still hurts."

He opened the door and left without looking back, followed by Bruce.  The Colonel, Howard and Peggy were still examining the names on the paper that modern Bucky prepared for them but left that task recognizing that the two men from the future were preparing to leave.

"We've told Steve and Bucky what they need to know," said modern Bucky.  "They can fill you in."  He turned to Peggy and smiled softly at her.  "You're just as beautiful as I remember but you always had eyes just for Steve.  Marry him, as soon as you can.  Your bond is strong, and it will bring him home."  He faced the Colonel.  "You're a stubborn old man but that stubbornness helped win a war.  Now the war here is against HYDRA.  Don't ever give up that fight."  Finally, he faced Howard Stark.  "When you get married and have children, make sure you make time for them.  They'll be just as much a legacy as your inventions will be.  Money isn't everything."

Bruce just shook hands with all of them, then he and Bucky stood away from the others.  The circle of sparks appeared out of nowhere and the two of them entered it as soon as it was large enough.  When they left, the others were silent, each of them contemplating what they had learned.

Part 4>>

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[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 3

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CW: forced nudity, medical whump, humiliation, dehumanization, noncon touching (non-sexual)

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Faye dries Ash off and lugs the basin to a drain across the room. When she returns, Ozmund hands her a roll of measuring tape and strange metal calipers; she quickly sets to work detailing every specification of Ash’s body. As she dictates the numbers, a floating quill magically transcribes them in Ozmund’s book. At one particularly embarrassing measurement, Ash can hear Ozmund mutter under his breath, "I always wondered if it was barbed . . . "

When Faye is finished with her work, Ozmund saunters over and places two cold fingers against Ash's jugular; after a minute of stern silence staring at his pocket watch, he moves his hand to Ash’s sternum and continues to focus intently. In such close proximity, his spice-laden perfume stings Ash's nose. He tries to quell the trembling beneath his skin—the last thing he wants is to show fear—but even his teeth are chattering against his locked jaw.

“Respiration and pulse are elevated,” Ozmund dictates to Faye—or perhaps his magic quill? Ash isn’t sure. Unperturbed, Ozmund jams a finger in Ash’s mouth, pulling up his lip to expose his gums and teeth. Ash is too stunned to even be offended. “Gums are pink and”—he pokes at them—“react appropriately to stimuli. Teeth, though excessively worn, indicate an omnivorous diet. Canines are defined and enlarged; we’ll have to get a mold of those later. Surprisingly little sign of disease.”

He shakes his hand after removing it from Ash’s face, a glimmer of green magic fluttering in its wake. His book returns to his hand, and he tucks it securely under his arm.

“Tidy up and sanitize everything, please, Faye. He seems dehydrated; give him a vial of Devil’s Herb before you return him to his stall. For now, we’ll maintain the usual feeding cycles and adjust as needed.” Faye nods and gives a polite bow as Ozmund exits the room. He pauses in the doorway, then turns to Ash. “A little extra protein, perhaps. You’ll need your strength.”

What the hell just happened? Dumbfounded, Ash is paralyzed in place; he barely notices when Faye approaches him with a small vial of yellow-green liquid.

“It’s not dangerous, I promise,” she assures him, unplugging the cork and holding it to his lips. “It’s just an herbal tonic. We only call it that because it tastes . . . well . . . ”

He can already smell the acrid odor, and every fiber of his being wants to refuse to drink the foul concoction. Ozmund’s threat looms heavily in his mind, though—just stay alive. Surely he wouldn’t kill you this quickly . . . Hesitantly, his jaw quivering with resolve, he accepts the putrid potion. Immediately, his throat tries to reject the piss-flavored horror, but he forces it down, jabbing his elbow into the wall behind him to let out his disgust.

“I know, I know,” Faye quietly apologizes. “It’s an . . . acquired taste. But it’ll help you sleep and stay healthy.” As kind as she’s been to him, Ash is glad his voice left him long ago; if it hadn’t, he’s sure he would say something he’d regret.

As instructed, Faye unlatches his chain from the wall and leads him back into the small enclosure. He notices a pile of soft hay has been placed at one end—there’s even a modest woolen blanket and a set of rough cotton clothes. Faye redresses him in the fresh clothing, then attaches the chain to a low ring by the hay. From such a low position, his movement is restricted; he can’t stand all the way upright or reach the door. Before leaving to continue her work, Faye sets a tray in front of him. Raw meat is stacked in a surprising quantity beside a bowl of thick vegetable stew and a heel of bread. Surprisingly . . . hearty, for a prisoner. And yet, the only water offered to him is in a small trough attached to the wall.

The dichotomy gives him whiplash—on the one hand, Faye treats him quite a lot like a human, capable of reason and deserving of pity, at the least; on the other, Ozmund seems to view him as purely a beast, kept in a stall like a horse and forced to crawl on his hands. Ash doesn’t even want to dwell on the humiliating examination he’d been put through.

But then, Ozmund hasn’t been quite as cruel as he expected, either. Why hasn’t he hurt me yet? Other than making me fight Owen, which I would’ve done anyway given the chance. He’s healed me, given me plenty of food . . . What game is he playing? What the hell is he planning? I don’t understand . . .

Curled up in the warm hay, the Devil’s Herb pulls Ash deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. With Ozmund out of the room, his tensed, shaking muscles finally relax, and he falls asleep. In the comforting darkness, pleasant images flash before him, settling on a fantasy he often returns to when he imagines his future: instead of the cold and fearful dungeon, he's warm and safe in his bed, Evius at his side and tiny Zephyr cuddled between them. A family—different than he expected, but exactly what he dreams.

[queenmayor23]

Grand Piano II {Dean Winchester X Male Reader}

He arrives at the location and looks at the nearly missable sign. Dean walked in the door to a narrow staircase that led to a red door. He opens the door to a lounge filled with people moving boxes and furniture, wiping down the bar area, and setting up decorations. A barkeep spots the muscular, six-foot-one, green-eyed man and catches the attention of the others around him. Then like a choreographed dance number, all of the workers aim a variety of guns and projectile launchers at the Winchester, all having a clear shot.

Dean: Woah. Hold on here.

Jackson: Damon, go get the boss. Tell him we have a trespasser.

A young man no older than twenty-one and no younger than eighteen runs to the back area of the lounge into another segment of the drinking establishment.

Dean: Maybe we can work something out. I'm looking for TJ. TJ Chase. 

Jackson: We know who you're here for. We're just waiting to see who gets the three hundred dollar bonus.

The crowd murmurs in excitement, waiting for their boss. Damon returns, TJ peeps around the corner, confirming the alert, and storms into the room.

TJ: Chip, Chad, hold him down.

The two barbacks holster their weapons and hold Dean down on his knees as if he were being sacrificed. Then, TJ marches through his workers and punches Dean square in his jaw.

Dean: What the hell, man?

The Winchester spits out blood and what could be a tooth as the crowd cheers for their boss.

TJ: Hello, Mr. Winchester. What can I do for you today?

Dean: Mr. Winchester? What happened to "Dean, my best friend"?

Barkeep 3: Can I shoot him, boss?

TJ: Not yet. Well, Dean Winchester, you have a bar full of people who want you dead, ready to give you your one-way ticket to the worst part of Hell. Any last words? Please keep it short. We do have an establishment to run.

Dean: You weren't answering your phone, so I came to check on you.

One of the servers in the back laughs, gradually getting louder, her gun steady as a rock on Dean.

Dean: What's so funny back there.

TJ lightly smiles.

TJ: Even they know that you don't check on me. You call for information, and you hang up.

Dean: So everybody's all buddy-buddy around here.

TJ: Damon needs a raise to send his little brother to summer camp. Chip and Chad want to gamble in Vegas. Carter and Ryan are planning a wedding. I know that because we communicate and take care of each other around here.

Dean: What about trigger fingers over there.

Dean nods his head to the long-haired and tatted guy next to TJ.

Jackson: I could care less about the money. For all I care, Teej can burn it when we burn you.

TJ: Alright, you're boring me. Hunters, aim!

Everybody who wasn't aimed was now pointed at Dean's heart, as indicated by the multiple dots on his white shirt.

TJ: The game begins in three...

Dean: WAIT!

TJ: Two...

Dean: Dad hasn't been home in a couple months.

TJ: One...

Dean: He was on a hunting trip.

TJ: Hunting what?

Dean: Come with me, and I'll tell you.

TJ: Guns down. Chad, Chip, let him go. 

The crowd that once was ready to kill Dean Winchester was now upset their boss was letting him go, resuming their daily duties.

TJ: Jack, take him out.

Jackson punches Dean, and TJ searches his pockets, finding a set of keys. TJ motions for Jackson to follow him, and Jackson throws Dean over his shoulder, following the boss.

[realtorjamier]

House Hunting: How to Find Your Perfect Match!

With Valentine’s Day behind us, it’s time to focus on another kind of match. If you’re on the search for a home, you’re undoubtedly hoping to find that special house that makes you weak in the knees. Maybe you’ve never been in love (with a house), or perhaps you’re a homeowner who has fallen out of love and is ready to move on. Here are some ideas on how to find your perfect match.

Keep in mind: crushing on a house is a heady feeling, but it’s important to remain somewhat pragmatic so you don’t find yourself living in a nightmare rather than a dream! To avoid heartbreak and disappointment, there are some things to keep your romance grounded in reality.

When looking for love, first consider your vibe. Are you drawn to sleek, contemporary houses? Victorian or Craftsman style homes? This is a start when creating a “house dating profile!” 

Next, create a list of “must-haves.” Remember, these are needs, not just wants – must-haves, not just nice-to-haves.

This will be a highly personalized list, but here are 15 possible non-negotiable must-haves:

One-story living

Type of home (single family, townhome, condo)

Shorter commute

Safe area

Designated parking

Garage

Specific number of bedrooms

Plenty of storage space

Over 55 community

Fenced yard for children and/or pets

Green features

Hi-Tech wiring and security

Multigenerational home

Mother-in-law suite

Within Budget

Next, choose your wish list of wants. Some of the must-haves listed above might actually fit better in this list, but here 15 other possibilities:

Chef’s kitchen

Smart home features

Open floor plan

Upstairs washer and dryer

Playground within walking distance

Gated/master-planned community

Hot tub

Media room

Wine storage

Workout room

Master bath spa

Outdoor kitchen

Pool

Covered patio

Luxury flooring

Once you have come up with your must-have and wish lists, it’s time to share these with a real estate agent who has experience working within the geographic region you’re seeking. Although there are many good search engines online to help you filter appropriate home listings, a good REALTOR® has access to much more information than the ordinary consumer.

A C21Redwood.com agent will not only show you homes that are active on the market, under contract and recently sold — but will also alert you to homes that are COMING SOON! This behind-the-scenes insight boosts your advantage, particularly in a seller’s market.

Also, if you’d rather ease into homeownership, a rent-to-own plan may be right for you. CENTURY 21 Redwood has collaborated with Home Partners of America to create a tool to search for rent-to-own homes, allowing you to experience living in the home you think is your dream home before taking on all the obligations that come with home ownership. Each month’s rent becomes an investment in your future.

Once you start visiting homes, remember that just like you should do on a first date, look for red flags. Even homes that seem to have all the bells and whistles might have underlying issues. Here are some tips.

Ask to see the attic.

Look for proper insulation since a house can lose a lot of heat/air conditioning from a poorly insulated roof.

Look to see if there is any kind of rodent infestation.

Look for leaks.

Check for old wiring.

Check out the basement.

Look for leaks (old, current or hidden):

Water stains on drywall, drop ceiling tiles or wood.

Peeling paint

Bulging or swelling walls

A chalky white substance (mineral deposits from the water)

Look for signs of mold. If the basement smells musty or “dank,” find out if there has ever been a mold issue. Mold growth can be a health concern as well as indicating a structural problem.

Signs of a faulty foundation may not always be in the basement. Look for:

Leaning chimneys

Doors and windows that are hard to open or close

Cracks on walls or floors

Sinking front porches

Buckling floors

Use your nose. 

If there is a strong perfumed smell suggesting scented spray, candles, or plugins everywhere, this might indicate a cover up. Did the previous owner have messy pets? Were they smokers? These odors can be really difficult to expel.

Other potential red flags:

Most issues will be found and noted by a good home inspector, but before you get to that point in the negotiations, take note of these possible issues:

Poor drainage (wet yard when no sprinkler system is utilized)

Overgrown yard

Parking problems

HOA fees, constraints, demands

Nearby railroad tracks, highways, heavy industry

Large trees too close to the house

The flip side of all this: don’t get too hung up on superficial blemishes. Paint color can be changed. Maybe beautiful hardwood floors are hiding under stained carpet. It’s the deeper issues that are sometimes harder to see but are problematic. Don’t be dazzled by cosmetic enhancements, and don’t be deterred by the lack of them. A real gem could be hiding and with proper budgeting can be polished to perfection.

Just as it’s wise when dating to find out the sort of company your prospective partner keeps, it’s also important to check out a potential new home’s neighbors. But how can you do that without knocking on doors and scheduling coffee time with everyone? The truth is, you’ll be hard pressed to find out everything, but there are some tell-tale warning signs.

Use your intuition. Check out the people who are walking down the street. Look at the signs people post in their yards. Are they menacing or in bad taste?

Check out the adjacent properties. Are they derelict or poorly maintained? Are there an awful lot of cars parked at one house – or a lot of comings and goings there?

Are there many, many houses on the market in a given neighborhood? If so, you’ll need to do some investigating to find out why. Is there a crime problem? Is something coming to the community that is less-than-desirable to live near? Better to know now so that you can make an informed decision on whether to proceed with an offer.

Potential

Plan for the future. When possible – and if necessary, make sure there’s room to grow.

If your wish list includes an attached garage and the house you love has everything but that, don’t immediately exclude it as a possibility. Is the yard big enough to add one? Are the setbacks amenable to that addition? Would it be within your budget?

Your perfect match is out there somewhere, maybe it’s time to start looking! 

[apoorsoul]

Jimmy and Charlie leave the room.

"Wow," says Charlie once they're a little ways down the corridor, "I'd forgotten what a pain it is to work with newly-acquired subjects."

Jimmy gives a halfhearted shrug. He's worked with a few, in the last couple years. This one is something else, though.

"Hell of a specimen, though," Charlie continues, not acknowledging the shrug. "Nice find, Jimmy."

"Thanks," Jimmy says with a smile that dissolves into a yawn. They split up at the end of the hall. Jimmy heads to the room he'll be occupying for the next few days.

On his desk three monitors display information. He muted all the feeds earlier, so there's a large bar at the top of each feed that indicates decibel level. 74F's feed also has a dizzying number of health indicators, most in the a light green to indicate they're within normal boundaries while she sleeps. The newest subject has almost no displays as of yet. His decibel bar is far too high for this time of night, but Jimmy will worry about that in the morning.

The third monitor shows his desktop. He smiles at the background image of Nicole, blonde hair flying wildly as she grins at the camera against a snowy background. When they spoke a few hours ago he told her he wouldn't be home for several days.

He pulls up a file and makes some quick notes about treatment he gave the cuts on his new subject's arms and legs. He'll add pictures in the morning. In a few days he should be able to tell if accelerated healing is present.

Accelerated healing.

Scowling, he pulls up the video of his new subject being strapped down. At least that went reasonably well. Rex was damaged, but he'll heal. That's about all he's good for.

🧬

After breakfast, Jimmy checks for lab results (not in yet) and does a quick review of the feed from his new subject's room. It doesn't look like he got much sleep. It's too much to hope that a night stewing over perceived injustices helped his attitude at all, but Jimmy will give it an honest go anyway.

He turns the lights on before he enters the room. From the door, the subject looks awful. Like he didn't get any sleep at all. His tail has worked itself free. Fascinating.

Jimmy steps in, carrying the folder with the subjects history by his side. He looks over the subject, not willing to speak if he's just going to be drowned out by cursing.

Katai can't sleep. He spends the night awake, sometimes struggling, sometimes shouting, sometimes still and quiet. At some point, he manages to get his tail out from under himself. He's not sure what time it is when he finally gives up the struggle and just lays quietly until someone comes back.

When he does hear the door open again, he tries to see who it is, but he can't really move his head. The man steps into view anyway. It's the same man in a lab coat as before.

Katai bites his tongue and doesn't start screaming again. His tail flicks back and forth, a sign of the restless anger boiling just beneath the surface. As much as he wants to yell and fight, it's clear that's not getting him anywhere except for further and further restrained.

"What do you want?" he asks instead of lashing out. His voice is tense, the frustration clear in his tone, but he doesn't yell. Doesn't swear or hurl insults.

[runa-falls]

being (a) patient

summary: after his daughter's check up, it's ari's turn

pairing: dilf!ari x pediatrician!reader 

rating: EXPLICIT (18+ only)

warnings: SMUT, doctor-patient roleplay :3, minor choking, ball fondling ???, cumplay, handjob, PIV sex, creampie, inaccurate medical things, "professional"!reader, cute dad!ari, dilf!ari, obedient!ari, naked!ari, bad dad jokes, not proof read--sorry

word count: 4k

A/N: "but once, you have a bunch of pt. 2's to finis-" SHHHHHHHHHHHH

likes are nice but comments/reblogs keep me going!

masterlist

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

“God dammit,” he mutters, fingers running through his hair in irritation. The clinic's company pen rapidly taps against the clipboard as he tries to recall his mother-in-law's number, needing to fill out his daughter’s emergency contact before he could continue.

He has been struggling to fill out this stack of forms for at least half an hour. They were dumped into his arms, along with the pen, as soon as he arrived, not a single word of explanation. He grimaces, convinced his ex-wife has made it her job to make his life harder.

Ari had just moved to this city, no more than three weeks ago, following after his daughter and ex-wife to stay close to them. A new town means a new school, a new house, and a new doctor. So here he is, registering his daughter for the new clinic, vomiting information that he’s sure they won’t even need. 

His family is already in the doctor's room, called to the back 15 minutes ago to start the check-up, leaving him to scribble on his homework. It takes him another 10 minutes to get through the last two pages before he can just sign it and be done. 

After he cheerfully drops the clipboard of papers on the front desk, feeling like he just completed the SATs. He was directed to the “lion room” in the very back of the hallway. 

When he opens the door, his daughter immediately smiles at his arrival, swinging her legs back and forth as she sits on the bench. She must be waiting for the doctor to return. On the other hand, her mother doesn’t even look up, eyes locked on her phone as she scrolls through Twitter, pretending like he doesn’t exist. 

He decides against taking the seat next to his ex, preferring to stand next to his little girl instead. She’s a ball of energy this afternoon, perpetually talking about everything and nothing all at once. Ari leans against the bench, asking her simple questions to pass the time.

“Did the doctor take your temperature?” Her pigtails sway as she nods thoughtfully, recalling the doctor’s verdict with precise detail.

“...and she said that I’m as warm as a hug!” Ari preens at her little lisp. She’s still getting used to losing both of her front teeth earlier this year. He sends her squinted eyes, teasingly pretending like he doubts her memory. 

“Hm. I don’t believe that…”

“It’s true!” Ari holds back a smile, the lisp becoming more pronounced as she gets worked up. She holds up her pinkie with a humorously-serious face. “Promi-th.”

“Well,” His fingers brush through his beard as he looks up, pretending to consider her pinkie promise. His eyebrows furrowing in faux-thought. “I think I need some proof, bubs.  Maybe you can show me?”

She thinks for a second, letting the request stew a little. 

“‘kay.” Her little arms open wide, showing off her green Ariel t-shirt as she invites him in for a bear hug. Ari leans down to squeeze her close, his heart warming at the feeling of his baby in his arms.  She giggles as he almost lifts her off the seat. He’s convinced he could never get enough hugs from his little girl,

“Oh wow, I-You know what, she might be right!” She snickers at his exasperated reaction, knowing he’s just messing with her. 

“See? I told you.” The door behind him opens up, indicating the return of the doctor.

“You must be Mr. Levinson,” Ari swiftly turns to greet the gentle voice, but when his eyes land on you, a breath catches in his throat before he can say anything. Your eyes widen just a fraction, not expecting the father to be this good-looking. “It’s nice to meet you.” You smile politely, offering him a hand. 

He wordlessly reaches out to shake it, still starstruck by the woman in front of him.

He clears his throat, nodding dumbly, barely understanding what you said. “You too.” Despite the electricity you felt from his touch, you slip your hand from his, promptly reminding yourself to remain professional. 

Her mother is still on her phone, as unengaged as the moment you left, only paying attention when she’s addressed directly. You let out a sigh at the sight before placing your focus back on your little patient. 

Pulling out a small tub of salve from your coat pocket, you offer it to the little girl, speaking to her as if she were an adult, “Put this on your rash every day after a shower or before you go to bed, ok? It should be gone within a few weeks. If not, have one of your parents call in for another appointment.”

She nods with a determined look, taking the cream with both hands. You glance over at her father, making sure he caught that. He sends you the same nod with the same expression. It’s adorable, the resemblance is uncanny.

“Other than that, you should be proud. You’re a healthy growing girl.”  You pluck a star-shaped sticker from your other coat pocket, grinning as her eyes widen in excitement. “This,” You hold up the golden “good job” sticker, “is for you.” She blindly pushes the jar into her dad’s chest, hungrily focused on the reflective sticker. 

“What do you say, sweetie?” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Doctor!” 

—

The antiseptic scent of the clinic pinches at Ari’s nose as he waits at the front desk to pay for his daughter’s check-up. He leans against the lip of the desk, tapping his fingers across the surface as he waits for one of the assistants to calculate the total. 

“$500 for the new patient costs plus $40 for the medicine.” He shoves his hand to the back pocket of his jeans and grabs his wallet, plucking out his card and sliding it over to the lady. As he waits for the woman to charge him, his eyes wander around the empty pale-blue waiting room. 

He notices you enter the room, taking note of how you are no longer in your white coat. Instead, you are wearing a nice dress shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks. Despite the professional nature of your clothes, they fit you in all the right areas, perfectly molding to your curves. Ari’s thoughts wander as he shamelessly admires you from afar, unaware that you’re walking directly to him.  

“Still here?” You tease, knowing how long post-appointment procedures can be–especially for newcomers. Based on his impatient positioning against the desk, he’s been waiting a while. You let your eyes roam, admiring how his shirt struggles against his broad shoulders and impressively muscled arms.

“Uh, yeah,” He shakes himself out of his thoughts, “the girls ditched me. I don’t know what it is…it’s like they’re only using me for my money.” He jokes, stupidly proud of himself when it earns himself a light chuckle from your chest. He’s still got it.

“...alright, sir, here’s your card,” he gives you a “hold that thought” before turning around to face the office assistant. “Just sign here and you’ll be free to go.” She places a paper copy of the bill and a pen in front of him. Ari hastily places his card back into his wallet before sloppily signing the paper, eager to get back to his interaction with you. 

You give him an understanding smile when he returns to look at you. The two of you are left alone as the older woman takes the file into another room, uninterested in the conversation in front of her. 

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

You slowly take a step closer to him, “I have to admit, they are lucky girls, having you to provide for them.”  You boldly reach out, nudging his arm with your hand. You can feel how his muscles ripple as you run your fingers over the length of it. He stays silent, but you can see how his shoulders move as he breathes deeply. “But you need someone to take care of you too, don’t you?” Your face remains as professional as ever, acting like you're asking him a simple question.

You innocently tilt your head, savoring the way his eyes widen as he lets out a surprised cough at your blunt question. He takes a second to calm down, silently giving himself a pep talk to restore his nonchalant, charming persona. 

Suddenly, he has an idea. 

Ari fabricates another cough, repurposing his borderline embarrassing reaction as a tool for his next move. “Actually, I haven’t been feeling well, Doctor.” Another cough, “I think I might need a check-up.” He took a glance at your face, hoping you were picking up on his intentions.

“Oh?” A warm hand is placed on his forehead, flipping over as you feel for his temperature. He’s impressed by the convincing sympathy that fills your eyes as you watch him fake a softer cough. “If you’d like,” You look down at your watch, pretending to calculate how much time you have, “I can bring you to the back right now?”

He sends you a playful smile before settling back into his role by responding in a raspy voice, “That would be great, Doc.”

—

“Alright, take a seat.”  You gesture to the small bench lined with colorful animal-print paper.  “I’ll be back in a second, just have to grab a few things.” He follows your directions, noisily crinkling the paper under him as he settles on the edge of the bench.

You return in your full doctor-get up, a white coat complete with a stethoscope around your neck and blue latex gloves. You look adorably professional for the fake exam you’re about to perform. You hold a clipboard in one hand and a cute bumble bee pen in the other. 

“So what seems to be the problem?” You glance up at him, pen hovering over a blank sheet of paper like you’re ready to take some notes. 

“I don’t know. I-I feel like something’s wrong, but I don’t know how to explain it.” He feigns a pout, holding a hand to his lower stomach before drifting it downwards suggestively. 

Pretending like you don’t notice his intent, you nod thoughtfully, the pitiful expression you send him is almost condescending and it drives him crazy.  

“Let's try to figure it out together then, shall we?” From a cabinet next to the bench, you grab an old-school thermometer. You suppose you could use a regular digital one, but you’ve been craving to see something in his pouty mouth.

His lips quirk up as he notices your hungry stare locked on his mouth. He cheekily runs his tongue over his bottom lip, enjoying the way your eyelids droop, captivated with the motion.  “Say ‘ahh.’”

Ari gladly opens his mouth, reciting the noise right back: “ahhhh” You slip the end of the tool under his tongue.

“Alright, let’s keep that in there for 2 minutes?”

“Yes, ma’am” his words are muffled as he tries to keep the thermometer in his mouth. You keep busy, acting like you’re writing notes on your clipboard like a good doctor.

After scribbling a few flowers and smiley faces around the page, you secretly peek up at him. He stares right back with an amused look as he obediently keeps the glass stick under his tongue. You mentally berate yourself for the way your face heats up under his cocky stare. 

You realize how distracted you were when you glance up at the cat-shaped clock. It’s been 5 minutes. “Alright, let’s see…” you gently take it out of his mouth and take a glance at the temperature. Hopefully, he doesn’t miraculously have a fever because then this little role-playing activity will have to be cut short. “…98.3°. Ok, good. So it’s not a fever.” 

“Well, I could’ve told you that.” He retorts. You roll your eyes as you place the thermometer in a sanitary cup. 

“Shush, be patient and let me do my exam.”

Like the dad he is, he responds, “What do you mean? I am a patient.” He shamelessly laughs at his own joke, proud that he came up with that so fast. You let out a teasing groan, as you pretend to be annoyed. “What? Ok, ok, I’ll behave.”   You tap the tops of his thighs indicating for him to spread them so you can stand closer. He opens easily, eagerly inviting you into his space.

Now standing right in front of him, you pull your stethoscope from your shoulders, “Okay, let’s check your heart.” As you’re about to place the cool metal right under his shirt, he quickly begins to unbutton it, revealing his gorgeously untrimmed chest to the cool air of the room.  

Your eyes openly drink in his perfectly tanned skin, his happy trail taunting you as it hints at his growing problem below. Your cunt throbs as you inhale shakily, almost forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing. He follows your eager gaze and moves to unbutton his jeans too, but before he could pull down the zipper, he’s stopped by his wrist. 

“No-” You squeeze his arm tighter when you notice how close your hand is to his considerable bulge, “this is good.” Your voice gasps out of your mouth as you try to calm yourself down. He reluctantly drops his arms, silently waiting for you to make the next move, looking devastatingly good as he sits in front of you with his shirt hanging open.  

You let your intrusive thoughts win and boldly place your hand on the left side of his chest, feeling the warm skin tense at your touch, heart beating rapidly. “Ok, this might be a little cold.” You warn before you replace your hand with the diaphragm of the stethoscope, gently pressing it against his chest. “Take a deep breath for me.” You whisper, trying to calm him down. 

His eyes stay on your face as he breathes in, suddenly feeling like he’s getting an actual check-up. You listen closely, making sure there aren’t any irregular beats or murmurs. You move it slightly downwards, completely focused on the task at hand. “Again.” With the next deep breath, he notices how you breathe with him, shoulders moving in sync with his chest.

You back up without a word, putting the tool on the counter next to you with a satisfied sigh. Everything sounds good. “You’re so cute when you get all doctorly.” Ari interrupts your thoughts, looking at you with a sly smirk. You mentally facepalm yourself. You got so caught up in your usual routine that you forgot why he was here in the first place! 

“Your, uh, heart sounds healthy so-”

“You know what, Doc? After deducting all these things through your tests, I think I can finally tell what’s bothering me.” 

“Oh, what is it?” The hand on his thigh moves over to rub himself over his jeans, pulling a wretched groan from his throat. His blue eyes are locked on yours as your mouth gapes at the depraved sight. 

“I’m so fucking hard, Doc,” Ari grips himself to emphasize his words, showing off every inch of his covered cock, “and I just can’t get it down. I need your help.” His eyes beg you to touch him, looking as distressed as he pretends to be. 

“U-um, ok. Let’s take a look then.” You nervously stretch your gloves higher onto your wrists in anticipation as he starts to undo his jeans, the open sides of his shirt getting the way as he eagerly tugs his pants down. You let out an involuntary gasp as a hard cock slaps against his stomach, perfectly pink and ridiculously big. 

He sees how your hand stutters as it approaches him, suddenly intimidated by the large man in front of you. Ari assists you by pulling your hand closer to him, wrapping his fingers over yours, demonstrating how tightly he wants you to hold him. When he lets go, you experimentally squeeze your hand around him, gaining a breathless gasp from his body. 

“How does this feel?” Somehow your voice remains level as you ask the clinical question, eyes peeking at him through your lashes. The lustful gaze you send him makes him throb in your hand, encouraging you to continue your exploration. You gently run your gloved finger up his cock, teasingly tapping against his leaking head, mesmerized by the mess. 

Both pairs of eyes watch as a string of precum sticks from his cock to the tip of your finger as you start to pull away. You let it fall to his thigh before lovingly rubbing it into his skin. He almost feels like he’s going to burst from the way you’re playing with him. “Mr. Levinson?” You hand his back around him, pumping him slowly as you try to catch his attention. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you with confused eyes, completely oblivious to the topic of the conversation.

“I asked you how you’re feeling. I can’t help you if you don’t cooperate with me.” The professionalism in your voice directly contradicts how you are handling him, almost making him go blind as you continuously brush over the line where his head meets his shaft. You know what you’re doing.

“So good…” He groans out, barely able to tell what he’s saying. 

You hum contentedly, dipping your hand lower to gently fondle his balls, knowing how sensitive they can be. You hold back a smile when he jolts in surprise and starts to shutter out uneven breaths. 

It’s just so easy.

His knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the bench under him, eyes closed in ecstasy. 

Bringing up your other hand, you start to stroke him at the same time, holding him with more confidence as he melts against you. “H-holy ffu-” His stomach clenches as he holds himself back, thighs struggling to stay open around your clothed midriff. 

His hair falls into his face as his head lolls forward, jaw clenched in concentration. You bite your lip as you watch him scramble to get a hold of himself, sloppy wet sounds spurring on the both of you. You speed up, determined to destabilize his efforts, needing to see this man break in your hands.  

A warm hand wraps around your throat and yanks you forward. Your head is so hazy from the pressure on your neck that you can barely react when your lips meet his for a passionate kiss. Your tongues sloppily brush together as you languidly take in each other’s taste. Ari murmurs against your lips, “...like a dream.”  

It’s dumb how flustered you get from his raspy voice. He nips your lip, drinking in your whimpers as he sucks at you until it’s nice and plump. You feel yourself drip when he soothes his work with little kitten licks against your mouth, refusing to dip back into your mouth. 

You try to push toward him to get what you want, but he simply leans back with a cheeky grin, hand gently squeezing at your throat as a warning. “Keep goin’ honey.” You realize your movements ceased after the first breathtaking kiss. 

You raise a challenging eyebrow,  “Give me a kiss first.” 

“Mmm…No, this isn’t how it works.”

“I’m the doctor– You’re supposed to do what I say!” You pout, pointedly letting him go. He rolls his eyes at your childish behavior and follows your actions, shoving his hand off your neck.

“Okay,” He pushes you away from him and hops off the bench. “You’ve had your fun. It’s my turn now.” He first grabs your wrists, hastily working off your gloves before dropping them on the floor. Your coat soon follows, carelessly thrown in the same direction. 

Ari twirls you to face the bench, pushing his hips into yours to pin you forward. He bends you over the surface with ease, only stepping back for a moment to yank your pants over your ass and down your legs. 

You feel pressure against your cunt as his fingers rub you over your panties, spreading your slick everywhere. “Look at that. Practically see-through with how drenched you got it.” You whine at his taunts, attempting to push back against him to feel more. 

He moves his hand to hold onto your hair, firmly pushing your face into the paper-covered bench. He runs his other hand down your back before grabbing a large handful of your ass, groaning at how soft you feel under him. 

He forgoes removing your underwear, preferring to just fuck you with your panties shoved to the side. 

You feel him slide the tip of his cock up and down your folds, effectively getting himself slicked up in preparation. He experimentally dips in, appreciating the small amount of resistance your body shows him. The feeling of him pushing into you, stretching your cunt to his will, is indescribably overwhelming. 

An involuntary moan is knocked out of you as he slowly slides in, causing him to wrap a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. You almost forgot where you were.

Each time you think he is all the way in, he just keeps going, sending you keeling as he prods against your walls. His hips fit snuggly against yours when he finally bottoms out, deliciously pressed against your cervix. He stays there for a second, letting you adjust to his size. “You ok?” 

You’re deliriously trying to relax around him when you mewl out a half-hearted, “Great.” 

He takes that response as a directive to move. You feel his soft lips press against your shoulder before he gently starts to rock himself into you, expertly hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. 

He slightly bends his knees as he starts to speed up, fucking himself up into now. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the sound of your fucked out cunt fills the room, surrounding you through every thrust. The paper under you crinkles loudly, sticking to the undersides of your arms as you move around. 

“Such a good little doctor,” His whispers are strained, trying to control himself while he’s buried in your tightness. He pushes your back down to angle your ass upwards to thrust impossibly deep inside you. “Letting me her holes as my medicine.” Your eyes prick with tears as he starts snapping his hips at a punishing pace. You can’t help the borderline sob that escapes you when he prods against your cervix, almost feeling him in your stomach. 

The walls of your cunt start to tighten around him, throbbing insistently as he continues his vigorous thrusts. You felt it coming, but you weren’t expecting how intense it would be. Heat vibrates through your body as your vision whitens, disorienting all your senses at once. You could barely feel the way your whole body tenses, muscles straining in exhaustion. 

“F-fuck, fuck, fuc—” After a couple of stuttered thrusts, Ari fully buries himself inside you before painting your walls with hot cum. You pant together, calming yourselves down before he slips out of you. Before any warm slick could run down your leg, he picks you up and sets you on the bench, grabbing a box of tissues to help clean you up. 

“Thanks.” You shyly whisper it as he wipes you up. 

He looks up at you with a dazzling smile, “Anytime…”

—

Bonus scene: 

Ari lingers at the lion-painted door, fully clothed with his fingers gripping at the handle. He is silently hoping you will stop him before he leaves. 

“Wait, Ari,” He hears you call out from behind him, “hold on a sec.” You blindly reach into your discarded white coat, pulling out a pen and one of your signature stickers. 

You turn the golden star over and quickly scribble down your number onto the paper before holding it out to him. “Let me know if your condition gets better, ok?” 

“Yes ma’am.” He dorkily salutes you before walking out the door with a grin.

[mxgicthot]

Overtime | Haleth x Muriel 🍋

Day 6 of @the-midsummer-masquerade

In which Muriel takes special care of his lover.

Prompt(s) used : Overstimulation

Word count : 1.6 k

Special thank you to @popcornaddict500 for beta reading 💖

Muriel never thought he’d attend the  Midsummer Masquerade, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised when Nadia mentioned she’d bring them back. His indecision about attending lasted until Haleth and handed him his own invite — she had nervously wriggled the edges in her hands when she asked him if they were going together. 

"Please Muri. It could be fun." 

And he finally gave in. 

***

From the moment they stepped through the palace gates, Haleth whipped her head around trying to look at everything at once. There were an endless number of rooms, food, drinks, and people, she was overwhelmed. But mostly she was just excited, clinging a little too tightly onto Muriel's arm as he promptly moved them through the crowds of guests. 

After doing some exploring, checking some rooms and sharing a drink, they found themselves in a private room. 

Muriel locked the door and sighed. He'd already started to feel uncomfortably hot in his leather corset, with his pecs practically bursting out. It was mostly Haleth's insistence on spoiling him and he only agreed on the condition that he would bring his cloak along. 

Haleth's 'outfit' was… not quite an outfit. She had adorned her body with henna, the intricate patterns covering every inch of skin, with a white sheer shawl draped over her shoulders, a few added accessories and a simple white cat mask. 

She's fiddled with the corner of her shawl while watching him intently, she opened her thoughts up to him. 

[You're quieter than usual. Gold for your thoughts? ] 

Muriel quirked a brow at her "I thought the saying was a penny for your thoughts?" 

"Hmm yes…but your thoughts are expensive." 

"Come here." 

Just like every time, Haleth came when Muriel called. She always did. The moment she hears his voice calling out her  name she'd turn to him, just like whenever Muriel needed, he would already find her next to him — either standing with him, metaphorically, or willing to lend a pair of helping, sometimes spoiling, hands. 

"You're so damn pretty. gods, I’m aching for you, baby.” He sounded desperate, almost whiny, hands cradling her face. 

"M-Muri." she groaned. Haleth was already blushing, a sure sign for him not to stop praising her. After removing their masks, he rested one of his hands on the nape of her neck, the other on her waist,

He leaned down to capture her lips, the kiss filled with longing and sweetness.  He moaned in her mouth, sucking softly on her lower lip as she splayed her hands over his chest, grazing his collarbone with her fingernails. Muriel lightly bit her lower lip, pulling away from her mouth with a pop. 

His fingers now dug into her hips, greedily kneading her as he pulled her pelvis closer to his hips. His lips moving back to hers, hungry and feverish kisses. Stealing the air out of her lungs as his hands travel to her soft butt, he squeezed lightly.  Causing Haleth to stand on her tiptoes, squealing softly into his mouth as he pulled away again. 

"No, come closer." she groaned 

Muriel smirked, his green eyes blown out with lust as he took in her flushed face. “Love...I’m gonna take my time with you.” He groaned, in between kisses, moving her further into the bedroom. “Mkay?” he asked as Haleth stopped, the back of her knees hit the bed as she gripped onto his arms tightly.  

Haleth only managed a nod, feeling drunk from her lust haze. His strong arms held her firmly, until he released her. He lifted his chin towards the bed, an indication to lay back for him. She happily obliged, watching as he slowly undid his outfit. He runs a hand through his dark locks, his tongue lightly darted out to wet his lips as he appraises her.

“Such a pretty sight...all for me. All mine…” He hummed sinfully. 

He crouches onto the bed placed in the center of the room, the mattress sinking under his weight as places both hands on her ankles, lightly running them up her legs before kneading her thighs. Her heart began to flutter with excitement as he placed himself in between her legs. Muriel leaned down, smiling while holding eye contact and placed sloppy kisses on her tummy, his tongue occasionally dragging over her belly piercing. 

[You're such a tease!] 

"And you are impatient." he tsked at her and continued his greedy kissing as he held her firmly in place. Then the biting started. 

Haleth felt her heart stop as his teeth suddenly nipped at her hip bone, his mouth capturing the hem of her panties as he tugged them down, a whine escaping him as his large calloused hands moved down to her thighs tracing the flowery henna patterns on her skin. 

 “Mmmm, Hallie,” He hummed, moving his arms under her legs as his nose moved over her core. Haleth arched at the action, throwing her head back as her fingers wove into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Muriel turned to place an open mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, sucking lightly before looking down at her. A devilish smirk was quaking on his lips as his fingers dug into her hips. 

“I’m here. Take as much of me as you want.” she whispered. Her voice was soft, wrecked, almost a whimper. 

Muriel quirked an eyebrow, considering his options before he speaks. "And if I wanna eat you out for a long time? even after I make you cum if I want you to hold you against my face while I fuck you with my tongue, make you ride my face till you're a trembling mess?" He asked, curiosity in his green eyes. 

"I told you. Do with me as you please." Haleth looked straight at him, forcing her gaze to not stray even the tiniest bit from his. 

"You remember your safeword?" 

"Apples." she mumbled 

Satisfied with her answer Muriel tightened his grip on her hips, running his tongue along her entrance, savouring her taste and heat. She let out a squeak in response, and he continued to lap at her, fingers slipping in and spreading her apart. Haleth had already started to shake and sob, fingers digging into his hair and trying her best not to fall apart too quickly. 

His fingers pull out  and he smooths his hand up her body, arm long enough to reach her mouth. He pulled her bottom lip down with his thumb, as she took in his  two fingers, biting the fingertips and suckling softly.

“Look at me, my love.”

She did, and she shuddered. He feasted with slow, long sweeps of his tongue and lips, the sound absolutely filthy and wet and carnal, a growl rolling in his chest with every movement he makes.

Haleth let out a whine as she felt her orgasm approach, her body coiling like a spring. She let out a sob as she reached her climax, Muriel continued to devour her, his fingers and hands moving around, guiding and coaxing. 

Overwhelmed with pleasure she tried to push him away, gasping out that it’s too much. Her body is so sore, mind  turning numb, but he keeps going, keeps feasting, growling into her, the sound coming from low in his chest.

She arched her back, fists balling in the sheets as a second orgasm washed over her. 

“Please—please—”  Haleth sobs out, but she wasn't  asking for anything. He kept going.

She came again, again, again, until she couldn't count anymore, until her voice was raw from screams and sobs, until everything about is numb except for the place where his mouth was devouring, wet noises as he laps at her entrance, fingers probing and  spreading her apart.

Haleth's cheeks are wet with tears, she hardly noticed it until he finally pulled away and started trailing kisses up her body. When he reaches her chest, she feels the tightness there dissipated a little, but Muriel didn't give her much longer to think about it as he quickly goes back to pleasing her. 

Haleth groaned, twisting and squirming under him, but his strength, his hold, his soft voice…it left no room for negotiation, and it offers not a moment of mercy. 

She shuddered and every wave and pulse of her orgasm more intense than the last, set off again and again. 

Her eyes cross, and  lashes fluttering against her cheeks, lips parted as she pants and moans softly, letting out incomprehensible words as the waves of her orgasm begin to subside

"Mur…Muriel?"

“Ssshhh.” His thumbs stroked, small circles along her hip bone, and when a fourth orgasm took her without warning and she begged for him to stop, he merely tuts. “Is stop your safe word?”

Haleth inhales, a shuddering breath that shakes her entire body, and then exhales, the sound low and crackling in her chest.

But she does not speak. 

She does not answer. 

Because he is right. Stop is not the safe word, and despite the torture of having cum repeatedly there is an ache to feel more of his punishment, to be praised for accepting the torture. And so she does not give him her safe word, and she does her best to stop herself from squirming.

"That's my good girl" Muriel rewards her with his murmur of approval and a soft kiss on the inside of her thigh, just as her fifth orgasm begins to build. 

This was certainly going to be a long night she thought just before her vision faded into black. 

[the-sympathetic-villain]

The Chance Meeting of the Black Cat Cafe

AO3

Prompt: Everyone is born with a limited number of words. Because of this, people thing more before they speak. In some cultures, it's even considered the god(s) choice on who gets how many. Those with the fewest words are pitied but accepted nonetheless.

Prompt by anonymous on Tumblr.

Author's note: This prompt has been sitting in my inbox for a shameful amount of time, but I had to figure out some baseline for this. Giving the characters the ability to use sign language or the ability to write seemed too easy. So I had to figure out a way around that <3

Word Count: 5866

Pairing: Analogical

Warnings: Flirting/Romantic contact, Prejudice, Very, very light hurt/comfort

---

    Black coffee.

    Two sugars.

    Splash of cream.

    That's the way Logan's coffee had always been served to him. As long as he could remember, he spent his morning getting ready for work, drove to his favorite coffee shop and went about his day. He'd been doing this for years. This was how his life had always been.

    Until today.

    Logan stood outside his favorite coffee shop dumbfounded by the ‘Closed' sign blocking the way to his daily routine. A small note was tacked to the sign explaining that a family emergency that had forced Anna, the shop owner, to close on this very particular day, but still the small sign stalled his brain.

    This was fine.

    Emergencies happen. The most important factor of the situation is that the owner was taking care of her family. His need to stay on his routine was of minimal importance compared to the safety and well being of the kind barista who'd been serving him his coffee for years.

    Logan knew this was true. He shouldn’t still be staring blankly at the dark building, but he couldn’t seem to drag his feet away. The thought was irrational and he knew there were several solutions existed for this very simple problem he was facing. He forced himself to take a long breath, considering his options.

    He could simply continue onto work without his coffee, but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Dealing with his coworkers without caffeine as a buffer sounded less than ideal. Logan let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned towards his car.

   Of course, the logical course of action was to simply go to a different coffee shop. It would be well worth the mediocre coffee and pitiful stares of the new shop's patrons if he didn't have to go without his daily dose of dark roasted stimulant.

    Logan chewed on his lip as he slipped his key into the ignition of his car. He knew the dread building in his chest was an overreaction, but he couldn’t seem to trick his brain into releasing the anxiety constricting his throat. He'd spent years, slowly optimizing his daily routine to avoid the stares full of pity that he often received while out in public. Too often, well-meaning people would notice the lack of black designs on his body and their looks would immediately turned to pity. The very thought of the way people looked at him when they realized he had no words made his stomach twist.

    Most people were gifted with at least a few decades worth of words, more if they were careful about how they used them. Everyday, he was surrounded by dozens of people whose arms and legs were covered in black designs, indicating the words they had left in there life. Some were more faded than others, especially among the older generation, but few people were like him. His arms were bare when he was born and one would assume he would have gotten accustomed to the way people without words were treated, but it never seemed to get easier.

    He turned the key, humming as the engine suddenly jumped to life. Slowly, he let out a sigh as he backed out of the parking lot and turned back onto the busy streets. The sounds of traffic and instrumental music on the radio soon lulled him into an uneasy resignation as he scanned the road for the next indication of an establishment selling the much needed warmth and comfort of caffeine he was craving today. Logan had barely gone two blocks when a purple neon sign caught his eye.

    Black Cat Coffee.

    The branding left a lot to be desired.  The faded logo was nearly unreadable under the purple glow of the neon circled around the cartoon-ish black cat logo. The design was garish and had too much of a Halloween vibe for Logan’s usual taste. Not to mention, something about the cat's eyes unsettled him as it seemed to smile directly at him. He wouldn’t even have considered it any other day, but he was already behind schedule, and the shop appeared to be nearly empty even as the morning traffic bustled past. Logan sighed,  relenting to his need for caffeine as he pulled into the narrow parking lot and stepped out of his car.

    He looked up as he stepped out, taking in the aged building as he made his way to the door. The bright purple paint on the building had faded with time, leaving behind a deep, muted purple that only seemed to retreat from the dark, green trim framing the building. He swallowed, nervous as darkened the doorstep of the strange establishment.

    Logan pushed open the heavy door, almost jumping at the sound of the bell that announced his arrival. He quickly slipped through the entrance but his unease only seemed to increase as the sounds of the traffic we dulled by the thick walls. His skin prickled with discomfort as he stepped forward into the empty shop.

    He hadn't thought to check for an open sign. After all, he'd hardly have assumed that a coffee shop would be closed on a Monday morning during prime business hours, and yet it appeared he was alone in the dim space. The natural light from the windows was muted by the large pine trees outside and the amber light cast down by the industrial style light barely seemed sufficient to light the room.

    Logan had barely stepped up to the counter when a figure suddenly rose up from behind the register. He bowed his head quickly, ashamed by how much he'd jumped when the man stood up, marker in his mouth as he stared at Logan.

    The man blinked, still staring at him as he pulled the marker out of his mouth with a knowing smirk. The man's long hair was pulled back into bun on the top of his head and he was wearing a dark colored hoodie with purple patches on the elbows. His smile twitched as he chewed on the piercing on his lips and Logan got the feeling that the man had enjoyed spooking him. The man chuckled at his disgruntled expression, pointing up at the faded menu board above him before slipping the marker behind his ear as he waited for Logan’s response.

    Logan bit his lip as he raised his wrist into the air to showcase the purple band around his wrist. He paused, expecting the man’s expression to change as he realized that Logan wasn’t able to speak. This wasn't a new experience and he'd seen all the reactions before. Sadness, pity, and even disgust at how young he was to have lost his privilege to speak, but nothing could have prepared him for the casual shrug the man gave in response.

    He couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded by the lack of a reaction as the man turned to the espresso machine. His mind became a blur as he listened to the hissing of the machine, still shell-shocked by the man's nonchalance.

    After a moment, the man seemed to catch him staring and he smirked as Logan started. He flushed, suddenly embarrassed by his distinct inability to function like a normal human being and follow basic social norms like not staring at the attractive barista who seemed to be taking pleasure in his incompetence. Taking a step back, Logan bowed his head as he tried to hide the red burn in his cheeks. He started to turn to find a table to wait, but the man almost jumped over the counter at him trying to get his attention.

    Logan looked up as the man’s smirk softened as he leaned back holding up his hands in a gentle apology. He smiled, waving Logan back over as he turned to finish with his process. Logan stared for a moment before reluctantly returning to the bar. He watched the barista work and a moment later, the man slid the purple to go cup across the counter to Logan.

    Black coffee.

    Two sugars.

    Splash of cream.

    Whatever the man had handed him was most certainly not that, but Logan had to admit this drink was much tastier than what he'd grown accustomed to drinking. He'd been to dozens of shops and always been served the same drink. His lack of words had always meant he couldn’t order and that had left him at the mercy of the standard drink every shop had agreed to serve people like him.

    Logan stared down at the cup, almost shell-shocked by the unexpected flavor. He didn’t even known coffee could taste this good. The flavor didn’t have even a hint of bitterness and the steamed milk was light and fluffy with a sweet caramel finish. The sweet drink was absolutely divine.

    “Pretty decent, huh?”

    Logan had just started taking another sip when the man's words startled him. He choked, nearly dropping his delicious drink in the process and his eyes turned up to the stranger's knowing grin as the man leaned forward on the bar. He hesitated a moment too long, shocked by the man’s casual use of his words, only to realize a moment too late that he was expecting an answer. Slowly, Logan nodded and he smiled as the man perked up.

    “Name's Virgil and, um, I'm not busy at the moment.” The stranger leaned on the bar, glancing around the room with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think maybe you'd like to stay a bit?”

    Logan hesitated, looking at the door. He knew he was already going to be late for work, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by the handsome man who seemed willing to throw away precious words on a complete stranger. His silence hung over them, even more deafening than usual as he pondered the stranger’s invitation. That was, until a soft fur brushed Logan’s hand and he startled once more, looking to see a purring mass of dark fur staring up at him with glittering amber eyes.

    “That's Azazel.” The barista drawled lazily as Logan turned back to his smile. “I'd lie and say you were special, but the truth is she’s kind of a slut for anyone who's willing to pet her.”

    Logan snorted, slightly embarrassed as he glanced nervously at the soft expression on the man's face and extended his hand out to the cat. The black mass lifted up to reveal her slender black legs as they stretched as she arched her back before pushing her head into Logan’s hand. He chuckled as she purred and allowed Logan to scratch under her chin, leaning her head in for more.

    “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

    Logan bit his lip as he turned his gaze back up to Virgil. He shook his head. He wanted nothing more than to stay with the stranger who had spared more words on him in this short conversation than he'd been given in weeks, but he couldn’t afford to abandon his job. He liked the job had now. It was comfortable and gave him more freedom than most places would, given his social status. Not to mention, the placement process for employment for those without words was an experience he wasn't eager to repeat. Reluctantly, he shook his head at the stranger, feeling the disappointment weigh heavy on his chest as he stepped back to leave.

    “Now, just hold on,” Virgil raised a hand to stop him. Logan turned back, surprised to see the barista swinging around the counter. “This isn't a one time offer.”

    Logan paused, shocked as the man reached out to take his hand. He stared in bewilderment as the man flipped his wrist over and rolled up his sleeve. Virgil pulled the marker from behind this ear and popped off its cap. Logan's mouth dropped open as Virgil took the black marker and started to write on his forearm.

   “You know where that is?”

    Canterbury Park.

    Logan blinked as he looked down to read the words scribbled on his forearm. From what he remembered, the park was close to here and not far from his own house actually. He looked at his wrist, still mystified by the ink now decorating his skin for a moment longer before nodding up at Virgil.

    “Good,” The man whispered with a smirk. “If you’re interested, meet me there tonight around 9pm.”

    Logan nodded, still holding his arm and looking shell-shocked as he turned to go.

    “Oh, and you best keep that hidden.” Virgil smirked, gently pulling at the piercing in his ear as Logan turned his head over his shoulder. “I don’t do parties. That invite's just for you.”

    Logan felt heat rise in his cheek as he nodded and the stranger flashed him a coy smile. He quickly pulled his sleeve down and shuffled back out of the door, jumping again at the sound of the bell as he ducked out of the shop.

    Logan was shaking as he dropped into the seat of his car. He quickly set his coffee into the cup holder immediately to avoid spilling the precious liquid as his hands started to shake. His hands found their way up to rest firmly on the steering wheel as he tried to steady his breathing. His eyes lifted up to the shop windows if disbelief as he tried to process what had just happened. Needless to say, this was not how he’d anticipated his morning going.

---

    Logan's focus was all but non-existent for the rest of his day. He was fortunate enough that his reputation of reliability kept him out of trouble with his boss. In fact, she’d barely even looked up as he walked in the door nearly twenty minutes late. It perturbing how dreadfully normal the day was as it passed. It was entirely as though the encounter with the stranger was nothing more than a dream. He may not even have believed it happened, if it weren't for the black ink still scribbled on his arm.

    Logan set the coffee on his desk and began to pull his pencils out of his bag. His drafting board was laid out in front of him. The numbers stared back at him in the only language that had ever come naturally to him.

     He tried to set to work on his current drafting project. He'd been assigned to design a new public art house on the south side of town. It was a project he’d been lucky enough to land when so many people like him were simply placed into manual labor or food service. Not that he would ever belittle the importance and necessity of such jobs, but the opportunity to pursue creative work drove him to push the boundaries of what people like him should be encouraged to do. In a world of silence, this was his voice and he was ready to shout from the mountaintops.

    Usually.

    Yet somehow, today he seemed utterly speechless. He could barely put his pencil to the board without shaking. Every time he moved, his sleeve pulled up to reveal the black ink on his skin, and each time, the sight sent his thoughts spiraling towards the mysterious barista's offer. His coworkers moved around him, buzzing and humming as they worked productively, making him grow increasingly desperate to manage even to draw a straight line as his day dragged on.

    I shouldn’t go.

    He knew he shouldn’t even consider the man’s proposal. Meeting a strange man in the park alone at night was dangerous to say the least. His condition made him particularly vulnerable, and he knew it. If something happened, Logan couldn’t even call for help. It was the reason why he had always been exceedingly cautious in his previous ventures, so he couldn’t understand why he was even entertaining the idea now.

    Logan sucked in a breath, slowly releasing the breath as he pressed his hand to his sleeve, thinking about the dark scribble underneath. He knew the answer was obvious. Writing on his arm was an intimate gesture. In a world where the spoken word was rare, the written word was nearly non-existent. A thousand spoken words would not fade the black designs on one's arms as with the same potency as a single written sentence. Even among those with the most words to spare, few of them chose to give their words the world through writing. To give even two written words to a stranger was an incredible gesture of generosity and trust and not one he should throw away lightly.

    Oh, fuck. I'm actually going go.

    Logan swallowed, leaning back in his chair as he dropped his pencil on his desk. He gave up on trying to focus. With a sigh, he rested his head in his hands on his desk. He just needed to get through the day without the curiosity killing him. Whatever happened that night, he would simply take his chances on the meeting being worth the misery.

---

    The chill of the night crept up Logan’s neck as he turned into the dark park. He'd opted for a more casual outfit than this morning than he'd been wearing this morning.  The choice had taken him longer than he would like to admit, but he'd settled on a pair of straight, black jeans, his canvas side bag and a blue sweatshirt he'd gotten a few years ago as a gift from a friend. The blue garment had always been a bit of a comfort item for him, even as the years started to wear it thin. He'd loved it and had managed to keep it in perfect shape, and though he’d admit in this particular moment he was craving something a little less threadbare, it still brought him a sense of ease he waited.

    “You made it.”

    Logan jumped at the sound of the  man's voice, immediately feeling silly that he hadn't anticipated the man's appearance behind him. He smiled shyly, taking in the man’s appearance as he turned around. The man’s dark hair was covered by a slouch beanie and he wore a heavy leather jacket that was lined with a dark black fleece underneath. A plain back tee showed through the half-zipped jacket and the skinny jeans he wore seemed to be his signature shade of purple. Logan chewed his lip as the man stepped up to him, playing with the silver cuff on top of his right ear. Logan flashed a shy smile, shifting his feet as he tried to avoid staring.

    “You can relax, dude. I promise I don’t bite.” Virgil dropped his hand from his hear, flashing a coy smile at Logan. “I mean, not unless you ask nicely.”

     Heat rushed to Logan cheeks as he ducked his head to his chest as the man smirked at him.

    Nope, this is too much.

    He tried to turn away, only to be stopped as  Virgil’s gentle grip caught his arm.

    “Hey, wait. I'm sorry.” Virgil came up beside him, softening his grip on Logan’s wrist. “I'll cool it with the jokes, I swear—um, I didn’t actually catch your name."

    Logan nodded, staring at the genuine concern in the man's eyes as he stopped him. He relaxed a bit, allowing Virgil to guide him back as he reached for his wallet. After some digging, he pulled out an old ID card, faded from years of use, and handed to Virgil.

    “Logan King.” Virgil smiled, flashing a look up and down him as he handed back the plastic card. “That’s a killer last name, dude.”

    Logan tensed slightly at the verbiage, forcing a smile as he shoved his hands in his pocket. Still despite his attempt to conceal his discomfort,  the man somehow managed to pick up on the slight shift in his demeanor. His eyes immediately became apologetic as he held up his hands in gentle reassurance.

    “Listen, I'm not a serial killer or whatever you’re worried about,” Virgil smiled, almost appearing nervous as he watched Logan's head turn back to him. “I’m nervous too. That’s all. I haven’t been on a first date in a long time.”

    Logan blinked in shock, staring at the man with apparent confusion in his eyes. He was quiet as the man’s eyes suddenly filled with distress.

    “Oh, god—” Virgil stammered, suddenly fidgeting under Logan’s stare for a change. “—Please tell me you knew what this was. If that’s not what you came here for, I can walk you home. I didn't mean to—”

    Logan chuckled as he held up his hands to brush off the stranger’s worries.  The man stilled as he watched Logan’s movements. He seemed to understand that Logan was not uncomfortable with the thought, but the stranger was clearly still unsettled by Logan's surprise. Logan's shyness abated slightly and he stepped forward, taking the man’s hand in his own.

    Virgil looked down as Logan’s hand as their fingers intertwined together. His tension started to melt away as he tipped his head up to the gentle look in Logan’s eyes.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?”

   Logan raised an eyebrow, teasing as he pointedly looked down at the man's hand curled in his own before turning playful eyes back up to Virgil.

    “Alright, smart-ass.” The man laughed as he turned to pull Logan along the path. “I needed to check in with you. Consent’s important and all that.”

    Logan’s lips curled into a small smile as he nodded in appreciation of the gesture.

    “Alright, then.” Virgil whispered,  squeezing Logan’s hand as he started to pull him down the path. “Let’s go.”

     His posture softened as they ventured deeper into the park. Virgil’s grip was gentle as he led him up the slight incline through the trees. Logan looked up as they hurried along their way and he could see the stars were starting to shine through the darkening sky when he noticed the trees suddenly started to thin out in front of them. Logan swallowed feeling nervous as Virgil pulled him up next to him, but his mouth immediately fell open as he looked out at the sight before him.

    They stood at the side of a sheer drop that overlooked the shimmering lights of thee city. The light below had started to glimmer as the valley's inhabitants turned on their lights on and the sun above had dropped below the horizon, illuminating the sky in the most vibrant colors Logan has ever seen.  Wispy purple and blue clouds shown brightly against the amber halo of the sun.

   “Looks like we’ve got a good one tonight.”

   Logan adjusted his glasses taking in the sight as Virgil walked him over to the bench at the edge of the small cliffside. Virgil let him sit and stare for a moment before Logan managed to pull his attention away from the jaw-dropping sight in front of him and look over to the kind man’s crooked grin. He blushed, looking away as he coyly tried to hide his embarrassment.

    “So, I take it you’ve never been up here before?”

    Shaking his head, Logan leaned back into the bench and lifted his head to the man sitting across from him. He furrowed his brow, tapping his own bare wrist with a questioning glance at Virgil’s sleeves.

    “You don’t have to worry. I have plenty of words to spare.” Virgil smiled at the concern in Logan’s eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think I have a limit, and even if I did, I don’t really talk to that many people to begin with.”

    Logan blinked, glancing curiously down at the man’s covered arms. Virgil continued to stare at his troubled expression until Logan let out a sigh, raising his eyebrow as he reached a hand out to Virgil’s wrist with a question in his eyes.

   “You want to see my markings on the first date?” Virgil smirked, cocking his head as Logan flushed. “That’s scandalous, Logan. What would people say?”

   His face reddening, Logan pulled his hand back as he nodded an apology. He’d started to lean back when he felt Virgil touch his arm.

    “Hey, I’m just kidding.” Virgil slowly released eased away from Logan’s arm as he cautiously turned back to Virgil. He held a wrist out to Logan with a gentle smile, inviting him to satisfy his curiosity. “Seriously, I wrote on your arm within minutes of meeting you. You deserve a peek.”

     Logan was hesitant, staring at the man cautiously as he attempted to gauge his genuineness. When the man continued to smile at him, his curiosity started to take over and he found the will to lean forward. His eyes flitted carefully to the man’s arm as it curled around his shoulder in a smooth, though not subtle, movement. Logan smirked before relaxing into the bench behind him and turning his eyes down to Virgil’s wrist.  The man’s skin was soft as Logan held his hand, gently pushing the sleeve of his jacket up so he could see the man’s forearm.

    The sight of Virgil’s arm sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body and he automatically leaned forward in disbelief. He ran his thumb along the intricate design almost expecting it to disappear before his eyes. Unlike the black and grey designs he’d seen before, Virgil’s arms were full of intricate designs in all colors of the rainbow. Each line was clean and bright as one would expect of a newborn. The patterns swirled across his wrists in repeating lines and curves that formed such intricate patterns that Logan almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His mind went blank as he stared down at the beautiful patterns, running his fingers along the colors until a realization suddenly swept through his mind.

    Logan turned to dig through his bag for a few moments before pulling out a small novel and pointing to the author’s name as he held the book out to the man in front of him.

    Virgil Dark.

    Virgil chuckled as he took the book from Logan with a knowing smile. “Oh, great. You’re a fan, huh?”

    Logan flushed, suddenly shy as he suddenly made sense of the strange man’s identity. Virgil Dark, one of the few active authors in the world. His novels were a dark, genre of fiction, and like all authors, his novels were published and printed all over the world. His stories were coveted all over the world, though his own fame was clouded by certain shroud of mystery.

    In a world where words are such a rare and coveted commodity, it was common for authors to tour with their books. The sacrifice of words to be printed for the masses turned them into celebrities, and most authors were all to glad to eat up the attention, but Virgil Dark had always been an enigma to the world.

     Despite being one of the world’s most prolific creators, the author had never held a single viewing. He'd never even be seen as far as Logan knew. His stories just appeared on the shelves of bookstores one day, only to be gone the next as the masses greedily consumed his thrilling novels. Yet here he was, smirking at Logan as the gears turned slowly in his head.

    “They say it’s rude to stare.” Virgil prompted, chuckling as he flipped open Logan’s copy of his book. Logan’s heart dropped slightly as the man’s expression shifted. Bright colors followed the lines of text as Logan watched Virgil scan the text he highlighted. “Man, you really got into this one. Is it your favorite?”

     An embarrassed smile spread across Logan’s face as Virgil turned up to him. He nodded slowly as Virgil’s hand brushed his shoulder.

    “What’s your favorite part?”

    Logan bit his lip as Virgil handed the novel back to him. Pausing for a moment, Logan scrunched his face in thought before flipping through the pages. Virgil waited patiently as Logan dug through the pages, flipping back and forth through the pages until he found the right section. As soon as he settled on a section, pointing it out to Virgil as he handed the book back to him.

    “Oh,” Virgil breathed, slowly scanning the section that Logan had presented to him. Logan’s skin prickled nervously as Virgil grew quiet, flipping through his own writing. His voice softened as he turned up to Logan. “This was one of my favorite sections to write. There’s not much exciting happening. It’s just a moment of humanity between in the midst of the storm. I, um—I guess I didn’t realize there were people who enjoyed these bits. I mostly wrote them for myself.”

    Logan blinked at the sudden wave of emotions in Virgil’s eyes as he handed the book back to him.

    “People are always clamoring for more action, but really what’s the point if you don't give a shit about the characters.” Virgil smiled as he dipped his gaze to the ground. “I always felt like I was just throwing those sections in for myself, so I’m glad to know there are people out there who resonated with them.”

    A soft smile spread across Logan's face as he turned his head down to flip through the pages of the novel, humming to himself as Virgil stared at him.

    “Do you read a lot, Logan?”

   Logan let out a sigh and his smile faded slightly as he nodded down at the book. His gaze turned to the ground and he leaned his elbows down to his knees, flipping absently through the pages.

    “Whoa,” Virgil leaned forward as Logan's expression shifted. “What’s that look for?”

    Continuing to stare down at his book, Logan stared at the pages full of words with a forlorn look in his eyes.

    “Come on,” Virgil pushed gently. He reached out to Logan's forearm, frowning as Logan winced at the contact. Slowly, he backed his arm away, watching the emotions flash across Logan’s face. “You can be honest with me.”

    Logan snorted with contempt as he set the book to the side. He stared at the ground blankly as the man watched him carefully from his periphery. A moment passed before he turned back to Virgil. He stared up at the dark circles under the man's eyes reached forward, holding his bare wrists next Virgil’s colorful forearm.

    Virgil stared at down at Logan’s wrist, glancing up at him as he took in the questioning look in Logan's eyes. He smiled softly as he curled his hand to take Logan’s arm. Slowly, his gaze dropped to Logan’s arm as he ran his thumb along his forearm. “I'm not so shallow that I'd judge someone based on how many words they have, Logan.

    Staring at the man in front of him, dread dropped like a stone in Logan’s stomach as he attempted to pull his arm back, surprised as Virgil caught his wrist.

    “I’m serious when I say this is the most interesting conversation I've had in months.”

    Logan’s lip twitched with doubt as he looked away.

     “I'm serious, Logan. I—” Virgil leaned closer as his hand closed around Logan’s, hesitating briefly. “Shit, dude. You’re freezing.”

    Logan shrugged, not particularly  concerned until Virgil pulled his hand back. The man started to unzip his leather jacket and Logan’s eye went wide as he tried to wave away Virgil’s attempt to hand him his leather jacket.

    “Just take it, dude.” Virgil smiled encouragingly. “I'll keep the lining. The fleece is plenty warm for me, and the leather will at least keep the wind off your arms.”

    The leather jacket was placed in his hand as Logan gave up his resistance. He nodded, reluctantly slipping the leather over his shoulders as Virgil’s fingers dropped to the zipper and he closed Logan into the jacket with a smirk.

    Virgil’s hands hesitated at Logan’s collar and he sucked on his lip as he looked up and down at him. “Leather's a good look on you.  You could actually be a proper punk if you felt so inclined.”

   Logan glanced down at his chest, unsure of how to process the compliment as Virgil smiled at him.

    “Seriously though, you’re the most interesting person I've met in years.” Virgil raised a hand to Logan’s cheek. “You may not have words, but you have a language all your own.”

    Virgil raised his hand, guiding Logan’s eyes up to him. “Your eyes light up when you’re excited and I get to see the most endearing smile every time I so much as brush your hand.”

    Logan blushed as Virgil dropped his hands to his lap. The man's voice dropped as he whispered to Logan with sincerity.

    “You have a language, Logan.” Virgil as he wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulder. “I'm sorry no one seems to have bothered to learn it, but I want to. If you’ll allow me, of course.”

    Virgil’s hand curled into Logan’s as the man's forehead leaned down to his own. Logan nodded stiffly as a lump rose in his throat, emotions filling his chest as he turned his head into Virgil’s shoulders as he stared up to the stars in the man’s eyes.

    The deep blue sky wrapped around them as Logan relaxed. He smiled shyly as he lifted a hand to point at Virgil’s lips before bringing his finger back to his own.

    “If you’re asking if you can kiss me, the answer is yes,” Virgil laughed, allowing Logan to lean closer. He paused, glancing at Logan with a cautious smile. “but if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, let me know. Push me away, squeeze my hand, whatever you need to do to get my attention. Okay?”

   Logan nodded, hand still intertwined with Virgil’s as he leaned into Virgil’s lips. The man's breath was warm as he leaned into Virgil’s chest, curling a hand around the back of his neck. Logan’s body felt lighter as Virgil’s arm curled around his shoulder and they leaned into each other under the light of the stars.

   When Logan finally pulled back, he turned up to see the soft look in Virgil’s eyes. He felt a warmth spread across his as he blushed, glancing down at the sleeves of the man's leather jacket around his wrists.

   “I think I could get used to seeing you like this, Logan.” Virgil whispered, smiling at the blush on his cheeks as he sat up. He chewed his lip as he stared down at Logan's eyes as they glittered in the moonlight. “I know it's starting to get late, and I can walk you home if you like, but do you think maybe you’d like to do this again sometime?”

    Logan lifted his head and raised a hand to Virgil’s cheek, pausing for a moment as he stared into the eyes of the mysterious man who fate had set into his path. Virgil’s eyes stared down at him, and he didn't see something broken. For the first time, someone looked at him with curiosity and wonder and suddenly he didn't feel the limits of his voice. Logan smiled as his body relaxed and he leaned in to kiss Virgil.

    “I'll take that as a yes.” Virgil whispered, chuckling as he leaned into Logan's kiss.

---

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

[kimvvantae]

puzzle; 7 (m)

➜  you and jungkook are best friends of a lifetime, even though your personalities are like unmatching pieces of a puzzle. the line between friendship and something more has never been crossed between you two - but that changes after a break up and a drunken night, when you not-so-accidentally cross this line to something much more. what happens when after this accident your non-matching puzzle pieces seem to match in a way you’ve never imagined?

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst, comedy; friends with benefits au; college au

warnings: lots of swearing, a little bit of violence

rating: 18+

word count: 12k

A/N: sweet jesus it’s been so long but it’s finally here! this is the last but one chapter of the series. i genuinely hope you guys enjoy it and i reeeeally want to know your thoughts on it! feel free to leave a comment! if you feel i’m deserving of it lmao

enjoy!

➜  Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

[bby bear]: where are you???

[bby bear]: you'll get late for class 

[you]: i knoww

[you]: the traffic is so heavy today 🤦🤦

[bby bear]: you should have come w me 

[you]: i need to go to the bank

[you]: i told you

[bby bear]: i could have taken u theer

[bby bear]: there

[you]: 🥺🥺 next time i'll go w you i promise!!

[you]: but i'm close

[you]: i'll probably lose the first period tho

[bby bear]: 🤦

You shove the phone inside of your pocket when you notice the pedestrian sign is finally green. The crowd on both sides of the avenue rush, everyone on their fast pace as usual. You're even forced to push some people in order to walk by.

Getting to the other side of the street, you stop in front of the building.

Tall as fuck. That cool kind of building with mirrors all over it, where only cool people wearing cool suits walking around holding cups of coffee on one hand and phones on the other hand talking business language kind of people work at. 

You certainly don't work here. You definitely don't have any stuff to do here. You surely are not close to the campus and you will lose much more than just the first period.

Seulgi will most definitely punch your face when she finds out where you are and what you're about to do.

You confidently walk inside the building, pushing through its glass doors into the pristine, modern and gigantic main hall. Your black boots contrast with the high heels all the other women wear around you. So does the rest of your outfit. Mini skirts and oversized hoodies are not part of the dress code here. You can almost hear their minds asking, what is this person doing here? The clanck clanck sound of their heels clicking against the marble floor is somehow pleasing, though.

You stop in front of the reception counter. A pretty girl opens a crystal white smile to you. Her hair is tied tightly, her uniform was ironed to perfection. "Good morning. How can I help you?" She chirps happily. 

"Good morning. My name is Y/N. I'd like to talk to Irene."

The smile quickly falters.

The girl side eyes her colleague that sits by her side. "Hmm… unfortunately, Miss Irene does not receive visits," she says carefully, still trying to keep her smile. "You must be mistaken."

You can see this girl thinks you're crazy. You quickly realize that people usually don't come at the reception and simply say they want to talk to Irene. But, well, what else would you do? You have to announce your presence somehow. 

"Irene is waiting for me. You can call her and ask if you want," you insist. 

The receptionist looks pale for a moment.

Hesitantly, she takes the phone and dials a number. You can still see that the girl thinks you're lying; she's probably ready to call the security guards. During her quick talk on the phone, you notice she's not talking to Irene, but with her secretary. 

You also see the moment her eyes widen.

She hangs up the phone and stands up, smiling widely again.

"Miss Y/N, Irene is waiting for your arrival," she says, and you notice the slight tone of panic in her voice. "Please, accompany me."

All the other visitors have to show their identifications and take a quick picture on the reception, you notice, but the girl simply ignores this procedure with you, guiding you to the elevator instead. She explains the situation to the security guard and he lets you in. The receptionist still looks slightly panicked. She's probably scared that you'll complain how the receptionist was rude to me directly to Irene, but you won't. Poor girl was just doing her job.

The elevator is big, too. It has a panoramic view of the city as it goes up to one of the highest floors. 

You always thought Seulgi was overreacting when she said how bad she sometimes felt for dating Irene, but now you kind of understand her.

You knew Irene was rich. You can recognize a Gucci jacket when you see one, and you've seen Irene wearing plenty of these. But Irene always acted so normal. Sure, she was elegant - and sometimes even arrogant -, but she was still someone very pleasant to be around. She never looked disgusted to be in your tiny but comfy apartment, she never made faces when she'd sometimes wear some of Seulgi's or your clothes when she didn't bring any to spend the night, she never complained to eat the junk food you'd buy for dinner. She was just… chill.

Because of that, you'd forget that she's rich sometimes.

Being in this massive building where everyone acted as if she was a princess made you remember, though.

Irene is beyond rich. Your standard of "rich" used to be Joy: someone that has a cool, big house in a nice part of the city. Irene partially owns a fucking company. She's so chill that you never even bothered to Google the company's name; you did this today to get the address, and it only made you more shocked.

Seulgi must have felt overwhelmed many times in their relationship.

But you're sure she was much happier back then than she is now.

You're used to their drama. They were already dating when you first met Seulgi, and you saw this cycle repeating many times. This time, though, things are not happening as usual. Seulgi is the saddest you’ve ever seen in these almost three years of convivence. Right after they broke up, you thought she was just being dramatic as usual… now you see that it isn’t simple drama. She’s actually sad and has been in this state for months. She doesn’t go out anymore, stopped doing the things she liked… she even got tired of Netflix. That’s probably the most shocking fact of all. 

Jungkook said you shouldn’t get involved in this, but you’re tired of seeing your friend being so sad all the time.

Their breakup was messy this time. They didn’t talk properly, didn’t make things clear. Seulgi is too stubborn to make a move (she’s totally lethargic at this point, both physically and spiritually), and Irene also seems too stubborn. Since none of them has the balls to do anything, you finally decided to step up and take action.

(Funny how you thought Jimin was annoying for trying to push you and Jungkook together, but you’re doing the exact same thing right now).

Well, look, you’re not exactly trying to push them into each other. First, you want to know Irene’s feelings and opinions on this situation. If you see that she has really moved on from Seulgi, then you’re ready to give your friend all the comfort and support in the world so she finally moves on. If Irene shows you that she still has feelings for Seulgi… well…

The speed in which she replied to your DM is a strong indicative of that.

The way her eyes glint with undeniable hope when the elevator doors open and she greets you is another indicative.

Irene looks gorgeous as always; she’s like a human version of Snow White. It’s kind of funny to meet her in her office like this. She’s almost like a female and hotter version of Christian Grey. 

Her ways of greeting you are polite and… hesitant. You understand why. She probably doesn’t get what you’re doing here in the first place, what you want to talk about. Considering you’re Seulgi’s friend, she must think you’d be mad at her or something.

“Why didn’t you call me, Y/N? My guests never enter from the common hall.” she asked. Oh. Common hall is what that massive hall is called. Almost like peasants area.

“I didn’t know.” you simply say, shrugging. 

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting here at my workplace. It feels too profissional, doesn’t it?” she smiles sheepishly.

Well… it does. You don’t even feel comfortable enough to move around her great office, afraid that you’d accidentally break anything (you’re sure that every little piece in this room is much more expensive than you’d be able to afford). 

“Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. I think it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.” she politely suggests, and you just agree with her.

Irene guides you around the halls. This floor is less crowded, since only Important People with Important Tasks work here - and she’s greeted by all of them as she passes by. Their eyes immediately float to you, and they were surely asking themselves why Princess Irene was being followed by this peasant. 

The cafeteria in question is as pretty and neatly clean as the rest of the building. Soft music plays from the speakers. Irene chooses a more private table by the windows and asks if you want to have breakfast; you politely decline and both of you end up ordering simple cups of coffee. 

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air.

"I… have to confess that I got surprised when I saw your DM," Irene speaks softly. Her eyes are glued on her cup of coffee. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." 

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine." a hundred different scenes pass on your head as she asks this, and you know that you feel anything but fine in the moment, but it's not as if you'll rant about your complicated love life right now. "But I'm sure you don't want to ask about me."

You see a shade of pink flush Irene's cheeks.

"Well… I don't think it would be right to ask about her." Irene says.

"Why not? It's not as if you didn't know I came here to talk about Seulgi."

"But she doesn't want to know about me."

You're left speechless for a few seconds.

It's funny to see the two sides of a breakup. Because of their stubborness, they became completely out of tune with each other. Irene thought that Seulgi didn't want to know about her, when you knew pretty damn well that Seulgi stalked her social media an unhealthy amount of times per day.

You cross your arms and lean your back on the chair. Irene looks hesitant, but you see she's eager to know whatever information you may have. That's not the behavior of someone that hates their ex.

"Can I ask you something?" you say. It's funny how Irene, the owner of pretty much everything around you, looks so cornered by you, her shoulders shrinking visibly. She nods softly. "Why did you guys break up? I mean, what's your side of the story?"

Irene sighs and passes her hand through her dark hair. She looks out the window. She doesn't seem irritated by your ask. She just seems… thoughtful.

It makes you realize that, perhaps, Seulgi's not the only one feeling broken here.

"We're… different." she starts quietly. "I have been trying to keep this relationship working for a long time, you know. Even though we argued a lot and disagreed about many things. But…" Irene sighs again. Sadness shadows her features. "It was getting hard. Seulgi never accepted my help. She knows that money is no problem for me, and I just wanted to help, but why did she act so angry every time I wanted to help you guys?"

Oh.

You don't miss the way she said "help you guys"; she must be talking about the times both of you were struggling to pay the rent. Oh God. You clearly see where their opinions diverge. Irene has always been rich; she saw money as something simple, giving money to others wasn't a big deal. Meanwhile, Seulgi must've felt dependent and it surely hurt her pride. Besides, there were enough people saying that Seulgi was only dating Irene to get money from her…

"And there's more." Irene's voice becomes quieter, more fragile. "My family, they're… very conservative. It was already hard enough for them to accept my sexuality. They never did, to be honest… but they particularly don't like Seulgi, because she's not, hm, on my "social level", as they like to say."

Ooh.

This is more complicated. Seulgi doesn't know what it feels like; her family is very open minded. She told you that, in the beginning, her parents were shocked when she told them that she also liked girls, but they slowly accepted it. Irene, on the other hand… 

"They keep saying that my relationship with her will be bad for the company." She confesses. "They said they'd even accept my relationship, as long as we dated in secret."

"What?!" you gasp. "This is disgusting!"

"I know." Irene nods, eyes focused on the mug between her hands. You have the impression that you see tears welling up on her eyes, but she blinks rapidly to dissipate them. "I… I was willing to go against them, because if they don't accept my relationship, then they don't accept who I am. But… I don't know if it's worth doing this if I'm not sure if Seulgi feels the same about me."

Ouch.

You remembered the night when they broke up. Seulgi came to you, crying, and said that she was tired of being with someone that wasn't brave enough to accept her.

Seulgi, my dear… you know nothing.

You can see that to go against her parents isn't as simple as it sounds. To Irene, going against her family involves reputation, money, and the company itself. It's definitely a big deal. Seulgi didn't understand how serious it is.

And Irene is willing to take this big step for her.

It's your time to sigh. 

"Irene." you lean closer, staring at her seriously. "Do you still love Seulgi?"

She blinks at your direct question. Irene looks down, gulps… and nods.

"I do love her."

You can't hear any hint of doubt on her voice.

That's what you wanted to hear.

"She's not okay." You blurt out the truth. Irene widens her eyes softly and looks at you. You see guilt on her eyes as she hears this. "I came here because I'm worried about her. She doesn't act like herself anymore. She even got tired of Netflix."

Irene widens her eyes in shock. "She stopped watching Netflix?!"

"Yes." You nod seriously. "And she still loves you, too."

Irene freezes when you say this.

Now, you're sure of the tears welling up on her eyes.

"I…" she stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. "A-Are you sure?"

You can't help but giggle at her; Irene looks shy, almost like a teenager - scared and excited to know that her crush likes her back. You feel your own heart warming up at the sight.

"Of course I'm sure."

A smile wants to make its way up to her lips. "B-But what do I do? I can't just walk up to her like this. I don't want to start another fight…"

"Irene, believe me. Seulgi will listen to anything you have to say, as long as you're being honest. Tell her about the situation with your family. Prove to her that you're willing to stand for her. I mean, if you're still willing to…"

"I am!" Irene exclaims in a heartbeat. "I am. As long as she's with me, I feel like I can do anything."

You feel yourself smiling. Irene's eyes are shining like diamonds.

"But you also have to try to understand her." You say seriously. "Seulgi is not wrong for wanting to be independent. She's finishing her studies, she wants to build a career for herself, and she wants her own money. I know you're trying to help, but you have to respect her. Also, I'm sure she doesn't want to be a burden for you."

Irene nods vehemently. "Okay. You're right. I get it."

She doesn't hold her smile back anymore as a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks so immensely happy… it's a delightful sight. And you can't help but feel happy too, because right now, more than ever, you see that Seulgi found something rare and precious in this world.

True love.

And this fact itself is enough to make you feel that coming here was worth it - even though Seulgi might want to kill you afterwards.

"But hey, Irene," you call her seriously again. "I'm doing all this because both of you stupid asses couldn't, but if you make Seulgi cry again, I will kill you. I know where you work now."

Irene laughs at your very serious threat. She leans forward and holds both of your hands. "Y/N, thank you so much for telling me all this. I will forever be grateful. If you need anything- and I mean anything- I will help you, okay? Anything!"

"Alright, alright," you say, shrugging, the slight thought that a millionaire owns you a favor sounding nice. "Now, you better go talk to Seulgi. I can't stand her walking around the living room looking like a zombie anymore." Irene laughs softly. "And… I said I wasn't hungry, but now I kind of want that waffle."

Seulgi looks like a very grumpy zombie when you meet her in the corridor.

"Where the hell were you?!" Seulgi exclaims. "It's noon!"

"Yeah, I know." you shrug. "The bank was pretty crowded."

Seulgi narrows her eyes. Her hair looks messy even though it's tied up and she has bags underneath her eyes. She's wearing the top of her old orange pajamas. It has an old kitchen oil stain over the chest. Seulgi from months ago would rarely go out looking like this. 

"What the hell did you need to do there anyway? I didn't even know people still go to banks." She whines. "I was getting worried, you know?"

You walk down the corridor with your hands behind your back. You're glad Seulgi is too grumpy to notice the sly smirk on your lips, the way you kind of bounce by her side in expectation.

"Always so thoughtful, Seul. You're so cute, did you know that?"

She side eyes you, the frown deepening. "Why are you complimenting me?"

"What's the problem with complimenting you?"

"Whenever you compliment me it means either you want something or you did something that you know will piss me off."

Sometimes you forget how well Seulgi knows you. 

"Jesus, you're too stressed, girl. I'll pay you lunch, okay? Let's eat at that Italian restaurant you like."

"When you offer yourself to pay for stuff it also means that-"

Seulgi stops in her tracks, completely frozen.

"Irene?"

You step back silently and hold your breath.

This is the moment that might end your friendship with Seulgi if it goes bad.

Irene seems to be holding her breath as well, her eyes round - scared, hesitant, hopeful. 

And they stand there, looking at each other. As if time has slowed down. As if there was no one else besides them in the busy corridor.

If this was a drama, you imagined that the romantic soundtrack would kick in now.

"Hi, Seulgi." Irene says softly. "It's… it's been a while."

It seems that Seulgi's brain is struggling to function. "What… what are you doing here?" the fact that she does not sound defensive or aggressive but genuinely surprised and confused relieves your chest. 

"I came here to talk." Irene says. "Just… just talk. But if you want me to go…"

"No." Seulgi interrupts her embarrassingly too fast. "It's alright. We… we can talk. Just talk."

Their eyes are gleaming and the ghost of smiles appear on their lips.

Your chest fills with triumph as you silently walk back. Not that either of them would even notice you anyway.

You're too far to hear what they're saying now, their soft voices drowning in the middle of the many more people walking around the corridor, but you still kind of hide inside an empty classroom, half of your body peeking outside of the door to watch them. They're talking and smiling timidly. You feel tempted to take some photos, but it's better not to. You kind of feel like an intruder watching them, even if you're this far-

"What are you doing?" 

You almost feel your spirit jumping out of your body when the male voice asks dangerously close to your ear, turning around in a jump to see the source.

Now you don't know if your heart is beating so ridiculously fast because of the scare of because of the view in front of you.

Jungkook looks down at you with a puzzled expression, his hands behind his back, his body slightly leaning on your direction. He's wearing a modern grey hanbok over a black t-shirt and slippers. His backpack hangs from one shoulder. His hair is half tied up in a small bun, curly bangs falling over his eyes. This is precisely what makes your heart almost fail. You've been wondering how he would look like with his hair tied up ever since he decided to let it grow…

He's got no business looking this good. No. Fucking. Business.

But you're a master of pretending you're unbothered, so you just point ahead at their direction with an excited smile. Jungkook's eyes look up to where you're pointing and his eyes widen.

"Oh!" Almost instantly, he kind of hides behind you as well. It's hard to ignore the warmth of his body on your back, even though he isn't close enough to touch you. "Did they make up? Are they dating again?" 

"I hope they will." it's weird how you're both speaking so low, as if they could possibly hear you over the loud chatter. 

"What if they start fighting?" 

"Don't even say that! I put my friendship with Seulgi at risk to get these two to talk!"

You turn your head in time to see Jungkook's eyes frowning as he realizes what's going on.

"It was you?"

"Of course it was."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head slowly in disapproval. "You said you wouldn't get involved!"

"I never said I wasn't going to get involved." you bat your lashes prettily at him, trying to give your best innocent look (unsuccessfully). 

"You damn gremlin."

You whack his chest. "Aw, come on! Just look at them and tell me it isn't working!"

Both of you look ahead again to see them smiling sweetly at each other as they talk. You bounce and giggle excitedly like a little kid. "Look, look! She's blushing!"

Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "But what about Jennie?"

"Oh, Irene and Jennie went out on dates, but it didn't work out in the end. They're just friends." you repeat the exact same words Irene told you earlier. 

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if she cheats on Seulgi, I'll kill her."

You watch as they slowly start to walk away side by side, heading towards the exit.

You jump out of your "hideout" and open your arms in triumph. "I did great this time, didn't I?!"

Jungkook chuckles and leans on the doorway, arms crossed. "Whatever you say."

You're an expert at acting unbothered, but right now it's really hard to do so when he looks at you this way.

He has a pretty lazy smile on his lips. It makes you feel hot inside and your stomach jumps and your heart races. His gaze is intense… but not in the way you're used to. That look isn't his I want to fuck kind of look, it's… it's… shit, you don't know what that means, but it's pretty intense. Why is he looking at you like that?

You just hope he doesn't notice how your legs are wobbly.

It's the first time you see him in person since two days ago, when he slept at your house. Two days after you had sex even though you said you wouldn't. You didn't talk properly about what happened there. To be honest, your brain still didn't process that well. 

Things are awkward between you two - but this time it's a different kind of awkward. A type of awkward that made your cheeks burn while you cleaned yourself and got dressed. A type of awkward that made you feel all fuzzy and warm inside, that made a silly smile grow on your lips every time your eyes crossed his from the other side of the living room, an awkwardness that forced you both to look away and try to pretend your cheeks weren't aching from the damn smile that didn't want to go away. A type of awkward that didn't let you talk about what happened - as if none of you wanted to talk about it, to just keep it engraved in your minds forever, as if talking about it would take all the magic of the moment away.

You don't hate this type of awkward. 

It's not uncomfortable. Not like what has been happening for the past months. Yet, you feel that you need to talk about it - to sort things out clearly and straightforwardly this time… because if the way he's looking at you means anything, then maybe… just maybe…

"I've got good news." Jungkook says suddenly (because he noticed that you've been staring at each other for far too long to not be embarrassing anymore). 

"What?" you fiddle with your own fingers, trying to ease the tension.

"Remember that director I told you about? Mr. Choi?" You nod. "He invited me to work with him."

Your jaw drops, your eyes widen. "What? Are you serious?!"

Jungkook nods excitedly. "Yeah. Well, I'll be like the assistant of the assistant, to be honest, but… he invited me to work with him on his next project. I'll gain some real experience, at least…"

"Are you kidding? This is great, Kook! What the fuck!"

You jump over to hug him, your arms dropping around his shoulders, and Jungkook quickly hugs you back. His low excited giggle right next to your ear makes goosebumps crawl on your skin. 

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" And you couldn't be more honest. Jungkook has always been so  hardworking; he deserves all the success and recognition in the world. You always thought so.

"Thank you," his voice is still low and excited.

He caresses your back. It makes yet more goosebumps crawl on your skin. 

Oh, God. He still smells like baby powder. He always does. You feel tempted to sniff the crook of his neck, just to take a little bit more of his scent, but you hold yourself back. It's not like hugging Jungkook is something new to you. Fuck, after everything you've done, hugging should feel like nothing. But for some reason… hugging him right now feels like a lot.

Feels awkward.

So awkward that you have to remind yourself that you're in the middle of a corridor full of people, and that this hug is taking way too long, so you step back before your brain completely malfunctions. 

"A-And," you clear your throat and put a strand of hair behind your ear, furiously avoiding his gaze. You never thought that Jungkook would make you feel shy like this. Shy and Y/N shouldn’t make sense in the same sentence. "When is this next project?"

"In two days. I think he decided to put me on the crew last minute."

"This means that he really trusts you."

Jungkook smiles sheepishly and massages the back of his neck. "I just hope I won't mess things up."

"You'll do great, Kook. You always do."

He lifts his gaze to you again.

That same look again.

You feel that everything is blurred except him again. No one else is in that corridor. No loud chatter. Just him and his starry eyes, looking back at you, eyes that smile as much as his lips.

God.

You need to sort things out.

You can't just stare at him with heart eyes like this anymore. You need to talk about what happened. This conversation feels awkward because you're both trying to act normal, pretending that there isn't a fucking elephant in the room - an elephant that makes you think of a mattress in the middle of your living room, of sunrays touching his exposed skin, of old pajamas being thrown around and sweat and soft kisses and salty tears dripping down your temples.

You need to know if he also felt that that morning was different. You need to know if he feels the same. Even if he doesn't - even if his heart lays with Yeri or Joy or whoever it might be - you need to know, and you don't care about what the outcome might be. You just can't torture yourself like this anymore.

So you inhale and gulp.

"Jungkook, I was thinking… are you busy after classes?" you ask timidly.

He presses his lips together. "Actually, I am. The boys and I are planning to celebrate the end of the semester tonight."

Mission abort! Mission abort!!

"Why?"

"Oh- it's nothing. I was just…" you can't think of any excuse. "It's not that important anyway. Forget it."

Jungkook looks at you with suspicion. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I'm sure. Nevermind."

He still stares at you for a while, frowning. 

"You wanna come with us?"

"No!" you shake your hands dismissively. You're not having this super important conversation surrounded by all of his friends. "I'm just gonna bother you guys. It's fine, Jungkook. Enjoy your night." 

Jungkook shrugs. He takes his phone from his back pocket for a moment. "Well, I gotta go. I promised I'd pay Jimin lunch."

"Alright."

You start to walk in opposite directions.

“But we can meet tomorrow, right?” You turn around way too fast when you hear Jungkook say, a few steps away from you. He looks hesitant, an awkward little smile on his lips. “I have some stuff to do, but we can see each other at night. After I finish preparing my stuff. We could meet, right?” He visibly starts to look more and more awkward as he speaks. As if his confidence started to vanish. It’s kind of adorable. “You could come to my place. O-Or I could go to yours, I don’t care- I mean, can I?”

Your heart is bouncing crazily inside of you. You don’t notice how you’re mirroring his awkward smile. “Of course, Kook. When did you ever need permission to go to my apartment?”

Jungkook frowns as if he just realized how stupid his ask was. “Guess you’re right. Or maybe we could go out somewhere, right? It’s been a while since we went out, the two of us.”

He’s right. All you’ve been doing for the past months is meet to have sex. You don’t even remember the last time you two did something that didn’t involve getting naked. 

“Sure, let’s go out.” 

You stare at each other for a few more awkward moments (awkward is a word you’ve been thinking a lot about lately). See, that’s not how things would go between you two back then. Neither of you ever needed to ask previously to go out. You’d just usually drag Jungkook out of his house by force when you deemed he hasn’t been taking enough sunlight (fucking Overwatch). Or Jungkook would call you at 3am because he was bored of playing Overwatch and just realized there was only expired milk and an empty box of cereal in the cabinets because the last time he and Jimin bought food was 2 weeks ago and he’d be like “hey, let’s go to Walmart” and you’d be like “what the fuck Jungkook it’s 3am” and he’d be like “but Jimin’s not home I need help” and you’d be like “fuck you” but twenty minutes later you’d both be on your pajamas pushing a cart inside of an empty Walmart as you barely register Jungkook ranting about how he thinks he’s lactose intolerant because he had diarrhea the last time he ate yogurt.

That’s kind of how things used to go back then.

At the same time you desperately want your relationship to go back to normal, you don’t really hate the way you’re feeling right now.

“Right, I gotta go.” Jungkook snaps out of it faster than you and nods. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Again, you turn around and start to walk in opposite directions. Slowly. Hesitantly. Because both of you know you don't want to go. Both of you know you still have a lot to talk about.

But maybe later.

[bby bear]: i kinda want to kill you rn but

[bby bear]: thank u so fcking much

[bby bear]: ily

[bby bear]: bitch

You're smiling so hard that your cheeks might probably start to ache. If Seulgi texted you this, it means things went really well with Irene. 

The chatter in the dining hall is nothing but background noise on your ears as you scroll down your boring Instagram feed, the plate just half eaten in front of you. You’re not really hungry. Maybe the stress of studying for finals messed your stomach. The hell’s finally over, at least, and you’re sure that your grades won’t be that bad (Seulgi didn’t want to do anything, but you at least convinced her to study with you. That’s the only thing that got her out of her bedroom. Her zombie state was kinda the reason why you studied so hard). 

Some text notifications pop on your screen, but you just swipe them away since none of them are from the person you’re waiting for. All of your friends are planning to go out tonight and some of them are asking if you want to go. No, you don’t. Honestly, you’ve not been feeling yourself these days. Past you would always be up to a party. Past you wouldn’t be having lunch alone in the dining hall - honestly though, you don’t even mind being by yourself. Nothing would make you feel emptier right now than being surrounded by random people. Just one person matters at the moment-

“Hi.”

You almost drop the phone inside the plate when you look up to see who just sat in front of you.

Joy.

Your throat feels suddenly bitter. You have to gulp.

“Jesus, I didn’t even notice you come,” you inhale and chuckle. “How you doing, Joy?”

Joy smiles. “I’m fine.”

She’s lying.

There’s something in the way she looks at you and in the way her smile looks plastic-fake that makes you shiver.

It makes you think that she didn’t even want to be here.

Well, you don’t know about her, but you certainly feel uncomfortable right now. You can’t lie that you’ve been feeling kind of guilty these days because you’ve been fucking the guy she likes in secret, but a big fat load of guilt hit you especially after two days ago. Joy went on a date with Jungkook and barely a few hours later you had him inside of you. And, of course, you had rough sex with him inside of her bathroom. All the while you knew Joy liked him and encouraged her to be with him-

Wow, it’s getting hard to look at her right now. 

You really are a bitch. In the beginning you didn’t feel bad because you stupidly assumed there weren’t feelings involved. It was just friends with benefits, right? You even agreed that you could have sex with other people. If Jungkook started dating Joy, of course you’d stop doing it. Also, there was nothing between you two. You didn’t even feel jealousy.

Things changed, though, and at some point you genuinely started to hate this poor girl for breathing around Jungkook. And now you feel guilty because you realized that you like the guy that she told you she had a crush on months ago.

I took a shower this morning, so why do I feel so dirty right now?

A shiver runs down your spine.

The way she’s looking at you… what if she knows-?

“I’m throwing a party tonight,” she says suddenly. “To celebrate the end of the semester. You wanna come?”

You’ve been fucking the guy she likes for months and there she is, being nice and inviting you to her party. You really are a fake ass bitch-

“O-Oh.” You rub the back of your neck. “I, uhm… thanks, Joy, but I’m not feeling very well today. I just feel like sleeping, to be honest.” You chuckle sheepishly again. 

Joy nods. “Alright.”

She doesn’t insist. It looks like she doesn’t even care. As if she’s just being polite.

In fact, it kind of looks that she’s relieved that you said no-

“So, how was your date with Taehyung?” She changes the topic quickly. “We didn’t even talk about it.”

Right. She’s talking about the person you don’t even want to think about because there’s only so much guilt one person can feel at once. 

“It was fun.” You say. “We had a lot of fun.”

It sounds stupid, the way you can’t even articulate your date with him. You’re not lying - you had fun… kind of. 

“Are you dating him now?”

Okay, this is getting strange. Not the question, but the way she asked. You’re 100% sure she’s annoyed by something, and honestly looks uninterested in your current state with Taehyung right now, so why is she asking anyway? 

“No, we’re not.” You admit. 

Joy stares at you in silence as if she’s waiting for you to say something more, but you say nothing else. Joy then nods. This is getting very uncomfortable.

You feel that she’s about to leave, so you pick up the courage to speak again. She touched this topic anyway.

You know it’s wrong to ask. You shouldn’t. But you’re so curious that you can’t help.

“A-And, uhm… what about you and Jungkook? How was your date?” you try so hard to pretend you’re not dying curious to know.

Joy stares at you in silence again. She isn’t smiling.

“He didn’t tell you?”

What? Is there something to tell?!

“No. Jungkook’s kinda private about this type of thing,” you’re lying, of course, because even if Jungkook didn’t want to, you’d usually annoy him with questions about his dates so hard that he’d end up telling everything that happened.

Joy looks away and quirks one eyebrow. “Oh. I assumed he would have since you guys are so close.”

The way she says so close bothers you.

It’s her turn to rub the back of her neck, her eyes glued on the table - only she doesn’t look nervous. Yeah, she’s annoyed. Joy takes so long to talk that you’re about to repeat your question, but she finally speaks:

“We also had fun. Jungkook really is a sweet guy, right? He did nothing wrong. He’s so polite that it ended up annoying me, honestly. More polite than I would have wanted him to be…” Hah, so they didn’t fuck! Great! “Well, he dropped me home and I invited him to spend the night and all, but… He was very polite. He apologized a lot and said that he couldn’t stay…”

Joy licks her lips. Why the dramatic pause? Say it already, come on!

“He’s also a very honest guy, right?” She chuckled, but she clearly didn’t think it was funny. “He said that he thought I was an amazing person, but things wouldn’t go further than this because…”

For the first time, Joy lifts her gaze and looks at you.

“Because he already had feelings for someone else.”

You’re honestly not breathing anymore.

Joy is watching you very carefully. You’re as stiff as a board.

“Not a fun way to finish a date, right?” She says and chuckles, again, it’s clear she isn’t happy at all. “Anyways, I have to go now. Bye.” 

She gets up and walks away before you can even say anything, as if this conversation was being unbearable for her.

Meanwhile, you just sit there. Frozen. Breathless.

He said things wouldn’t go further than this.

Your throat feels very dry out of sudden. Very, very dry and coarse, as if you’ve eaten sand. 

Because…

You take the water bottle from over the table and drink it in one big, big gulp, until the bottle is empty and your shaking fingers crushed the fragile pet bottle.

He already had feelings for someone else.

You get up and take the tray so fast that you almost drop everything.

Your movements are fast as you walk out of the busy dining hall, your heart beating loudly on your ribcage, your breathing irregular and your mind working at 200 km/h.

He already had feelings for someone else.

He told Joy this. He dropped her home and told her the truth. He apologized. He… he said he already had feelings for someone else. Jesus Christ. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

He- He-

He might be talking about Yeri, a little, hesitant voice inside your mind whispers. Well… sure. You’ve been suspecting it for a good while. But… after Jungkook dropped Joy home and said this he-

He went to your apartment.

He went to you.

You feel the need to stop walking and lean on the corridor’s wall. The world around you is blurred.

What is this feeling bubbling up in your chest? A feeling so strong that it’s almost spilling over? This thing that makes you open the widest smile you ever opened and makes you want to jump around the corridor like crazy?

He came to me. He came to me. He came to me. He came to me.

He came to me!

But-

But there’s still the Yeri possibility. 

You need to know the truth. To hear him say it, and you can’t wait another day - not anymore.

You take your phone from your bag and type with shaking fingers.

[you]: hey

[you]: can we meet today?

[you]: i really need to talk to you

Jeon Jungkook is a simp. 

He doesn’t like this word. He thinks it’s annoying how people would call a guy a simp just because he’s treating a girl with minimal decency. 

But, like. He’s a simp. He knows he is. He took a long time to admit this, but lately his pride has been already so crushed and stepped on by a particular pair of feet that he can’t even bring himself to feel anything anymore.

Actually, no. He has been feeling like shit for a long time. It’s just the alcohol anesthetizing him right now.

That’s just his second bottle of beer and he already feels kind of dizzy. It’s been a while since he last drank alcohol, that’s probably why his resistance feels weak. He makes a mental reminder to not drink too much. Jungkook knows that he gets really talkative when he’s drunk and he always ends up saying stuff he shouldn’t - and today especially he can’t end up saying stuff he shouldn’t with that guy around.

If he knew Taehyung would be here too, Jungkook wouldn’t have come. Yes, he knows he’s being childish. He knows he’s angry at someone that didn’t do anything wrong, he knows that jealousy is bad, he knows that technically he is wrong because he’s been dicking down the girl that he knew his friend liked. He knows all that, alright?!

Jungkook throws his head back and sighs, passing his hand through his hair. A chilling night breeze touches his cheeks; since the inside of the bar was already full and they were too many, everyone decided to sit on the outside part of the bar. Jungkook hasn’t been paying attention to anything anyone around him was saying and neither was he interested. He thought that coming here would make him forget about the things that have been troubling him, but in the end he’s just thinking more about them.

I could excuse myself and go home. He thought. I have a lot of things to do anyway. I wouldn’t be lying.

He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and looks at Jimin, sitting on a chair by his side. The look on Jimin’s face already says everything. Jungkook sometimes thinks that Jimin has telepathic superpowers; how does he always know what’s going on before anyone even says anything?

“You alright?” Jimin asks in a low tone, careful not to call anyone’s attention. The younger one nods.

“Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook reassures. 

Taehyung laughs loudly from across the table and both of them end up looking at him. Jimin looks back at Jungkook. 

Jimin sighs. “You know you can go home if you want to.”

“Yeah.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

Jungkook looks at Jimin and sips a bit more of the beer slowly.

“Yeah.”

Jimin smacks his shoulder and goes back to his previous conversation with Hoseok.

How Jimin always seems to know what’s going on… it annoys Jungkook a lot. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. It’s not like Jungkook told him about his feelings, Jimin just… realized. They were doing grocery shopping one day and Jungkook mentioned how last time he went to Walmart you told him that the diarrhea he had wasn’t because he was lactose intolerant but because the yogurt was expired and then Jimin turned around and simply said:

“You like her, right?”

And Jungkook gasped.

Jimin smirked knowingly and just kept pushing the cart. He said nothing else - but it was as if Jungkook had just confessed his deepest feelings right there.

This happened a little bit after Jungkook and Yeri broke up and kind of made him feel offended. How could Jimin say he liked you? He hadn’t even gotten over Yeri, Jimin knew very well. However, it seems that Jimin is not only a telepath, he can also see the future, because he couldn’t be more right.

If Jungkook’s being honest with himself, some months ago he wasn’t really really sure about what he felt about you. As the “Yeri” scar started to heal he got more aware of his own feelings and actions towards you, but it was hard to sort things out because he was always in denial. That desire to hold you close and hug you and take care of you and not let anyone hurt you anymore? Well, that was just his protective side. You have always been one of his dearest people. Jungkook also knew that he had a little possessive side. He was sure that this feeling would eventually vanish.

Maybe he was also frightened because he knew it wasn’t reciprocal. You never even looked at him in a way that might mean you felt something else for him. He wasn’t going to confess something he wasn’t sure of to someone that definitely didn’t feel anything for him and destroy a life-long friendship.

But oh boy, how things have changed.

They changed the moment you hopped on his lap that night inside his car. Jesus, that first week was hell for Jungkook. He was trying so, so hard to forget the messy drunken memories of his night with you - especially because, the moment he woke up and saw the pure face of terror on your face when you realized what just happened, he thought of how much you regretted that and all of his hopes died right there - the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than friends.

Yet, he got to taste you again. Two times were all it took to get him addicted.

He couldn’t stop anymore - and it hurt him much more than he would like to admit. He felt that he was being used, even though he let you do it (and he enjoyed it every time, not gonna lie). He felt worthless, he felt angry at himself because he couldn’t stop and because you were so, so fucking stupid, so fucking blind, he felt sad because he watched as your friendship started to slowly die down, and now he feels jealous and guilty because he’s been seeing how Taehyung likes you - how Taehyung even asked him advice to ask you out - and he didn’t stop fucking you anyway.

That day at Joy’s house? It was ridiculous. Jungkook still doesn’t understand what the fuck happened to him, why he felt so angry. Perhaps he was finally getting tired of how dumb you are, how you can’t see what’s right in front of your face. 

Just thinking about you hurts now. And Jungkook thinks about you a lot. There he is, surrounded by his friends, where he should be talking and having fun, but he’s too busy thinking about you. In two days he’ll start working for Mr. Choi, his first real job. He should be thinking about it. Not about you.

He can’t stop thinking about your flustered face.

You don’t look flustered that often. Especially not around him. 

He thinks this is very intriguing.

What hurt him the most in all this - the thing that made him feel like a piece of shit more than anything - is that he knows you too damn well and he knew that it was never special to you. To you it was just sex, it was just fun; whenever your lips touched you never felt like you were being swept off your feet like he did, whenever you touched him you didn’t feel like just then, in that moment, everything was right - as if the Universe was only created for that specific moment to happen, as if the Universe was expectantly waiting for the moment his fingers ran on your skin freely since the very beginning.

He never felt like this with anyone else. No other pussy has ever made him feel this poetic. 

The fact that Jungkook knew you didn’t feel the same was exactly why he couldn’t stop; this would be the closest he’d ever be from you in that sense - and honestly, after he tasted you, he didn’t want to go back to stage one. You were like a drug. You brought him comfort, you brought him bliss. Having sex with you became somehow of a escapist method. But, just like every drug, you started to make him feel sick… so sick that he couldn’t stand to be around you when you weren’t fucking. 

He drifted away.

God, he even stupidly tried to move on, but Joy was a foolish try. Jungkook felt bad for using her like this - even though he never even kissed her, he felt that he was fooling her anyway. Going on that date with Joy made everything worse, because he was with that gorgeous, intelligent and lovely girl, but he couldn’t feel anything but fucking empty.

He also realized that you couldn’t be his drug anymore. You deserved much more than that. That’s why he drove all the way to your apartment like a magnet. He preferred to go back to stage one if necessary, if it meant that he could be around you without feeling like a worthless piece of shit anymore.

Of course - things didn’t work out that way.

But that morning- it was different.

Jungkook has to sip more of his beer just thinking about it.

It was different.

It was… quiet, very quiet. Much more quieter than he was used to. And much closer than he ever remembered. 

All the times he had sex with you - his body was being pleased, but his soul felt hurt. This time, though, he felt that his whole self was being healed. You didn’t feel like a drug. You felt like a cure.

As if you were connected in somehow of a deeper way.

As if this time, it wasn’t one-sided on his part.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about it. His pessimistic side tried to convince him that he was being delusional or dramatic (he has this tendency to overthink anyways) and maybe he was, but, again… you don’t usually act flustered, especially not around him. And you’ve been looking flustered around him for quite some now, even before that morning. Sure, your friendship became uncomfortable at some point and he realized that none of you knew how to act around each other anymore, but still… 

What about that time you saw a picture of Yeri on his computer?

You looked very, very awkward.

Or how you sometimes seemed bothered when Joy was around. You teased him a lot at that pool party. Jungkook knew you could get kinda kinky sometimes (he knew you liked the thrill of possibly being caught), but that felt like too much even for you.

His pessimistic side once again tried to convince him that he was seeing things. You wouldn’t be acting jealous. You were never jealous of him with any girl. Never. You even encouraged him to be with Joy, right?

What if… what if maybe, just maybe…?

Stop getting your hopes too high, his pessimistic side scolded. You look stupid.

I’ve been looking stupid for a goddamn long time, Jungkook thinks back. His pessimistic side looks back at him with disdain.

Jungkook frowns and looks at the bottle of beer on his hand. This is just regular beer, right? He surely isn’t so drunk that he’s already arguing with himself.

I should probably go home.

Or…

He could go to your home.

You wanted to talk to him earlier today. You looked very hesitant - again, very uncharacteristic of you. It felt like it was something important. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if he knocked on your door unannounced - wait, you never cared. At least when your relationship didn’t involve rough sex. I mean- you didn’t mind not even when you started fucking, to be honest.

Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve never felt nervous over such a stupid thing. I mean, she’s the same dumbass I’ve known my whole life.

You’re probably home doing nothing. That’s also very uncharacteristic of you. Normal you would be at some club or party right now, celebrating the end of the semester. Normal you would probably have tried to drag him along. Or you’d meet some time during the night when you’re both too drunk to be standing and then you’d end up at 5am at the usual Burger King because you’re both hungry, and the Burger King employees would be staring at you both with anger and disgust because you’re both laughing like stupid and talking too loud and they’ve been up all night and can’t stand two drunk costumers this early in the morning.

It sounds nice.

Jungkook remembers that Seulgi and Irene made up, which means that Seulgi most definitely isn’t home.

Which means you positively are home alone.

Home alone, huh.

Jungkook sips more beer. 

This sounds nicer.

But, hey, it’s not like he’s being dirty minded (well, at least not entirely). He really wants to know what you wanted to talk about - and suddenly, he doesn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow. Maybe it’s the alcohol (maybe he really shouldn’t finish this beer), but he wants to see your face a lot right now. Your flustered face. And he kinda feels like holding your face with both hands and kissing you very slowly. And he kinda feels like going very very deep inside of-

You know what? Fuck it.

Jungkook puts the bottle over the table and is ready to get up. His excuse is ready. Nobody’s gonna think it’s strange anyway - Jungkook has actual stuff to do.

But he doesn’t have the chance to move when he notices a person approaching the tables where he’s sat.

He freezes.

It’s you.

You’re looking down at your phone before you lift your head and see the group of familiar faces a few meters away from you. You’re alone.

Jungkook’s heart starts to beat furiously inside his chest. A smile unconsciously increases on his lips. What are you doing here? He didn’t know you’d come. He’s also sure that he didn’t tell you which bar he would come to earlier today. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as a hundred ideas run on his mind in those few seconds; did you feel the need to see him as much as he wanted to see you? Did you have the same idea as him? Were you so eager to see him that you couldn’t wait until tomorrow-?

Your eyes finally cross his.

That’s when Jungkook notices something isn’t right.

You look surprised, then a second later you frown, then you slowly widen your eyes.

He knows you too damn well.

You didn’t know he’d be there, too. You’re surprised to see him. And it looks… it looks like you didn’t want to see Jungkook there.

“Y/N!”

A loud, excited, familiar male voice bursts out.

Jungkook watches frozen in place as Taehyung gets up in a swift movement, holds your face with both hands and kisses you.

Taehyung’s lips are warm against yours. They taste like toothpaste and beer.

The kiss is very brief. Taehyung breaks it alway soon, but still holds your face with his hands. He’s smiling widely.

“You're late, missy!" He says happily.

You're frozen in place.

This isn't happening. 

"I-" you stutter. It seems that your brain went into complete malfunction. "I, uhm…"

Your eyes travel back to Jungkook.

He's just watching. Not moving a muscle. No.

No no no no no no.

This can't be happening.

Jungkook wasn't supposed to be here. You thought- you thought he was going to celebrate with his classmates, you didn't expect Taehyung would be here too. No, no. Just no. 

You see the exact moment his features get as hard as stone. The way he clenches his jaw tight.

You can't breathe.

When you texted Taehyung earlier, you didn’t really like that he told you to meet him at a bar. A bar wasn’t the right place to have this type of conversation - you also felt bad that you’d probably ruin his end-of-semester celebrations - but you agreed anyway because you desperately needed to make things clear with Taehyung before you had that talk with Jungkook. You decided to do this because Jungkook was honest and fair with Joy; you needed to do the same. You left the worst of the impressions when you let Taehyung kiss you that day. You needed to tell him the truth, or else he’d just suffer more - and you couldn’t be a bitch enough to just dump him by text.

But fuck -  you didn’t expect Taehyung would fucking kiss you in front of everyone the moment he saw you!

With the corner of your eye, you see Jimin looking from you to Taehyung to Jungkook very fast, his face going pale as he realizes what just happened. No one else notices that something’s wrong.

Jungkook breaks eye contact with you and gets up from his chair. Jimin looks at him, helpless. You know that expression. He’s angry and- and-

Hurt.

You step away from Taehyung, trying to get control over your body again. It feels like pure frost has filled your veins. “T-Taehyung, I…” Your mouth is very dry again. You clear your throat. “C-Can we talk somewhere else?”

You suddenly hate how oblivious Taehyung is and how touchy he is because it’s clear that he’s moving his arm to hold your hand. What the fuck?! We just kissed once, it’s not like we’re dating!

“Sure. Do you wanna get inside? Wanna get a drink?” He asks with the same happy smile. 

You’re trying to think of something to say, but again, someone else behind him gets your attention.

“You’re going this early, Jungkook?” Hoseok whines, oblivious to the whole situation. Jungkook is putting his backpack over his shoulder. He’s looking down, jaw still very tight. Not a word said - yet you could see exactly how hurt he was. 

“Yeah. I have a lot to do.” He simply says. 

“Aw, come on, man!” Taehyung encourages. “You can stay a little longer!”

If Taehyung was a little less oblivious, he would have noticed the death glare sent in his direction.

“I can’t.”

A shiver crawls over your entire body as the death glare is now directed to you. 

He’s so, so hurt.

Jungkook’s walking away.

Stop! You want to scream. You got it all wrong! Don’t go!

But you don’t have the chance to stop him, and Jungkook doesn’t have the chance to walk away, and Taehyung doesn’t have the chance to understand what’s going on.

Everyone turns their heads when they hear a boisterous, scandalous laughter, and the sound of someone clapping their hands dramatically.

Now you’re sure that your veins are frosted. You shiver again - yet this time, it’s pure fear.

It’s Mike.

A very, very drunk Mike.

He looks the worst you’ve ever seen him; his clothes are a mess, his hair has grown a lot, and he hasn’t been shaving lately. His eyes are widened, red and maniac. He stumbles as he walks closer, everyone on the table - and the people on the tables around - stopping to look as he still claps ironically.

“Oh, look at what we have here!” he’s loud. Very loud. “So interesting!”

You notice that Jungkook isn’t walking away anymore - in fact, he comes back a few steps, standing closer to you. His body language has changed. Jimin has also gotten up; it seems that Taehyung might be starting to understand what’s going on.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve seen in a looooong time,” Mike continues. God, he’s drooling. This isn’t happening. That’s not possible.

You watch as some guys come closer to Mike and recognize them as his friends. One of them holds Mike’s arm. “Come on, man. Don’t start a scene. It’s not worth it.” He says in a rather low voice, but you can still hear it.

Mike gets off his grip aggressively. “What do you mean? Of course it’s worth it!” Mike looks at you and grins like a madman. You feel another shiver run down your spine. “Hello, Y/N! It’s been a long time! How have you been?!”

“Your friend’s right.” Jungkook speaks up. “Get out of here.”

“Ooooooh,” Mike shakes his hands as if pretending to be scared. “Look who’s here, too! It’s the bestie! Jeon Jungkook, the best friend your girlfriend could ever have!”

Pretty much everyone on the outside part of the bar is paying attention to what’s going on. They whisper between themselves, looking at Mike, you and Jungkook. You feel so embarrassed that you might as well faint. You feel that you should have said something already, but your brain is still malfunctioning. 

“Jeon Jungkook, the friend that will want to fuck your girl so bad, but he won’t because he’s a coward!” Mike screams and laughs like a maniac.

Jungkook steps up closer to Mike in a brusque movement, but Jimin’s fast enough to hold him back. At this point, all of his friends have already gotten up from the table, wanting to stop Jungkook from doing anything.

“Shut up, Mike! Let’s go!” Mike’s friends try to stop him as well, trying to drag him away, but even though he’s drunk, he’s still strong enough to stay in place.

“You think I didn’t know, huh, Jungkookie? You think I didn’t know that whenever I was balls deep inside of Y/N you wish it was you? You always wanted to make her scream like a bitch the way I did!”

At this moment, the fear and shame are overwhelmed by anger. Without realizing, you are the one stepping closer, you are the person who Taehyung has to grab the arm in order to stop. “Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!” You hear yourself yelling.

People on the tables around have gotten up - the noise of many chairs scraping the floor getting louder than the worried voices of the people trying to get away from this mess. You hear someone - a guard from the bar, maybe - threatening to call the police, but you can’t pay attention to him.

“Oh, but that’s exactly what you are! A whore!” Mike yells back. “You got so sad that I cheated on you, but haven’t you been doing the same to me?! You think I didn’t see you two inside the car that night?!”

That night… in the car…

Did he... ?

You freeze again when you see Mike pointing at Taehyung. 

“Hm, you’re Taehyung, right? Are you dating her now? Well, be aware of her best friend right here, unless you like sharing your girl! But Jungkook likes leftovers, right, Jungk-?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin isn’t strong enough to stop Jungkook from jumping over and landing a punch on Mike’s nose.

There’s yelling and the sound of tables turning as a whole lot of men try to stop the fight and glasses breaking and Jungkook screaming incomprehensible things as he holds Mike’s collar and punches once, twice, three times, and then Mike’s mouth and nose are bleeding, and Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are trying to get Jungkook off Mike but it seems that not even the three would be enough to stop him.

You’ve never seen Jungkook so mad. It scares you because Mike is too drunk and can’t defend himself - but you’re not scared for Mike, that fucker can die -, you’re scared of what might happen to Jungkook.

So, when Jimin and the others drag Jungkook away as he still tries to free himself violently, you somehow squeeze yourself between them to hold Jungkook’s arm.

“Jungkook, stop!”

The black-haired man looks at you, his eyes red with rage in a way you’ve never seen before. 

You didn’t notice that, in your despair, your eyes filled with tears. This is probably what makes Jungkook stop for a moment.

“Enough! I called the police! Everyone out of the bar!”

A siren can be heard from far.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Jimin yells.

Another mess as everyone grabs their things and to try and run out of the bar - even the people that weren’t involved. You see that Mike hasn’t fainted as his friends grab him out of the bar in a rush.

Jungkook has to get out of here, it’s the only thing on your mind. Jungkook thinks the same apparently, because he’s quick to take his bag from the floor and jump over the bar’s fence to the sidewalk. You assumed that he didn’t drive his way here because he knew he would drink - which means he had to run.

Your only instinct is to follow him. 

You jump over the fence too, much more clumsily than him. Jungkook is already running down the street. 

As you’re about to follow him, you hear someone call your name.

It’s Taehyung.

He’s standing on the sidewalk as customers run out of the bar. And the look on his face crushes your heart.

I am the worst person in the world.

“Y/N, what he said… is it- is it true?” He asks quietly.

You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing coherent comes out of it. The guilt rushes with adrenaline through your veins. You knew he would be hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t.

“I-I’m sorry, Taehyung,” is the only thing you can stutter.

You don’t see what face he makes next - both because you can’t take it, and because you’re already turning around and running down the street after Jungkook.

Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.

You can’t let him go away like this.

You run through the busy streets full of bars. As usual, they’re crowded with people. Some of them look at you running like crazy when you pass by, but you can’t stop running because you can still hear the sirens.

Jungkook has some damn long legs. He runs much faster than you and doesn’t even look back. You can barely breathe and your stomach hurts as you unsuccessfully try to catch up to him. You keep running and running and running until you’re on less busier streets, until the bars are left behind and now you’re on a more residential part of the neighbourhood. As Jungkook crosses an almost empty square, you decided that your body can’t take it anymore. You stop gradually, feeling your entire body scream in pain.

“Jungk- Jungkook!” you yell. 

The black-haired man finally looks behind his back and sees you; he widens his eyes in surprise and stops. 

“Why are you-?”

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as the sound of the sirens get closer. You immediately start to run again and this time - instead of running in front of you - Jungkook waits until you get closer to grab your hand, forcing you to run faster. You two cross the square and run into a stair alley with houses on both sides. It’s quiet here. Jungkook crouches down behind a big trash bin, making you crouch down as well.

You both make as much silence as possible (considering you’re both panting heavily), both sweating, and wait until the sounds and lights of the police siren go away.

After maybe five minutes Jungkook gets up again, dropping his backpack on the floor. He cleans the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt; you rest your hands on your legs, trying to recover your breath. Your stomach hurts as if it has been stabbed. Maybe I should start working out.

You notice that Jungkook’s right hand is hurt; his knuckles are swollen and bleeding a little. He frowns in pain as he analyzes it. “You- you’re hurt.” you stupidly stutter. Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He says in a low voice. “I said I would beat him up if I saw him…”

Out of instinct you step closer to him, worried, and lift your hands to hold his swollen one.

But Jungkook steps back before you can even touch him. He literally flinched away from you.

It feels like an arrow has just buried itself in your heart.

He’s not looking at you.

“Jungkook-”

“No.” He shakes his head again. He’s breathing heavily as if trying to calm himself down. “Don’t… don’t say anything. Please.”

It’s getting so difficult to breathe. Jungkook puts his hands on each side of his waist, staring at something on the floor - clearly avoiding your pleading gaze.

“But Jungkook, I… you didn’t…” why the hell can’t you speak a coherent sentence anymore? That’s why you followed him all the way. You must make things clear, but seeing his face right now makes you hesitate. Jungkook looks genuinely angry; you’ve never seen him like this, ever.

He throws his head back, looking at the sky, and lets a very dry chuckle past his lips. His expression tells you everything you need to know - he’s tipsy, not entirely drunk.

“You know, I don’t even understand why I’m angry.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to himself. “There was never anything real happening, right? We were never real.”

You feel yourself choking on your own words. What does he mean?

“Jungkook, you have to listen to me. I just wanted to talk to Taehyung-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Y/N!” He interrupts and finally gazes you back with bloodshot eyes. “We’re fuck buddies, right? It’s just for fun, right? No real feelings involved. It’s not like we’re supposed to care.”

Tears start to make your sight blurred. Each word of his sound more and more bitter, more sad, more hurt, and it feels like someone has buried the arrow in your heart deeper when you realize that his eyes are getting teary, too.

“Stop saying that. You know it’s not true. You’re the person I care about the most in this world-”

“If you start saying how I’m your best friend I’m leaving you right now.”

You frown and blink, trying to dissipate the tears. “B-But it’s true-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! I’m in love with you! Stop acting like you don’t know that already!”

It feels like your brain and your limbs and your lungs stopped working all at once.

Did he… did he just…?

Jungkook exhales heavily. He looks so tired. He rests his back against the wall in front of you, once again avoiding your gaze.

Something tells you that this should have been a happy moment. Deep down, you feel the pure bliss and excitement and it feels like your heart will combust - because you finally heard the words you wanted to hear the most coming directly from his mouth, you finally understood everything; he felt the same, the fucking same.

Yet, all the happiness is being overwhelmed by worry.

You’re watching him intently. You know the man in front of you better than you know yourself. You’ve never seen this expression before - this mix of anger and hurt have never been directed towards you. You’re scared because you don’t know what it implies.

It’s his breaking point.

He might be giving up on you right now.

You don’t know what to say. For a long moment, you just stare at him as he tries to calm himself down - always avoiding your gaze. It seems that words won’t come out of your mouth no matter how hard you try.

“Since when?” is the only thing you can whisper after a long time.

Jungkook shakes his head and lets yet another lifeless chuckle. “I don’t know.” He says in a low, broken voice.

Your fingers are shaking as you close your hands in tight fists. He needs to hear the truth.

“Jungkook.” Yet again, you hesitantly step closer. Your voice is fragile, pleading. “You got it all wrong. Please, you have to listen to me. Today, I-”

“Yeah, I know I got it all wrong from the start.” He interrupts you again. Shut up!, you want to scream. Let me fucking speak!

However, you can’t speak anymore when you notice the tears dripping down his face.

Jungkook is crying.

It’s your fault.

He passes both hands over his face as quickly as the first tears started to fall and sighs heavily. He takes his bag from the floor and shoves it over his shoulder again, turning around before you can see his face again, before you have the chance to say anything.

“I’m going home. You should go home, too.”

And he starts to walk down the stairs way too fast.

Your body is moving before your mind registers and you try to catch up to him. “Jungkook, wait-”

“Don’t.”

Is the only thing he says without looking back.

This makes you stop.

You watch, frozen in place, as he walks down the stairs. You keep your eyes on him as he crosses the empty square again. He’s almost running.

He wants to get away from you as soon as possible.

You know Jungkook too well. You know that, even if you followed him, even if you insisted, he wouldn’t want to hear you anyway. He’d probably despise you even more. This is what made you freeze.

You suddenly feel your legs get weak and sit down on the stair steps. Not only your legs, actually. All of your limbs feel heavy. 

You don’t remember the last time you cried like this. The unstoppable tears just coming and coming and the sobs barely let you breathe. 

You’re crying because you’re ashamed of what just happened at the bar - how Mike made you feel humiliated in front of all those people. You’re guilty because you weren’t honest with Taehyung and now there’s no way back - you let him believe in whatever he wanted to believe instead of making things clear, and now he’s hurt.

And the worst of all.

You’ve been hurting Jungkook so bad for so long without realizing. You hurt the person you cared about the most. 

All of it is your fault.

God, it hurts so much.

You know Jungkook too well. He’s the person that has been always there with you for better or for worse. You always knew you’d have each other’s backs no matter what happens; he’s a part of you, the most important, most precious part of you.

This time, you genuinely don’t know what will happen from now on.

This time... you don’t know if Jungkook will ever forgive you.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.��

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

[shashawip]

Mia Asking Jason About His Feelings For Roy While Cooking

Summary:

Mia asking Jason about his feelings for Roy while cooking, and Jason didn’t deny it.

Notes:

English isn’t my native spoken language so there can be grammatical errors.

This snippet is from an originally planned fiction revolving around Roy, Jason and Mia with Mia being the witness of Royjay’s developing relationship. I may never find a chance to finish their story so I will just post moments that I enjoyed writing while picturing their world. Hope you enjoy.

Published on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33110860

——

It wasn’t Mia's turn to cook today, but not like she minded it and all. She’s in a good mood lately given how well the day job has turned out, and the camaraderie she’s developed with the colleagues at work.

To be frank, the two other housemates’ cooking skills just weren’t satisfying. Jason was alright, if he really paid attention and invested his time to cook. Same cannot be said for Roy, however, who was an entirely different story. The only edibles on his menu might just be that ham and cheese sandwich he seemed to be barely able to assemble.

Mia hummed in joy while she poured her lasagna sauce into a rectangular Le Creuset, which had already been layered with some pre-made lasagna sheets. She raised her eyes to look at Roy who’s sitting across the kitchen island, while still preserving her attention down at the stoneware.

“I never knew you’d be so interested in a wooden door before.” Mia chuckled.

Roy seemed to be dragged out of his lost thoughts and back to the world by her voice, quickly moving away his glaze, looking a little embarrassed. He’d been fixed to the stool he’s sitting on and stared at Jason’s bedroom door with his head rested in his elbow in the same position for quite a while, even the oven had been pre-heated.

Mia continued to work on layering sheets and pouring the mixture from the saucepan, the warm steam spreading the fresh smell of tomato, garlic, slightly caramelized pork and veal bolognese along with other goodness that’s been well combined into the open air kitchen. She kept her head down while going on, “Figured what’s getting into your head. Now that James and I are dating, Jason seems like about to start one himself, you’d be thinking of finding someone to hang out with too?”

Roy admitted almost immediately, let go of an unnoticeable sigh for Mia seemed to not be aware what’s really going on in his mind. “Didn’t you always mention that girl… the one on that team you and Dick were on back then, was it Danielle?” “Donna.” “Donna. Anyway. I don’t know, maybe you can try contacting her again?” Roy looked a little confused by her suggestion. “Donna… she’s a partner and a good friend that’s all. Also I haven’t caught up with the Titans for quite some time.” “But there is always a chance out there somewhere, right?”

By now Roy seemed to have lost interest in this topic, and just shook his head towards the room that Jason was in, and steered the conversation back to what’s happening in there. “You can’t know… that girl, she came here and was after Jason…” Mia knew what he’s going on and about, “If you ask me, well, from a female perspective, what she’s after from Jason could not have been any more obvious.”

Just a little less than half an hour ago, a silver white long haired girl walked in from the front door of their apartment without giving any heads up, she promptly glanced over the room, including Roy who was laying on his back in the couch at the time, and Mia who’s busy preparing their dinner behind the counter. She briefly studied the situation, confirmed with the cook which bedroom was Jason’s, then dashed and disappeared into that room with a not-so-gentle bang as she closed the door, leaving Roy and Mia completely dazzled and curious.

Roy exchanged looks with Mia as he got up. He thought that girl looked familiar before he remembered that he, or rather, him and Jason had met her on the plane from Gotham back to Star City. She was sitting across the aisle, had started to strike a conversation with Jason around halfway of the flight. Roy hadn’t paid them too much attention as he curled up comfortably in his window seat and napped almost the entire time. When their plane had arrived and the seatbelt signs turned green, and Jason stood up to reach their backpack from the overhead bin, Roy saw the girl had slipped a thin piece of paper into the back-pocket of his jeans.

Roy had never seen her again after they got back home, until just now. He bet that Jason had contacted her without him and Mia knowing, and for Christ’s sake, he’d exposed their secret headquarters - an apartment on Winnick St that the three of them would scramble each month to come up with the rent for - to a stranger that hadn’t gone through their little gang’s trust test.

Mia saw him shuffled around yet eyes glued to that door, so she ordered him to buy some more basil leaves from the store that apparently her topping sauce is now short of. Roy groaned before leaving the apartment, still managed to strike a last look at that door that the girl has vanished into.

Some time later, the girl has finally decided to stomp out of that room again, she glimpsed over Mia, without saying a word then bounced across the communal space before walking right out, seemingly assuming oneself to be one of, otherwise, the owner of the house.

When Jason emerged just a little later too, Mia then stared at the ceiling and started talking at loud to herself, “Gotta be impressed with all the soundproof works of these walls, you can’t even hear a thing that you’d expected from the other side.”

Jason said that he and Roslyn merely spoke while in there and nothing more had happened. He looked around and asked where Roy is. Mia told him that she requested him to go to the shop and get her some more basils. Jason pondered on that. Mia figured out he’s gauging whether he should go out too, “I thought he might want some air for himself seeing that both his housemates are romantically involved in a relationship.” Jason started to look confused.

Mia thought to herself, Mia Deardon, don’t you screw this one up. She made an effort to calm her tone of voice before speaking up again. “That girl and you, aren’t you a thing or about to be?” She probed in a slightly joking way.

“A thing?” Jason now looked even more puzzled, as if this image of presumed future has never come across his mind before, “I don’t recall anything remotely like that ever discussed in our conversation.”

Mia stopped what she’s doing and pointed a silicon spatula at him, which was still covered with warm tomato chunks, “Jason, when you let a girl walk into your room, you should be prepared to provide her the chance of a mutually respectful association that is what we called a relationship, instead of just fooling around and walk away like a jerk.” Though in this particular scenario, the female individual seemed to matched that perona more, Mia had no intention of pointing that out.

“I’ve not even had a clue how she found this place, I thought she’s just some upper manager of a business, not some sort of a detective.”

Mia squinted her eyes, clearly not buying, “You know, usually a girl found out a guy’s address through a text message or a phone call.”

“Trust me, Mia, I’ve never even asked for her number.” Jason wiped his forehead and started to feel the angst up his gut, but he tried hard to not let it unleash upon Mia. “Do we have enough ingredients for tonight?” He indicated the kitchen bench filled with mixing bowls and food scraps with a nod. Mia gave it a thought, then answered, “We might have just run out of paprika, can you give Roy a ring and ask him to get a jar from the shop?”

“I’ll head down myself, don’t think he can hear the call right now.” Jason turned around to leave. Just when the door’s about to be opened, Mia called his name.

“Jason, do you love Roy?”

His hand on the doorknob came to a sudden halt. He paused for a second, “Why’d you say that?”

Mia took a deep breath, giving her best to not give away the fact that she’s rehearsed over and over what’s coming next. Instead of answering the question, she continued, “I’m not saying the kind of brotherhood you’d shared with Dick or your other partners from the cop shop, what I meant was something like Ollie and Dinah, like between me and James.”

Jason looked to be caught off guard with what she’s just said, and Mia for one was happy with how this whole situation had been going, as he at least didn’t just abruptly deny the question nor went on interrogating why the hell she’d stir up some shit like that. She heaved a sigh of relief, carefully thanking herself for the sharp observation and analysis she’d secretly inducted on themselves.

Jason looked at her, without saying a word, seemed to be still waiting for her to go on. So she did. “Roy is the kind of person that, how should I put this, would rather let his feelings sink than swim if you don’t show anything to him first. Probably why he and Ollie never saw each other eye to eye when they came across.” Jason nodded in agreement. “If he thinks that the other person doesn’t share a mutual feeling, I bet you he’d take it to his grave than ever speaking up about it.” This actually has contradicted to Roy’s impression on him, as he always saw the guy as carefree and weren’t shy about showing his affections towards the others, but Jason wasn’t going to oppose otherwise and just let Mia kept on.

“He had a crush on a girl in that crime fighting group he was in before, always claimed that he wasn’t good enough for her, so the girl never found out his feeling for her in the end.” Mia fixed her eyes on him, her spatula had now dropped to the bench surface as she leaned against the edge with both of her arms, looking at him demurely, “He’s recently acting more and more like that again. I don’t know about you, but here’s what I thought, if that other person this time at least showed him some sort of hints, maybe he wouldn’t have too many regretful undone deeds to carry with him to his tomb after all.”

Jason lowered his head and thought on that for a moment, his hand already loosen from the doorknob and he just noticed how his palm had been sweating all this long. He turned around to face Mia behind the island, who’d clearly done speaking and was waiting patiently for a response. Jason found her gaze again as he meticulously raised his eyes, “And you think this person… is… me?”

Mia grinned, “We both know that his current social life, or rather, his only life is devoted on bringing down that Merlin’s evil little scheme, which the whole operation comprises only two people, and he’s surprisingly one of them.” She could not have been clearer than that who the other person she’s referring to.

Jason couldn’t bring himself to let out of a word. There was too much to be said, too many questions bursting in his chest. When did Mia start to notice Roy’s altered behaviours as she described? How did she work out the confidence to ask him about it and not even worry that she might’ve been wrong? Did Roy ask her to feel him out, or was her perception of Roy’s feeling for him even legit?

“Jason, hello, someone in there?” His thought had been interrupted with her teases as he drown, “So let me ask again, Jason, do you love Roy? The kind of love like between Ollie and Dinah?”

The former Robin had let out a deep breath before cracking her a smile, “I’m gonna go get us some more paprika from the shop.” Then he opened the door and left the apartment.

None of the three housemates had ever demanded paprika when they had lasagna night, Jason knew better than that, and he secretly thanked Mia a thousand times as he sprinted downstairs.

——

End of snippet

End notes:

I draw Royjay fan arts from time to time, if you liked this story you’re welcome to also check them out on my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shashawip

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: The Hoardless Dragon

Summary: Thorin has been waiting his whole life for something interesting to happen in Erebor, and when Tharkun arrives with a “dragon expert” to warn of Smaug’s survival he thinks he may have gotten his wish. However, Thror falling in and out of the gold madness its beneficial to Erebor’s defenses, and it may be that there is more than one dragon to fear.

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory. 

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health. 

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin. 

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.” 

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably. 

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.” 

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!” 

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmashâz (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

He may just get his wish after all.