#this fucking sucks truthfully but i think putting a label to the feeling feels a little better because it's sentient now

[humbuns]

when did that start?

[napeoftheneck]

Rivers of Crimson (Ymir x Reader)

I absolutely can bestie!  I had a hard time trying to find out what I could do for some angst without being yk. One of those “I’m not Christa :(“ fics, so here’s some hurt/comfort w/ some extra angst mixed in !! Angst is my absolute favourite to write, I’m so elated that it’s is my first request. Especially with Ymir, too !! Thank u <3<3 

Title: Rivers of crimson  Genre: Angst w/happy ending, hurt/comfort  Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, angst, swearing, Ymir being kind of a meanie, fighting, implied comphet if you really REALLY squint  Word count: ~1.7k

IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ATTACK ON TITAN !! 

(There was no specific request for a WLW reader, so I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as I can :>) 

-

Ymir had never really felt helpless since her youth. Even then, in those moments, she felt as though she had been ruling, that whatever she could do would bring praise and gratitude and triumph. It was only after she had been adjudged when she realised that the reason she sought after that feeling of authority for so long was because of just how dependent she had actually convinced herself she was. 

Becoming a god was the loneliest feeling in the world, but solitude brought a power not many had; it brought independence. She never had to worry about others. 

She often found herself watching her fellow cadets when they returned from battle. Ymir would often follow as they broke down, crumbling to their knees in wracked sobs upon hearing of the demise of their loved ones. She would listen to the hums of commiseration from other soldiers or watch as they would help the mourning fighter to their feet and lead them away from others' scrutinising eyes. She wouldn't pity them. The feeling of sympathy was foreign to her.

Ymir had been fighting for a grand portion of her life now. She had held herself to those same beliefs since her first day of training, so she was specifically surprised when she had taken such a liking to you.

She fought it for a while. Whenever you would sit with her at lunch, she would make an effort to seem uninterested when you spoke of your day. When you stumbled during training, she would correct you, but would mask whatever tenderness that found her voice with a sigh or a comment implying that you “need to suck it up”. 

Yet, despite how she pushed and strayed from you, you remained a constant in her life of inconsistencies. Eventually, you were the closest to what she could call a friend. 

Ymir ignored how, whenever you would patch her wounds or link to her on cold nights or how often you would sleep in the same bed, she was far too mercenary to label you as something other than a friend. Even that was stretching it. 

Though, in moments like these, Ymir wished that she was raw enough to let you know. Because, in moments like these, she would be terrified to misspeak. 

You wouldn’t fight often. Not like this. 

You had mentioned having to “get up early” off-handedly during dinner when excusing yourself from the table. Ymir asked about it and you mentioned a scout that had been injured, whom you volunteered yourself to replace for an outer-walls mission. You said it all so casually. Ymir couldn’t grasp any sarcasm in your voice or crack in your authored facade as you brushed through your hair in the mirror of her chambers. She didn’t see you make eye contact with her once. You spoke to her coolly about how happy you were to finally be able to sleep, about the dinner and how it was cold that day, about how Jean had snuck some of your apple at lunch that day.

Ymir just stood in silence, considering and rejecting things to say in response. 

“Were you gonna tell me about how you’re leaving tomorrow, or was I just supposed to wake up without you and put it together myself?” She spoke before thinking. You hesitated, hovering over your cupboard.  “Ymir, it’s not a big deal,” you finally sigh, running a hand through your hair the moment it’s freed. “I said it was just a capture mission. Hange said we won’t go far-“  “You can't go.”  You narrow your eyes. You had now frozen in your tracks completely; no longer pacing around the room to place things in their correct spaces.  “I’m not a child,” you speak gently, as if to a rabid dog. The blaze in her eyes was enough to pardon it. “I don’t have to ask your approval to work. I don’t need you next to me,” you deride lightly, insignificantly, as you turn your back to her. You didn’t plan to sound so dismissive.  “Are you seriously being this fucking petty right now? You could die out there,” Ymir, however, fully intended her venomous rhythm. She towers over you, if not just in her tone alone. “You’re being stupid. You know you're not strong enough to fight with that squad.” Your breath hitches in your throat. Ymir regrets her words immediately, but she doesn’t waver in her stance. “What the fuck is your problem?” you sneer. “You insist on how little you care about me, but as soon as I do anything without your permission you yell at me?”  “That’s not what this is about, (y/n)-”  “Then what is it about, Ymir? Why are you so scared?”  “I don't give a shit about what happens to you! I'm just-” Ymir catches herself before she can finish her sentence. “No, I-”  “Exactly,” before she can correct herself, though, you are biting y our lip the way you do when you're biting back tears and you are in front of her. “Move. I need to go to bed.” 

She is wordless as she steps to the side and allowing you to pass her. It isn't until she hears your footsteps down the hall when she speaks. 

“If you come back, I won’t be here.” She hears you stop. Ymir doesn't expect you to come running to her, arms open and folded clothing discarded into a pile on the hallway floor. She isn't entirely sure why she's digging such a hole for herself - she doesn't mean what she's saying - of course she doesn't, she adores you, so why is she so set on pushing you as far away as she possibly can? Why does she feel that she needs to?  “Good.” you reply. The footsteps continue, then you are gone.

You are gone for three days. 

Ymir, at first, didn’t count the hours.  She stewed in her angst alone for a grand portion of the morning without you; she dutifully avoided talking about whatever mission you had left for at the table that morning. 

Despite herself, Ymir had to eventually confront her weakness after the third consecutive “Are you okay?” Of that day that she wasn’t doing as good of a job of hiding her worry as she had thought. 

She thought she didn’t seem too bothered when your name was mentioned at the breakfast table. 

She thought she didn’t look too obviously intrigued when, 30 hours since you left (she swore she hadn’t counted), she heard Captain Levi murmur something about a retrieval squad. She thought she didn’t sound so desperate when she attempted to bring it casually up in conversation, yet she couldn’t fight the cracks in her voice and she couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands over her wrists in worry when she thought nobody was looking. Helplessness went from being a stranger to a thorn at her side in a matter of hours.

It had been the dawn of the fourth day when Ymir was awoken by a creek by her door. She remained stiff as she listened to light footsteps approach her bed, but she softens when she hears you. When she sat up, unsure of whether you were actually there or if she had just been consumed by grief and began to hallucinate, you winced. 

She blinks. 

There are no words exchanged. Ymir debates speaking, though her body moves before she can and, in minutes, you are sat in the bathroom and she is kneeling in front of you.

Ymir isn’t certain (it seems like she hadn’t been certain about anything at all for the past week) why she wasn’t crying. She isn’t sure why she’s so terrified to touch you, or to speak, or to maintain eye contact for longer than a millisecond. 

You were in frightening shape. Had she not been petrified to talk, Ymir would be swearing under each breath.  Blood still seeped from your open wounds, cascading in small, splitting rivers of crimson down the side of your face. It had likely been far too long since you had fought any kind of titan, Ymir thought. Their blood would've been long since steamed. It was your blood. You must have noticed her hesitance as she wiped it, gently, dreading that she would uncover another wound, because you broke the abundant, pregnant stillness

“They lost two scouts.” “Oh.” Ymir responds. An unfamiliar feeling settles uncomfortably in her gut. “I’m sorry.” You nod, then you are silent again. 

Ymir takes a moment to resume her conscientious work. 

There is no obligation between either of you to say anything more. Your eyes are fixed downward, resting heavily on Ymir as she squints at the cap of some kind of disinfectant. She’s biting her tongue.  “I didn’t mean anything I said,” Ymir spoke to you suddenly and without looking you in the eyes. You’re thankful because it told you that you weren’t the only one too frightened to do so. “I do give a shit about what happens to you,” You laugh insignificantly, shaking your head. “I thought you died. I thought I lost you and the last things I said to you was that I wouldn’t be here, but I will. I’ll always be here.” She is desperate, rambling until she realises it and lulls herself. 

You would say something dismissively comforting had it not been for the silence Ymir’s hand brought as it raised to your cheek and gently brushed a stray tear away. It is so small and trifling, yet it is gracious and fragile and kind and it means the universe to you. 

“I know,” you respond.  You don’t need to hear a long-drawn, significant plea. You don’t need it because, truthfully, you knew you likely wouldn’t get it from Ymir in the first place.  However, as she guides you gently back into her bed, engulfing you in the white sheets, and places a small kiss on your forehead, something settles within you. 

It was a feeling one would associate with the moments after receiving an apology; it is warm, tender, relieving. 

You were home. You were safe. 

You were loved. 

Although she hadn’t said it, it wasn’t needed, because as Ymir’s arms tighten around you, you certainly felt it enough to maintain a sleepy smile as you drifted off alongside her.

[harryskalechips]

Illicit affairs Part three

A/N Hello guys! I’m sorry this part took so long. i’ve been so busy. Thank you for all the support and love. Each and every dm makes my day. I hope you like the ending idk hahaha dm me and send your thoughts! bye, I hope you enjoy

Their illicit affair isn’t really a secret anymore after being caught kissing on camera. Oh Harry, haven’t you learned not to be a romantic in public? Time to watch everything crumble down.

Tw: Cheating, smut

Thank you @harrysleftchelseaboot for letting me participate in your writing challenge! Here is part three! Any new writers or readers please check out the masterlist! 

here are my prompts:

“Promise you’ll stay by my side?”

“Don’t you see I’m trying?”

“It’s okay. I understand. You can leave, they all do.”

 Note: I do not condone cheating whatsoever! Please mind that this story is fictional! As much as it makes me sad to paint Harry as a cheater, it’s part of this storyline I thought of as I listened to Taylor’s album, Folklore.

Word count: 7.5k / Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 2 

When a married person participates in an affair, they already know the consequences that can come out of it. Not only is it a betrayal to their spouse but every vow they said at the altar is washed away and is drowned in a pool of greed and resentment.  Suddenly, their beautiful and favourite memory of their wedding day becomes a cursed thought... at least for Harry Styles. 

 A nightmare. A horrible nightmare that Harry never thought would come true. He sits up immediately half-naked in his sheets after his call with Y/N. He focuses on his phone, swiping through the articles written about their newly found scandal. Truthfully, he wanted to read them all but as he counted and tried to keep track of each one, he realized there were millions out there. 

His wife’s screams and torturing whimpers were hurting his brain, after all, she was just a couple of rooms down the hallway. Of course, he wanted to check on her or pack a bag and leave the house but that wasn’t his main priority. It was Y/N.  He could physically feel his heartache as he saw each headline along with pictures of him and her kissing in the parking lot at LAX. It was his fault. He knew it. He was too excited and happy to have Y/N back in his arms, he never thought a person working there or an undercover paparazzi would manage their way into the private area. 

Was he angry? Most definitely. But there was another feeling he had in his chest that was too stubborn to leave. He hasn’t felt like this in a while. The pressure building around his body like selfish vines, continuing to wrap around him until he choked. Until all the love Y/N gave him these past months were forced to be forgotten. He could feel it from his head to his toes. The unforgettable butterflies when he thinks of Y/N are bleached and gone as his anxiety took over. 

He wanted to cry and scream. His career is gone. His reputation is ruined. His fans are disappointed. His family, his friends -his wife! But most importantly, the woman who makes him the happiest man on earth is exposed to his world. The life he’s been sucked into for the last 9 years has finally sucked her in too. And that’s why he wanted to protect her from it in the first place. 

When he first decided he wanted to share his talents and be famous, he never realized there was a very big price he had to pay. His privacy - his innocent and naive mind being manipulated as he networked as a new celebrity while labels were put on him that he couldn’t fight back. He loves who he is right now but that was because of her and for some time now,  he wished the public could just fuck of. Sometimes he wished he was a regular guy living his own life so he wouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit. 

Thinking about his wishes and his life, he almost wanted to laugh at this present moment. Was this a dream or was he right about love? Once he finally commits to a woman he loves, the universe has an odd way of returning his new deck of cards. Stupid, because that’s not how you play and it’s been unfair for him his whole life.

He had to check on Y/N.

He tosses his phone onto the bed and gets ready as he purposely ignores the device and walks out of his room. His game plan was to sneak out of the house and come back later tonight to talk to his wife. It was obvious she knew about his affair and all Harry wanted to do was avoid her. 

“Sneaking out?” fuck. Harry keeps his hand on the railway as he looks behind him to see his wife standing near the wall with her arms crossed. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were so puffy. He wasn’t heartless. He felt bad for her.

“I was just going to get some breakfast.” Harry lies as he stares directly into her eyes. She wasn’t the same girl he married and she is no Y/N.

“You mind if you get me some too?” She nonchalantly replies, making him confused about her odd behaviour.

“Yeah, um what do you want?”

“I want to know why you fucking cheated on me.” Her calm strict tone changes into a more aggressive one as she couldn’t keep up her facade. He knew it would happen. 

“Look-”

“You cheated on me and embarrassed our marriage... and um you have the fucking face to tell me you’re going out for breakfast!”

“I wanted to give you some space before we talked about it.”

“You’re a coward! You cheated at least own up to it.”

“Alright okay! I cheated on you!” Harry steps off the staircase and approaches her. They stood 7 feet apart as both of them had rigid and uncomfortable stances.

“How long?” Harry looks up at the ceiling and releases a loud breath.

“Approximately a year.”

“I can’t believe you.” She cries silently as she looks at him in disappointment. She quickly wipes her tears away, knowing that her dignity is already in the ruins because of him. “I know I haven’t been a good wife to you but you haven’t been a good husband. I just never realized you gave up on our marriage already.”

“Are you joking? A couple of months after our wedding you’ve been the one acting cold! I loved you so much but I realized what we had isn’t who we are anymore.” Harry confesses in an agitated tone. 

“Harry after our wedding -You became busy not me! I tried telling you and giving you signs but you ignored me. I explicitly told you and you said you were in a good position in your career where you had so much potential… so I gave you space!”

“I tried reaching out to you so we can spend time together.” Harry furrows his eyebrows at her. “Don’t make me seem like the bad guy here. I was waiting for you to tell me you wanted to work our relationship out again. I gave you space!”

“I shouldn’t be the one to do that, Harry!” She pauses. “As time went by, I realized I didn’t need you as much anymore but I wanted to see what would happen if we stayed together. I still loved you!”

“You stop prioritizing us.”

“You did it first.” She scoffs as she takes her silk robe off her, leaving her in a short nightgown. She was so angry, she needed to find a way to cool off.  “You think I’m stupid? I knew you were seeing someone the moment you started taking that ring off. I just thought you had the common courtesy not to humiliate us and our careers -to not give up on what we signed up for. Our marriage.”

“So you’re saying you were  throwing a fit in your bedroom because I got caught?” Harry steps back a bit. He never realized how fucked up this relationship was.

“Obviously! What do you think I want in the papers? Not your affair with that college whore!”

“Watch your mouth.” Harry deepens his voice as he stares at her intently. “This scandal was not my intention. I’m not stupid like that.”

“Well, you’re stupid enough to get caught!” She rebuttals. She turns around walking to his room as she angrily tugs on the ends of her hair. “I don’t care what you do with your life but you should’ve thought about me and what would happen if anyone found out about our broken marriage.” She opens his walk-in closet and enters, leaving Harry to trail behind her. Without any hesitation, her hands begin to carelessly toss his clothes on the floor, knowing his favourite boots were to be specifically thrown at the wall. She was fuming.

“We had an image to carry and you ruined it because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself in public!”

…

“Y/N, I’m so glad you made it in today. I hope the paparazzi in front of the building didn’t hassle you too much.” Rob enters the meeting room and greets her in a sarcastic tone. “Unfortunately, they’ve been quite a nuisance for the rest of your co-workers.” He places a blank manila folder on the table and sits himself down as he looks at her in a serious manner. Y/N felt like she was being tortured, having just them in the room. “Paul will be coming in shortly, he has to deal with publicity first.” He was the one who called her. She barely saw him these past years as she worked more for Rob here at Columbia Records but she knew he was just as powerful after all, he was the company’s president. 

“They’ve been following me around ever since I left my apartment. Look, Rob, I’m sorry about-”

“Hold that statement. You shouldn’t be sorry.” His finger raises in the air. Y/N watches him carefully as he opens the folder in front of them. 

There… it had pictures of her infamous kiss with Harry, recent articles about the two of them and… her employment contracts. 

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” Rob repeats himself as he picks out the photo of them kissing and slides it to her on the table. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Y/N couldn’t believe this. She knew what was to come but she didn’t want to think it was true! This was her dream job and it was all going to be ripped away from her as if the last 3 years meant nothing to them.

“I have to let you go.”

“Rob, there’s nothing in my contract that says I can’t have a relationship with a co-worker.” Y/N remembers reading that bullet point when she first started her internship at Columbia records. Although it may have been years, that rule couldn’t possibly change.

“I think you’re forgetting Harry isn’t your co-worker but our client.” Another voice answers. Paul opens the door as he hears what she says. He takes the pen from the pocket on the left side of his chest and instantly picks up her contract and circles that point in red. She definitely forgot about that. She finally remembers how months ago she was reading her contract as she sipped her… 3rd glass of wine. 

“Oh.”

“Not just that but any employee that has publicly put our company on blast in front of the media requires immediate dismissal,” Rob adds in.

“Also It’s nice to see you again Ms. L/N.” Paul, a short middle-aged man sits beside Paul. “I had to deal with your mess outside. It’s getting out of control.” He adjusts his tie. “You do understand what actions we must take now?” He asks sternly, barely looking at her as he briefly reads her contract. 

“No, wait! It was a picture that I didn’t know about! Paul...Rob, please don’t do this. I’m so grateful to be working here.” She pleads.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I wish you told me about this sooner so we could have figured something out.” Rob shakes his head in disappointment.  “He’s married you know that. The damage control is more than what you guys could have possibly thought of.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen. Rob, I’m sorry. I truly am.” Y/N begins to cry again as if she wasn’t crying on her drive here. 

“Let me be honest, I  don’t want to let you go but I need to be fair. Our vision statement is to take care of our stars. With the disgrace of your affair being exposed, you can’t continue to work here while Harry is our client. He has a fixed contract so I can’t do anything to help you out.”

“I get it” She pauses a bit as she tries to take everything in.  “I think I should leave.” Y/N abruptly stands up and wipes her tears. She walks forward to give Paul a handshake. She then turns to a standing Rob but he ignores her hand and gives her a hug instead. 

“You have so much potential. I’m sorry your journey with us ends here.”

_

“Never knew you were a lying whore.” Jasmine murmurs under her breath as she walks past Y/N in the office. 

It sucked. It truly did. Y/N could feel all eyes on her as she walked to her office to clean things up. It’s crazy how she used to feel so intimidated walking in these hallways, then after receiving a platinum job offer, she became confident. Now, she’s just embarrassed and ashamed as she packed her things up. 

She tried her best to hold in her tears as she picked each picture frame off her bookshelf. “Everyone hates you, you know.” She looks to the left to see her close friend here from work, at her door.

“I know.” She bites her lip as she can feel tears forming in her eyes once again. Why can’t she stop crying? “You can insult me all you want. I’ve been receiving death threats all day from people I don’t know.” She looks down again and places random books in her bin. 

“Is he the guy you were talking about a week ago or was this something that started in London.”

“We were together for a year until we broke things off a couple of months ago.” Y/N confesses as she wraps her arms around herself. Marissa carefully walks inside the room and approaches her. Without another word, she hugs Y/N very tightly.

“I’m going to miss you around here.” That’s all she said. It gave Y/N a mixed message because she didn’t know if their friendship ended here along with her potential career. A short message like that made her more upset.

To be frank, Marissa didn’t know what to feel. She understood Y/N and Harry. But the affair? If her husband did that to her, she could never forgive them. Maybe that’s how a lot of people see it. Not only was this a betrayal of a spouse but a betrayal of integrity to everyone they know.

And because of this, Marissa made the choice to keep her distance from this sweet girl. How betrayed and played she felt as her co-worker was sleeping with their married client behind the world’s back. 

~

Y/N was a big mess. Her apartment used to be neat and organized as that’s how she is as a person but after coming home from work, scattered objects from her boxes laid lonely on her chestnut floors. 

She sat on along with them, drinking from the bottle of red wine as she read through articles and mean tweets about her. The only hope she had was for Harry to come and comfort her.

The sad thing is… he hasn’t answered any of her texts or calls since she broke the news to him this morning. Funny enough, the display on her screen changed to a call and as she hoped it was Harry...it was her mother calling. 

“Hello?” Y/N answer as she feels her cheeks become wet again. She was so embarrassed to talk to her mom. What does her mother think of her now?

“How have you been, baby?” Thankfully, she wasn’t angry but worried about her well being.

“Everyone hates me, mom. How am I supposed to find a job now.”

“You can come back home and I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t want to leave LA.” Y/N feels her heart die a bit. LA was her dream. She wanted to make so many memories here. The only thing she gained was a reputation for being a man’s whore. She isn’t ready to leave and move back under her mom’s roof. After all her roof means her conservative rules. 

“I think you need to.” Her mother pauses. “Have you spoken to that celebrity yet?”

“Yes.” Y/N lies. She didn’t want to feel worst, knowing Harry was purposely avoiding her. 

“What did he say?”

“We’re going to talk about it soon.”

“Do you love him?” Her mother shoots out another question after the last one. She genuinely wanted to know how her daughter was but she couldn’t deny the disappointing feeling buried in her chest. 

“Yes.”

“How long were you guys together?”

“A year?”

“Does he have children?”

“No.”

“Why do you think your value is cheap to be sleeping with a married man?”

“Mom!” Y/N eyes widen at the candid question. 

“I’m not trying to hate on you Y/N. I just want to know why you let yourself be in this position.” Her mother lets out a sigh. “Do you think anyone will want to hire you after this scandal? Why couldn’t you wait until he got a divorce?”

“I love him.”

“He manipulated you!”

“No, he didn’t.” She pulls the phone away from her face due to being so irritated. “I thought you called me because you wanted to check up on me -Not to hate on my decisions!” She immediately hangs up the call and lays down on her floor.

Today has got be the worst day of her life.

~

It was the next morning after their affair was exposed and no one was feeling good. The rhythmic pattern of knocks on Y/N’s door wakes her up. She somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor last night leaving her to sit up and glance through her curtains to see the paparazzi loitering around downstairs. Letting out a sigh, she stands up and opens the door. Thankfully, she knew it was Harry from the way he knocked -which made her feel a whole lot better.

She opens the door and catches sight of him in front of her. Hope fills her eyes immediately as she quickly yanks him inside. Without another waste of breath, they hug each other so tightly. “Where were you? You weren’t answering my calls all day.” She mumbles into his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, making her remember the little bubble they used to have before.

At least she knew they were safe here inside her apartment. 

“I’m sorry. I had to speak to Jeff and handle my wife all day.” He pulls away and holds her face in his hands. “Y/N baby, I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head and grabs his hand so she can lead them to her couch. “ Come sit down. How did you find your way into the building without getting caught?”

“I think you forgot I’m a pro at coming over here without getting seen.” He gives a small smile as he looks around her messy living room. “Did you sleep in here last tonight?” The throw blanket and tiny blue pillow on the floor catches his eye. 

“Sorry about the mess.” She pulls her hand away from his. She fixes her hair as she manages to move the boxes out of the way. “I did yeah. Fell asleep.” Y/N bit her lip in anxiety. She was scared to tell him she lost her job because of their relationship. 

“These boxes...” He continues to sit on the couch. He picks up a frame from one of them only to realize it was from her office. “Were you fired, Y/N?” His tone of voice automatically changing into a serious one. 

“Well, I went to the meeting Paul called me in for yesterday. Luckily, I saw Ro-”

“Answer my question.” He deadly stares at her while the frame in his hand is gripped tightly in his fist. 

“Yes.” Harry immediately stands up and reaches behind his pocket to grab his phone. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m calling them, obviously.” He scratches his nose and glances at the window. As he held his phone to his ear on one side, he quickly walked around her apartment closing all her curtains. He keeps his standing stance once he finds himself back in the living room, leaving Y/N to sit on the couch and watch him. 

“Harry, hang up.” She suggests as she watches his every move. “Please, stop.”

“Y/N, they fired you.” He tosses his phone to the floor after being ignored by the company. “They can’t do that!”

“Yes, they can. We um...I uh... I broke rules from my contract.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” She could see how broken he was from hearing that. He stressfully runs his hand through his hair as he looks at her. “I’m sorry for kissing you in the parking lot.”

“It’s not your fault.” She bites her cheek as she looks down at her hands. In all honestly, she did feel some sort of anger towards him -maybe because she just lost her job.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry sits down beside her and guides her to straddle him. She immediately complies and wraps her arms around his neck. She rests her cheek against his chest as she feels a tear run down her face. Hopefully, he doesn’t feel it.

“It’s just...Why are you married?” She fixes her position while she feels his fingers slide underneath her sweatshirt. She lets out a sigh and rubs her face against his thick shirt. “I mean why out of all the days we knew each other, we started out like this? Why did I have to meet you and fall in love?” She lets out her frustrated confession.

“I don’t regret anything.” Harry takes a hard swallow and kisses her temple. She immediately sits up and looks at him with a surprised look on her face. 

“I lost my job and possibly my whole career!”

“Baby hey look,” He tightens his hold on her waist. “You’re not the only one. My career is obviously not doing well too. My fans are disappointed at me and I have this huge scandal on my back.”

“The only difference is you have money.” She crosses her arms. Harry gives her a strange look and sits up a bit. 

“I don’t think we’re understanding each other.” He rests his hands by his side. “I  don’t regret meeting you and falling in love. I don’t regret coming here every night to fall asleep beside you. You make me happy and if there is one thing I realized after our break up, it’s that I love you so much. You never stopped driving me crazy.”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and pouts. “I’m just scared.” She breaks down in front of him. “You mean so much to me. I don’t want to lose you again. Now that I know we’re both fighting for each other, I don’t want to give up.”

“I don’t want to either.” He hugs her tightly. “You’re mine and I’m yours. We’re going to get through this despite what happened.”

~

“Harry.” Rob greets him since he’s already sitting at the table with the rest of their team. As Harry walked in with his coffee, he noticed the empty seat in front of his. That definitely made him angrier more than he thought. 

Instead of greeting everyone with a smile or a handshake, he says nothing and sits down. Today was a serious meeting, so he decided to wear a casual suit. He fixes his blazer and rubs his chin. “Let’s get started,” he speaks up in a monotone voice.

Jasmine speaks up after making eye contact with Rob. “Your name has been trending for the past few days so as Y/N’s.”

“I think I would know that.” He gives her cut eye and rolls his eyes at the end. He remembered last night, Y/N told him what she said to her. If only, he could get her fired. 

“Harry, Tour starts in a month. Should we continue with it?” Rob asks.

“Yes.” He folds his hands on the table, trying to not look at the empty chair. 

“But your reputation-”

“I want to release a public statement.” 

“I think that’s a good idea but what could you possibly say that can help your fans understand your cheat-” Jasmine gets cut off again by Harry.

“Jasmine stop.” He takes a sip of his coffee. Everyone’s eyes widen at his tone.

“Harry, do you know what you want to say?” Darlene, his publicist asks. Jeff stayed silent as he listened to the conversation. Harry quickly glances at him before continuing on.

“I’ll write everything myself and upload them on my social platforms when I’m ready.”

After the meeting ended, Harry stayed in his seat as he watched everyone leave. It was different knowing he would never see Y/N be one of them ever again. Marissa stalls a bit, cleaning up her papers as she looked up and spoke to him. “Shouldn’t you go to Rob’s office so you can join his meeting with Jeff?” Harry nods his head but doesn’t move.

“How is she?” She genuinely asks him. He looks at her and plays with the pen in his hand.

“She’s been locked up inside her apartment for the past two days.” He was too, to be honest. He only left her building to change at his house and come to this meeting. Lately, they’ve been spending as much time together. 

“Can you please tell her I love her?” Marissa leans her hip on the table and quickly wipes away a tear. “I understand her. I just feel a bit betrayed at the moment.”

“Okay.” He sits immediately and pulls out his phone. “I’m going to head to Rob’s now but I hope you girls stay friends. She doesn’t um exactly have anybody except for me.” She nods her head and walks around the table to give him a hug.

“Take care of her, Harry.”

-

Harry’s hands were shaking as he was about to post his message about his cheating scandal for millions to see. He did feel a bit reassured by Rob and Jeff, however. They promised him, they would try their best to fix his reputation and keep him and Y/N out of the media after this blows over. Since he still had two more years with Columbia, Rob also told him he would switch Jasmine out of his team. Maybe things will go well after a while? 

Posted 7:18 PM

A/N Bruh if this picture is blurry fuck I'm going to stuff my fist down my throat.  I’ll just repost the message here hahah booooo! where are my tomatoes? 

harrystyles To my fans, to the people who know me and most importantly to my wife I’m sorry. Nothing can excuse the reason why I cheated. Secretly behind the cameras, my marriage was already on a rocky path that she and I made the choice not to fix. We began to drift away from one another after a couple months in our marriage. With strong denial, both of us chose to let it be and continue the negative impact that was affecting us both. In 2017, I met an intern at my label who I never thought would change my life. I’m sorry that you all had to find out this way. Never in my life would I have thought I would be the man who cheats on his wife but please understand my marriage was broken from the very beginning. I’m not trying to hand out excuses to you all but instead, share an insight into what my life is.  It’s hard to have eyes watching me every day without them knowing anything about me. No one will understand how I felt and what dilemmas and issues I’ve been through but that’s okay. I spoke to my wife and we have decided to officially separate as we realized it was time. Cheating is never okay and I understand if you are angry at me or choose to unfollow me. I will forever be grateful for your support as I continue my journey in life. Y/N, I love you. Thank you for being my rock this past year. I’m sorry for all the hurt you’ve been going through. I know you don’t deserve this because you’re the most genuine and sweetest girl I adore. You’re my soulmate and I wouldn't be as happy as I was without you. H

-

“Are you really going to go?” Y/N bit the sleeve of her sweater as she sat on her bed watching Harry pack his clothes into his luggage. After this past week, he was able to pick most of his stuff up from his house. Now Y/N’s apartment was more claustrophobic than usual. A couple of days ago, he also posted his statement. Luckily most of his fans understood him, even though there is still some backlash about it.

“I disappointed my fans enough. I think I should.” He itches his nose and sits down beside her. “You’re going to be a good girl for me while I’m gone right.” Her cheeks turn red as she shyly nods.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too.” he kisses her 

“I need to find a job or else my mom is going to cut me off and make me move back home.”

“I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it.” He kisses her neck. “Did you forget your boyfriend is a mega-millionaire?”

“He’s also married.” She teases him back. Fortunately, her anxiety hasn’t been that bad due to Harry being by her side 24/7. She was getting used to being in their bubble all the time. 

“Not in 6 months.” his tongue dips out of his mouth as he gives her little kisses on her chest. “You’re really beautiful did you know that?”

“I think you’re gorgeous.” She bites her lip as she takes in the smell of his cologne on her pillow. It’s been nice waking up to him every morning. Something she has not been able to really do ever since they started seeing each other.

“Mmm, really.” He looks up her at her as he slowly raises her thin T-shirt. “Are you trying to get some extra brownie points before I leave?” He kisses her belly button. 

“Maybe?” She squints her eyes and smiles at him.

“I love you, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

“I love you.” She reaches for him again so they can kiss. His hands quickly hold onto her waist as she sits up and tries to remove his shirt. “You’re going to be leaving me again” She whispers to him while she stares into his green eyes.

“I’ll be thinking of you every day.”

“Without you, I’m scared. Promise you’ll stay by my side.”

“I’ll check on you daily. I got you as long as you got me.” He gives her a cheesy smile making her eyes light up. He leans down to kiss her once more as he guides her to lay down on the bed. “Remember the first time I fucked you? On your dining room table.”

“Mhm.” Y/N hums as she feels his hands take off her shorts. 

“How about that time after we got back together and I ate you out on the plane?”

“Harry.” She bites her lip while she watches him rub his two fingers on her wet center. 

“You’re such a good girl for daddy yeah?”  He slips his fingers underneath the fabric then gives it a taste. “I’m going to miss the way you like crazy baby.” he bits his lip as he sits on his knees. He takes her legs and opens them a bit wider. His hands roam her body as if this was the last time they were going to be together.

“I want you now.” She lifts her shirt up as she watches Harry grope her breasts. 

“Patience bub.” He smirks at her as his hands take her underwear off. “You’re my baby.” He softly bites her nipple. “My precious girl.” He kisses the spot where her heart is. “I think you were made for me.” 

She smiles softly as she kisses the same spot on his body. “You deserve the world.”

“Aw fuck. I‘m so in love with you.” He smiles so happily as he looks up at her ceiling. He’s never felt like this with anyone except for her. It’s everything about her that reels her in. Her smile, her soft personality, her sweet kisses, and her loving soul. How did he miss out on her before?

“Well, don’t just say it. Show me.”

-

It’s been a month since Harry left for tour and although he promised to check on her every day -it stopped. 

At first, Y/N thought nothing about it. After all, maybe he’s just busy with his shows (you know since he’s touring the world but after a while, he stopped answering her texts. That’s when she knew he was doing it on purpose. 

At the moment, she was working at an art gallery in East Los Angeles. Luckily, she was working in the offices upstairs sorting their finances. It was hard at first finding a job and that was something she never told Harry.

Every record label and management wanted nothing to do with her. Y/N could barely leave the house without a group of girls whispering behind her back. Lastly, she still had new recent paparazzi pictures of her on daily mail.

Without Harry, she felt lonely and excluded from everyone else in Los Angeles. She still cried herself to sleep on some nights because she just felt like an overall disappointment.

/

Knocks on her door make her confused as she cooked herself some lunch in the kitchen. Dusting her hands off on her apron, she lets go of her knife and tomato and heads to the foyer.

“Hello.” There she was. In real life. Harry’s ex-wife. Y/N has only seen her once and now that it was her second time, she still felt intimidated. 

“Hi.” Y/N unties her apron and hooks it on the hook beside her. She felt insecure to be in such a lousy outfit compared to her boyfriend’s supermodel ex-wife. 

“I’m sorry I came out of the blue. I got your address from my assistant and I wanted to speak to you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Come inside. Did you see any paparazzi.”

“Harry told me to go through the back.” Does she still speak to Harry? He’s been ignoring me for a few days now. 

“Um Okay. Would you like anything?”

“No.” She gives a soft smile as she looks around her apartment. She eyes Harry sweater laying on the other couch and takes a swallow. “I wanted to see you face to face than through call. Plus I wanted to see the apartment my husband would sneak off to every night.”

“I’m sorry about what Harry and I did to you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She shakes her head. “You’re just sorry because you got caught.” Y/N’s eyes widen. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came here to get some closure so I can move on with my life. We sold our house in hidden hills. Although my marriage was broken I think being publicly humiliated was traumatizing enough.”

“I understand.” she tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he make you feel special? Make you feel like your the only girl in the world?” She eyes her apartment once more. “Does he fuck you until you forget your own name?”

“I’m sorry what the fuck.” Y/N stands up and crosses her arms. “What are doing here? Get to the point.”

“I’m just here to tell you that whatever he makes you feel right now, it’s going to disappear. After all, he’s famous. He can have anything in the world. It won’t take too long until he gets tired of you.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“You should’ve gotten out of my marriage before you weaselled yourself in bitch!”

“Leave!” Y/N shouts. As she takes the woman’s Gucci bag and throws it towards her door. After she left, Y/N couldn’t help but cry and lose her appetite for lunch.

I’m a whore. I’m a whore. I’m nothing but a whore.

~

She was starting to get used to having a pale life. Where there were no butterflies or colours. No new exciting promotions or scenarios at work. Now she adapted to a routine of eat, sleep and repeat. 

What sparked her day differently today, however, was the arms wrapped around her as she woke up in her sheets. It was him. 

“Harry?” She slowly opens her eyes as she turns onto her back to see him half-awake as he laid down on the pillow beside her. 

“Hi.” He gives her a soft smile. 

“What are you doing here?” She sits up and looks at her phone. “Don’t you have a show tomorrow in Canada?”

“Mhm. I missed you though.” He pulls himself closer to her and kisses her arm. 

“You’ve been ignoring my texts this past week.” She pushes her arm off him and pouts.

“That’s because I was busy and I was scared I might tell you my little secret a bit too early.”

“What?”

“Get dressed.”

~

Y/N kept silent as she watched Harry drive in his car. She sat in the passenger seat observing the way he drove. One of his hands on the wheel as the other held her hand. The shades on his eyes resting so pretty on the bridge of his nose. He was such a dream to look at. 

“How have you been, baby? How’s that job at the art gallery?” He glances at her before pulling his hand away so he can take a bite out of her bagel. It was the early morning so the sun was just about to rise as they continue to drive forward.

“It’s been boring. No one has been really talking to me. If they do, they ask if I can get you to meet them.” She rolls her eyes and takes his arm so she can take a bite of the bread in his hand. 

“Your boyfriend is famous? He can’t be that popular?”

“He was actually trending for a few days.” She smiles. “How have you been?”

“I’m still getting shit from my management because of what happened a month ago.” He takes another bite of the bagel as he keeps his eyes on the road. “You know, I think if the gossip sources would stop talking about it, everyone could move on. This is about us not them. They’re just judging us without any mercy.”

“I know.” Y/N thinks back about the death threats flooding her Instagram dms. 

“We’re here.” Harry signals his light as he turns into a long-hidden driveway. Suddenly a big beautiful white home comes into view. Y/N never thought houses this big would be in Malibu.

“Who’s house is this?” She asks as she gazes at the beautiful sunset behind the home. The ocean was beautiful as the sunlight reflected against it. Harry ignores her as they both approach the main door.

Y/N was waiting for him to knock or call the owner but instead, he opens it. “Harry, you can’t do that!” He smiles and looks at her.

“Why not?” He walks in and looks straight at the big window showing the water. 

“This isn’t your house.”

“True.” He shrugs his shoulders and turns himself towards her. He takes his hands and rests them on her waist. 

“Then uh who’s is it?” She widens her eyes and looks around the beautiful big home. 

“It’s ours.” 

“What? Is this why you’ve been ignoring my texts?” he nods as she jumps into his arms. 

“I was a bit busy decorating a new home and running a world tour.”

“I love you. I hope you know that.” She gives a small smile and hides her face in his chest.

“I love you too baby.” He smiles and spins her around. “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for the new home.” she pulls away and looks at the view in front of them. She takes a big gulp and looks at him.

And as much as Harry thought this was his happy ending with the girl he loves, he never took into account how much their exposed affair has impacted her. 

He never realized that she didn’t want to stay in California anymore. That she feels like a new stranger in this life that she built. That her dream career was taken away from her. What’s going to happen? Can love truly sustain them both as reality continues to stuff their consequences down their throats?  

“As much as I want to live here with you here, Harry… I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m ready.”   

“Y/N.” Harry was not expecting that answer. “It will be like the usual you know, you already know what to expect.” He tries to convince her.

“No, I won’t.” She shakes her head. Why does she have to always be the one to ruining things for them? Maybe, because on the inside, she feels like a house can’t make her feel better about her new life? “You’re going to be gone most of the time. What happens if we end up like your marriage?”

“Don’t you see I’m trying?” He speaks a bit more in a serious tone. “I know with your new job you won’t be able to live in your shoebox apartment without your mum’s help. I want to take care of you!”

“What are people going to think? You’re living with your mistress!”

“Fuck what people think! I thought you said we were going to be in this together.” He was confused. Why couldn’t she just live with him in this house he bought for her.

“Harry, I did say that and I still do but don’t force me to move in with you. I’m not ready.”

“What can possibly be holding you back?” His voice softens. 

“My life is falling apart and being picked every day!” She rubs her eyes in frustration.

“Everyone knows we’re together, isn’t that what you wanted.”

“Not like this, Harry. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do but it happened. Now we can just be together despite what they say about our cheating scandal.”

“No one wants to hire me” She looks at him again with disappointment in her eyes. 

“You have a job already at the gallery. What do you mean?”

“The owner owes a favour to my mom but I can’t use anything useful with all the experience I have. Every management and label rejected me before I could even get an interview.”

“Are you saying all of this is my fault.” He scoffs. “Y/N, it's a job. There are tons more out there that you can use your experience for.”

“I don’t think you understand how important my job was to me.”

“The job that I got you?” He sarcastically replies back. “I’ll try and get you-”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Okay fine, you don’t want to move in with me. Where do we go from here?” He lets out a sigh and looks around the home. He was mad they weren’t going to live here but he didn’t want her to leave him.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. I understand. You can leave, they all do.”  Y/N immediately looks away from the window and looks at him instead. 

“Who said I was leaving. I love you.” She raises her hand next to his. “We can wait until I feel like I’m ready to start a new chapter.”

“Actually I have a plan.” He smiles mischievously at her and pulls her out of the home.

Thankfully, Harry brought her to a hidden beach where they could spend some time together after being apart for so long. They spent hours talking about their lives and new things they haven’t shared with each other before.

Y/N even told him everything about how she’s been feeling these past few days. She came to the decision that Los Angeles isn’t for her anymore. And although she would love to live with Harry, she needed to figure out her life first. After all, this was her only serious relationship.

And because he was so understanding and patient with her after he learned about everything she was hiding from him. He made sure to be the boyfriend he should’ve been a year ago.

That’s when she knew he had to marry her.

~

2 years later…

“Harry!” Y/N calls him from the stairs. 

It’s been two years since they began to date publicly after their affair was exposed. Luckily a few months after, his divorce was finalized and the media laid off their backs. 

Now the couple lives happily together in their new home but it isn’t in Malibu but instead his home in London where he first brought her to. It’s were they made up and realized that they belong to each other -this had to be their home. And suddenly it felt like London belonged to them where they can start a new chapter in their lives. There was barely any paparazzi here and everyone accepted Y/N with open arms, especially Anne. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” He runs down the stairs with a gym towel on his shoulder. 

“Take Evelyn please.” She gently gives their 1-year-old baby to her Finacé. “I have to run down the office. Louis needs me.”

Funny enough when they moved to London, a job offer was presented to her from Harry’s bandmate Louis Tomlinson. Due to their long term time hiatus from the band, he decided to start his own management company and help aspiring artists start their journey off in the right hands. 

Now, Y/N worked as a marketing agent for the company. Although there was no Rob or Marissa, she did find herself having more memories here at fearless management. 

Maybe the only thing left to do is get married?

You taught me a secret language

I can't speak with anyone else

And you know damn well

For you, I would ruin myself

A million little times

[sapnxps]

(WTL) Chapter One: Greg the Neighbor- Georgenotfound x Reader

If I knew that when I moved to London, I'd have two weird neighbors, I'd laugh in your face. Now I'm friends with an old cat lady. Now I'm enemies with my cute neighbor that's definitely not single, who also screams too much.

Even though he's a dick, why can't I stop thinking about him?

My parents told me I’d regret moving to London from the state before I left because I’d miss them and the US too much.

They were half right.

I’m sitting on a box messily labeled ‘kitchen’ in the hallway of my new apartment complex. I huff, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead. The moving bill is almost 4 thousand dollars. If I knew moving would be this expensive, I wouldn’t have moved out from my parent’s house until I was 40. Sure, I moved a lot of my belongings across the Atlantic ocean, but 4 thousand dollars? Who do I look like, Jeff Bezos?

Today has been hectic, to say the least. Three of my boxes somehow drifted away to Spain. Don’t ask me how that happened, I don’t even know. I’ve been unpacking by myself all day. A box of my kitchenware got shattered upon arrival. I should’ve listened to my Mom on that one, she told me to just buy plates and glasses here instead of shipping them here. Big mistake I’m never making again. Finally, the biggest chunk of my problems: My apartment is full of boxes and I don’t feel like unpacking. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for two days, maybe not, but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. If one more thing goes wrong, I think I might lose it.

Begrudgingly, I lift myself up from the box I was sitting on. It’s a bit dented now, but the way it felt on my ass, it’s just pots and pans. I open the door, pulling this box into my apartment. I weakly push it into the kitchen. It collides with one of the boxes filled with shattered plates. The sound of the broken glass sliding across the box sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I need to make a note to properly dispose of that. Turning my head to look around my new home, I feel my brain's short circuit. All these boxes unpacked, I’ve barely made a dent. This is going to take for-fucking-ever. Moving is modern-day torture. Oh, that’s funny. Remember to tweet that later.

The next three hours of my life are taken up by filling up my kitchen cabinets and drawers with cutlery and various kitchen utensils. The counter was now less bare, housing my toaster and breadbox. My Tupperware containers sat in a special place in the far-right cabinet by the sink. It looked like this home was lived in, as long as you didn’t glance anywhere else besides the kitchen.

I soon after tackled the bathroom, which was the less intimidating room compared to the living room and bedroom. I got the shower curtain hung up, which made it look nice. The rug found its way to the floor, protecting my feet from the cold, cream tile. The shelves were now stocked with a few fluffy peach towels and soaps. Underneath the sink had cleaning supplies as well as spare toilet paper. Living alone meant having nobody to give you another roll if you finish the other one. Kinda sucks. I had a boyfriend during high school, and two years into college. I dreamed of living with him, we planned it all out. I’d finish college, we’d move to a city and rent out the tiniest apartment we could find. We’d live it out until eventually we made ends meet and the rest would be. Dreams cut short though, he cheated. It’s part of why I left in the first place. Needed a change of scenery, new people.

That’s where I am now. New people. Stuck on that part. Haven’t gotten a chance to meet any, which is oh so tragic. I can’t decide if I want to introduce myself to the neighbors or let them come to me? I’m stuck pondering on the thought until I hear a knock at the door. I wonder if my lost boxes have mysteriously arrived.

Opening the door, I’m greeted with an older woman, holding out a small cake into my space.

“Hi dear, I’m your neighbor to the right. Heard all the commotion, saw all the boxes. I had to see for myself the fresh meat in the complex,” She paused before lightly tapping my arm with her free hand. “Just teasing! It’s great to have another lady on this level. The young man to your left, handsome fella, never comes out much though. Hopefully, we can have a girl posse or something,” Her posh accent made her much different than me. Is it wrong to already feel isolated?

I grin at her, moving out of the way to invite her in. “Nice to meet you, feel free to come in. I apologize for all the boxes scattered around, moving has been proven to not be quite my talent,”

The woman smiles brightly at me, shock plastered on her face. “You’re American!”

“That I am,” I chuckle. She hands me the cake, which I gladly accept. My diet has consisted of soggy hash browns from the complex lobby. She makes her way to what is settled in the living room, politely setting herself on my suede blue couch across from the large wall in the room. I place the cake on my counter by the stove, making a mental note to grab a slice once the woman leaves.

The shock never leaves her aged face, “Oh goodness! How amazing. I have a foreigner as my neighbor. You’ll find London quite lovely. I know how it feels to be isolated and removed from what you’re used to, but I promise you’ll fit right in,” She says as I settle myself on the loveseat a bit away from the couch.

“Where are you from?” I ask. She obviously isn’t American.

She smiles, “Just a bit east of Surrey. South of London. Beautiful area, grew up on a small cottage,” The woman was glowing as she spoke of her hometown. She was obviously proud of where she grew up. Compared to my southern Arizona town, this place seemed like heaven. A cottage? Sign me up.

“Sounds lovely,” I speak truthfully.

“Welp,” The woman slaps her laps, a way of signaling it’s time to end the conversation. Despite only speaking for a small amount of time, she seems like someone I can come to if I ever have questions about London or the terminology that I hear around the city. I’ll need to remember that she’s the neighbor to the right. As she began to see herself out, I remembered the other neighbor she mentioned. The young man to the left. I believe she used the term ‘handsome fella’ to describe him. Once she was out in the hall, I felt the need to find out more information.

“Oh!” I shout, hanging myself out into the hallway. She pauses her steps, turning back to me. “By the way, who’s my other neighbor? The guy you were telling me about. Does he have a name?” I ask.

“Greg,” She nods, resuming her short walk back to her apartment.

Greg. Ugly name.

I completely forgot about the conversation by dinner time. As I was munching down on my cake, delicious by the way, I heard loud yelling from my right side. I wouldn’t even call it yelling, more like high-pitched screaming. Who was my neighbor over there again? Greg? Greg. He was causing a ruckus and a mere heart attack at that. He was screaming so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I heard it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s facing a very, very gruesome murder right now. Well, I guess I don’t know any better. I’m just wishing for the very best.

Another hour passes. The yelling never stops. It’s only 8, but my body is as awake as ever. I still have yet to get used to the new time zone. At times it was difficult, but I’m using it to my advantage now. I have some extra time to unpack and get my actual bed ready. My bed frame was put together professionally during lunch, so that was one thing checked off my list. The mattress I ordered was delivered yesterday. Now it was just the matter of putting the sheets on and preparing my duvet.

Fitted sheets fucking suck to put on a bed. I was currently struggling to put it on my nice mattress. It was edging close to 10 pm. The sky was dark, and I was stuck in some odd mixture of a starfish and the downward dog position. If this moment was a picture, it could be used for blackmail. The closer I got to finally getting the top right corner on my bed, the more stretched out I became. I was like one of those sticky hands you’d get in those toy dispensers at the grocery store. I was just about to get it, when another loud shriek could be heard. In shock, I slammed my head on the bed frame and lost grip of all four corners of the sheet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

Whatever. He probably has a greater reason to be screaming like this, right? Justified shouting, whatever you want to call it. My bedroom is closer to his apartment than the kitchen was. Is it nosey to try to figure out what he’s saying? I don’t want to be that type of neighbor. I’ll continue minding my business because I don’t want to find out some weird shit about Greg that I don’t want to know.

The screaming never stopped.

In fact, if anything, it got louder. And louder. And louder. Is it okay to call the cops here?

It’s midnight now. The next fucking day. And Greg is still screaming at the top of his lungs as if everyone else isn’t asleep. If I saw some normal citizen just trying to get some rest, I’d be fed up. Well, I’m still fed up. I’m also running on a messed-up sleep schedule, so it’s not like I was trying to sleep anyways. My bed is made now, and comfy as hell. I built a shelf to house some of my small decorations, with the entertainment of my noisy neighbor’s yells to accompany me. For some odd reason, it made me feel less lonely.

At about 2, I began to reject the company. I felt irritation grow in my chest as I heard the same high-pitched shrieks that I heard at 8. The annoyance that bubbled in me overtook my politeness. Before I knew it, I was up and in the hallway banging on his door. I didn’t have the time to care about my Daffy Duck pajamas sticking to my legs due to the heatwave hitting England right now. Before I even realize it, my fist is slamming on his door. I never knew I had the power to knock that hard, but my anger and blossoming resentment overpowered me. I continued banging until the door pulled away from its frame. Now I’m face to face with Greg.

Boy was he handsome.

I was met with a man, about 5 foot 9. His dark brown hair was disheveled. Strands of hair laid across his forehead messily. If he wasn’t screaming, I would’ve thought he was sleeping. He was wearing a fluorescent green hoodie with an odd smile plastered on the front. It was a bit large for his skinny frame, that’s unimportant though. His grey sweatpants were twisted on his legs. What the fuck was he doing? His face was delicately shaped. This jawline looks sharp yet fragile like it was constructed of the most fragile rose crystal I’d ever seen. His brown eyes reminded me of caramel, thick and way too easy to get lost in.

“Hi, uh Greg-” I start. I’m just realizing now how close I am to him. The scent of his spearmint gum floods my nostrils. It’s a bit powerful, crinkling my nose at the smell. It wasn’t gross, just very shocking.

“George,” He spat. That’s fucking embarrassing. I’m meeting him for the first time and I got his name wrong. I’m not taken aback for long though, because his attitude oozing from his simple correction was enough to disgust me. I’ve done nothing wrong to him, except maybe get his name wrong. Was my moving too much of a nuisance to him? Poor little British thing, he can deal with it.

I cringe, “Oh, um, sorry.”

He leans into the door frame, sweatshirt adjusting to the movement. Forget a tiny bit large, he was swimming in this thing. “Yeah, no problem. Can I help you or are you selling girl scout cookies at,” George checks his watch. “2 in the morning. If you are, I’m not interested, sorry ‘bout that,” His outfit makes me feel a lot less aware of mine. Despite his face being rather attractive, the outfit makes him look like he just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you could lower the volume a bit, please. Or just stop screaming entirely, if possible. I don’t know if you have some weird shouting fetish, but I certainly don’t,” I chuckle. George, however, doesn’t chuckle. Actually, he looks rather unamused. If a human was an art museum, it would be George. Curling into a ball and falling into an endless void doesn’t sound too awful right now. I think I’ll add that to my itinerary. I’ll do it in my bed so I’m at least comfortable while I’m drowning in my own self-pity.

He grimaces, “Yeah. Sure.”

He’s blunt. Got it.

The second I turn my back to the door, it slams. Wow. What a cunt. Shaking the interaction off, I begin to feel the wear and tear of the day beginning to hit me. Moving all those boxes made my muscles ache. The solution to all my problems today seems to be going to bed. Not that I’m not okay with that, just funny. The day before I left for London, you’d think I was shocked by lightning. The electricity that was running through my veins was no match for any ADHD medicine the FDA had ever approved. Now, my body is beginning to fall victim to the earlier time zone. Not that it was a big deal, it was going to happen eventually. These next few days would just entail a difficult sleeping schedule. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

I quickly find my way back to my own bedroom. The yelling was quieter, but I could still hear George through the thin walls. He was murmuring to someone softly. This apartment complex was all 1 bedroom apartments. He didn’t live alone. How lovely! I made a fool of myself to him, and he was most definitely telling his partner right now. Talk about dignity, am I right?

I scrolled through my phone for an hour, before the screaming returned to its original volume. Would it be overdramatic to say I felt my face go red with anger? I don’t think so. I think I handled the situation as politely as I could. Hell, I even cracked a joke so he could know I wasn’t that upset over the situation! If I knew he was going to resume his disruptive noises, I wouldn’t have been so nice or absolutely hilarious. Nobody that douchey gets my amazing humor. He didn’t even laugh! I hear another shout followed by a slam to a desk. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Welp. Welcome to London!

[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 8: Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

summary: finding shelter in an abandoned home, you try to keep your wits about you and care for the still unconscious Joel until some trouble comes knocking

word count: 3,792

content warnings: mention of gore and impromptu medical care, more canon-typical violence, death, murder, arrival of.... cannibals, y'know the deal hurt/comfort

notes: i didn't mention it last time but yeah, your shit really can kill you if you get your lower intestines punctured lol it's a real thing and gnarly af

read on ao3 / masterlist

You woke up in a start. Heavy breaths taking hold in your lungs. The small, barely considerable amounts of sleep were getting to you as they had been for the last month as more and more night terrors racked your brain. Rubbing at your eyes, you pushed yourself up to begin your usual routine.

It had been a couple weeks since your little group found yet another abandoned home and it took some hell of maneuvering to get Joel into the basement but it worked. The winter snow was coming in full force and it was peritive you all kept Joel as warm as possible, there were too many odds stacked against him.

Walking over to his prone body, you checked on his wounds once more as you did practically every couple of hours. He was looking worse for wear, even changing out the gauze could only do so much. Whatever small amounts of clean water the three of you had went to cleaning it out, hoping to stave off the infection.

Joel was, by all means, not doing well.

To top it off, even with your meager amount of medic training from your days with FEDRA could never prepare you for the long-term haul you were in with Joel, he was dying. The bastard was dying and you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault.

Night after night you were haunted by the image of him falling off that balcony, the sounds of his groans of pain still lingered in your head even when you were awake. It fucking sucked.

He was asleep now, he barely woke up since everything went to shit at the university then at the mall. That in and of itself felt like a lifetime ago. You put a hand against his forehead, feeling how his fever still hadn’t broken. With the chill in the air as winter was fully settling in making your fingers cold as ice, he didn’t even flinch away. You closed your eyes and sighed, still not wanting to give up. Not for Ellie, not for Tommy, not even for the grumpy man himself.

A quick glance out the small basement window told you it was nearing dusk which startled you. Ellie had left when the sun was at its peak, sometime around noon, surely. She had been gone much much longer than she normally would have.

Usually it was you who left to go hunting for food once your supplies dwindled but Ellie wanted to help relieve the burden from your shoulders and you reluctantly agreed. Yo hated to admit you needed a break. She had argued she wanted to get better with her bow and arrow and she certainly did, often bringing back animals of various sizes. It was her way of coping with potentially losing Joel, something she confided in you that was one of her biggest fears.

Thoughts of Ellie swirled your mind and you paced back and forth, chewing at your fingernails. A nasty habit you suppressed most days. A part of you wanted to go find the girl, follow Callus’ tracks in the snow. Another part of you didn’t want to leave Joel by himself.

Fuck, you thought.

Compartmentalizing you figured if she didn’t return within an hour, you’d go looking for her. If you couldn’t locate her within a mile radius, a strict rule you enforced her limited hunting zone to, you’d hunker down with Joel and wait until morning to find her and scold her for being irresponsible.

You stopped your pacing to look at Joel’s face, seeing how his face was still warped in the painful scowl he hadn’t let go of. His features were beginning to slowly become gaunt as the small amounts of food you’d been able to get him to eat the rare times a day he’d wake were coming far and few in between. Even his usual tan skin was slowly softening to a cooler shade of bronze. He looked like death.

Joel, by all means, was a handsome cowboy. Even with his patchy beard that was littered with grey hair in a few spots. Now he just looked like a ghost of himself.

Okay, fine, you admit to yourself. With Joel down, you’ve kind of missed the fool. You missed the banter and arguing with him about stupid shit. He irritated the daylights out of you because he always wanted to jump headfirst into things without a care for his safety clearly but dammit, the lack of his presence was palpable. You hated it.

You sat beside Joel, removing one of his hands from under the blanket to hold. His hands still rough and calloused, mirrors of yours if you weren’t missing a finger. Once upon a time, you remembered hearing that coma patients could sometimes hear what people said to them, that it helped. Maybe talking to him now would help not just him but you as well, to keep your mind occupied. Maybe pass the time a little. Maybe.

“Hey, it’s me, you grumpy bastard,” you started off lightly. “I don’t know if you can tell but you’ve been puttin’ that girl and I through hell and back trying to keep your ass alive.”

A hollow laugh escapes you, feeling a little more choked up than you’d ever dare to admit. Composing yourself you tried to use playful banter. “How do you do it, cowboy? Ellie is a goddamned handful. Shit, I thought I was bad when I was a teenager,” you sniff, feeling your voice waver.

“When I first laid eyes on you two, I think it would have saved me a whole lotta trouble and pain if Maria let me shoot you,” you sigh dramatically. Even though there was a smile on your lips, it didn’t reach your eyes. What did were the tears that were slowly forming. The added stress of Ellie being missing was really wearing you thin.

Amongst other things.

“Y’know,” you sniffled, “you really hurt my feelings back at the university. When you thought I led the two of you into a trap.” You took a sharp inhale. “As much shit as you and I put each other through, that was the one thing that stung. More than anything.”

You squeezed his hand and sighed, closing your eyes. Admitting that was hard, stars know you’d never say that to Joel while he was conscious nor in front of Ellie.

“Don’t die, you asshole,” you begged softly, wiping away the light tears that coated your lashes, reluctantly letting go of Joel’s hand as you tucked the blanket around him tightly.

After you said your piece, your mind became overrun with the little turd you grew fond of. The more you began to worry about Ellie, the more your thoughts swirled rapidly into worst case scenarios.

Before you worked yourself into a much deeper frenzy, a loud metallic bang echoed from upstairs. You ran up the steps and came face to face with Ellie, looking just as frantic. She raised her hand and in it, a tied white rabbit, so white it was nearly silver in the dim lighting. “I got food,” she said breathlessly.

“And,” she shoved you aside and took off to the basement, “I got this. Can it help?”

Ellie reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe and orange bottle, she handed it to you while kneeling next to Joel as he shifted in his sleep. You were still rather shocked to see Ellie who looked faintly bloodied and tired, before you could comment on the new rifle on her shoulder, you took the bottle and were damn near milliseconds from riding into her until you read the faded label of the glass container.

Penicillin.

“Where the fuck did you get this, Ellie?”

Without waiting for her to answer, you dug in your pack and pulled out some disinfectant alcohol and a gauze pad to clean the syringe and a spot on Joel’s arm. Ellie refused to look up from where she kept her gaze focused on Joel’s face, “‘s not important.”

“If I wasn’t so mad at you right now, I’d kiss you.”

Throwing away all the questions you had for her, you administered the antibiotic as quickly as you could, he sighed as the medicine entered his body. Although, it was likely you were giving him too much, truthfully, you didn’t think it would hurt him worse than he already was.

As he relaxed underneath your hands, you looked down at his wound one last time for the evening. The haphazard stitches were taut on his stomach where the swelling was, hopefully by morning, he’d be better.

You didn’t look up from Joel as you laid into Ellie, “I don’t want excuses about where you were, only that you promise me to be more careful in the future, please.”

“Ye- yeah, I promise.”

“Good,” you covered Joel back up, “Now go get some rest. I’ll take care of the rabbit and wake you when it’s done.”

You turned your back to Ellie, it wasn’t that you wanted her to feel bad for her little disappearing act. You just needed some space to gather your thoughts. Between being Joel’s caretaker, Ellie’s temporary guardian, and keeping yourself sane, you were a wreck. You needed a moment.

Before you took a step on the stairs you paused. “Good work on getting the medicine, kiddo. Joel would be proud of you too.”

She didn’t respond as you walked away, the implication that although you were upset with her, you were still proud lingered in the air. Mindlessly, you focused on the rabbit, doing what needs to be done to cook it for dinner, pushing away those lingering worries. Ellie was safe, you reminded yourself, she came back.

It didn’t take you long to finish with your meager dinner, still pretty damn proud of Ellie’s evolving hunting skills. Maybe you’d offer to teach her a couple snares in the morning to leave out overnight. Although they tended not to gain anything bigger than a rabbit or a squirrel, something was better than nothing and you’d figure it would help Ellie focus on something other than Joel’s condition.

You bounded down the stairs, bringing the freshly cooked meat with you. A small shake to her shoulder and she was awake, “Dinner’s ready.”

Ellie didn’t bring her gaze up to look you in the eye, likely still ashamed. The two of you still sat in silence eating, occasionally looking to Joel for any changes or whenever he shifted in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding small.

“I know, Ellie. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just worried.”

Once again, the silence encompassed you both like a blanket, warmer now than it was before. You broke it first, “I was thinking about teaching you a couple snares in the morning. How does that sound?”

Ellie wiped the grease from her fingers on her jeans and looked up, “I think I’d like that.”

Just like that, the two of you were on even footing. It didn’t feel right to be mad at each other, not when Joel wasn’t there to diffuse. Either way, it was much like when you were the one in between their own fight that day you’d met them, it wasn’t healthy when you all had to rely on each other for survival. At least with Ellie, she was quick to forgive and forget in the face of the larger picture. A quality you kind of admired in the young woman.

Both of you finished with your portions of the meat, saving the rest for the morning or for Joel if he wakes in the night. Simultaneously you shuffled through the remaining ammo together, doling out some spare bullets to Ellie for her shiny new rifle, still not going to ask how she acquired it. Let her have her space.

She took the bullets graciously, reloading her sidearm and long range weapons and placing them in her backpack before getting ready for sleep. You stayed fiddling with your own weapons for a few moments longer before calling it quits too.

You laid down on the opposite side of Joel, biting your lip and hoping for the best. You tossed and turned, not knowing if you could take facing Joel’s sickly frame but you also couldn’t turn your back on him and Ellie who laid on her backpack on his other side.

Please, you wished, let the medicine take.

These kinds of wishes filled your mind until you slowly drifted to a fitful night’s sleep.

By morning, you happened to find yourself shaken awake with Ellie’s face close to yours, “Wake up, I need you awake!”

You jumped up, onto your knees. “What is it,” you ask startled, afraid Joel was worse than he was when you fell asleep. Looking at Joel, he didn’t look like he deteriorated in the night, but he also didn’t look like he improved any.

“I was tracked,” she says as if that explains anything. Both of you have your hands on each other's arms in a failed attempt at communicating the other’s panic.

“What do you mean ‘tracked’, Ellie?”

“Those people I got the medicine from, David and-and James, they fucking tracked me!”

“Ellie, what the fu-.”

“Look, listen, I’m gonna draw them away. Keep an eye on Joel,” she tells you in a rush, letting go of you and bolting up the stairs, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

“Fuck,” you practically shout while getting up and looking out the window. Outside you see silhouettes of a few men, searching the nearby area. Frustrated, you kick the washing machine.

Shit, shit, shit.

You don’t know what to do, you feel tied down once again because of Joel’s condition and Ellie’s neverending saviour complex. You mumble out a few more expletives at this situation just as you see the girl bound down the street on Callus shouting for the intruder’s attention. As she rides away, you hear bullets being shot at her, getting further and further away from you.

You carelessly threw your denim coat on and opted to grab your knives instead of guns, hoping to kill anybody who came close without alerting the others. Out the basement window, you could see a few of the men still lurking about, choosing not to follow Ellie.

Just before you followed Ellie out of the house, you doubled back to Joel, kneeling forward and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll come back, I promise you Joel. Just please, don’t die on me now.” Another kiss on his warm skin and you left without stopping, barricading the basement door as if it was left unoccupied.

Everything in you wanted to panic, your muscles were screaming to fold in on yourself and heave what little food remained in your stomach but you couldn’t give in. Not when Ellie was in danger. She may have been a pain in the ass, but she was your pain in the ass.

After your conversation last night, you’d be damned if anybody hurts your girl.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your worries free and cleared your mind. Although you were a field medic by title with FEDRA back in the day, working with them turned you into a killer. It was a toxic mindset for you, even when you had joined the Fireflies, they took advantage of your ability to focus on one thing and one thing only, turning it into their own game - death.

It took years to shake off that blank emotionless part of you, even Tommy was afraid of it when he saw the horrendous things you were capable of, what the Fireflies exploited from you, but Tommy wasn’t here and the people you loved were hanging on by a thread.

It was easy to see the outlines of the few straggling men who searched the nearby homes, whatever Ellie did really pissed them off. Now, these people only pissed you off.

You stayed lurking within the shadows of the homes, even with the sun just getting ready to set, it wasn’t too difficult to stay hidden. Especially to those who weren’t familiar with the layout. It was easy to spot how the few men tended to remain within a handful of yards together, opting not to venture out into the buildings alone. Alert and yet unorganized as you could see how they would often turn their backs on each other, giving you such a delicious opportunity to sneak in and out, weaving through them and taking them down one by one.

Was it absolutely horrible this was your instinct? Maybe. But you had two people you wanted to protect, two absolutely annoying yet selfless humans who gave you hope. You did love Joel and Ellie, even if you hadn’t admitted to it yet. Besides, you had a whole lot of stress burdening your shoulders and you wanna hit something.

You watched as the small group approached one of the homes off to the left, allowing you ample room to get close without having to cross the street in the open. You took off running, not bothering to try and conceal your footprints in the snow as you got to the house besides the targets. You entered through a broken window - a common for every single house on this block. Taking lighter footsteps, you ducked by the windows and reached the second floor landing.

The homes in this area were built within close proximity to the others, making it easy for, say, somebody needing to jump between windows without being seen. Perfect.

You listened hard and close as the men shuffled and tossed things around the first floor, looking for any sign of Ellie and ‘those two people she was with’. You growled lowly, really hating the implication that these people knew about the three of you.

Taking another assessment, you noticed there were two men standing guard out the front of the house, idly walking to-and-fro, their conversation remaining on wishing they were chasing Ellie instead.

A deep breath in and you jumped with an ‘oof’, trying to make as little as noise as possible, aiming for a wide open window with a snow covered bed on the other side. Between the snow and the mattress, the noise was cushioned to only a small thud, thankfully concealed by the thuds of the men downstairs shuffling through rooms. You quickly got up and went to the doorframe and saw there was only a hallway and stairs leading down.

You took deeper breaths again, trying to center yourself for what you were about to do as you heard one person come up the stairs - alone.

Placing your body flush against the wall, you waited in stark concentration, drawing your knife from its sheath. The footsteps came close, nearing the room you were hiding in and just as an armed gunman came in, you rushed him. Putting one hand against their forehead, you pulled the other hand and dragged the knife into their throat, essentially cutting off the person from making a noise and ending their life. You pulled and lowered their body as they began to choke out, laying them on the floor gently against the wall, carelessly hiding the body.

Downstairs you could still hear shuffling of the other invader and you made your way to them, silently assessing.

From what you could tell, the other person was banging around in the basement. So you rounded a nearby corner to where the open basement door was until finally, finally, somebody came through. You took him down just the same as his buddy.

So unorganized, you thought. If they were really looking for you and Joel, they were doing a piss poor job of it.

You swiped a bottle from the kitchen as you strolled past, taking aim out a broken window. Giving it a nice little toss, it shattered against the other house and without fail, you heard the tell-tale signs of one of the other men asking ‘what was that’. You ducked behind the faded curtain until one of the targets came into view, watching how he was pensive and alert, fortunately he was by himself which made the next part just as easy.

As soon as the man walked by the window, you jumped out from your hiding spot and jabbed your hunting knife straight into the soft squishy part of his eye, surprisingly facing little to no resistance.

You pulled it back and repeated the motion again once the man made an audible noise, probably alerting his friend. In only a slight rush now, you jumped out the window and removed your blade, now stalking towards the front when you could hear the other man yell the other’s names.

Wrapping around the corner of a house in a whirlwind, you surprised the last one when you stood face-to-face with him. He looked at you, astounded, mouth agape and dropped his weapon - a handgun. Looking down at his body, he whimpered as he took in the sight of your knife now buried deep in his stomach as you yanked them up into his chest piercing his heart.

Copper scent filled the air as the hunter’s body gave out. His blood spilling down your front. Under normal circumstances you would’ve likely vomited all over yourself but considering the innate need to protect Ellie and Joel, all that shit is blown out the window.

All in all, maybe thirty minutes have passed, you wanted to check on Joel but the distant gunshots were making you worried. At the very least, the longer they went off, the longer you knew your little fighter was alive.

Okay, think, you tried to get yourself to focus. You came up with a rapid-fire plan and before you could second guess yourself, you ran. Refusing to stop. Each step in the plush snow found you closer and closer to your hideout.

Entering the home through the garage, you gave Whiskey a pat as you walked on by and headed straight for the basement. You pushed the undisturbed barricade from the door, grateful it signaled that Joel was safe. Entering the downtrodden room you grabbed your holsters, strapping them maybe a little more tightly than you should’ve and throwing your backpack over your shoulders. You double-checked your weapons, making sure they were fully loaded.

Once again, you kneeled next to Joel as he laid on the dirty mattress, huffing from the rising pain from the stitch in your side. “Joel? I’m gonna go back out and find Ellie. I’m gonna go get our girl,” you said.

You hoped you were telling the truth.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (5)

    jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst + soft joon cameo

words: 3.9k

      chapter five

You tossed and turned for half the night and when you finally managed to fall asleep, your phone buzzed with a text message. Sticking your hand out from under the covers, you kept your eyes closed as you looked for your phone and debated throwing it against the wall so you could keep sleeping.

Driven by some sort of a pathetic hope – what if it was him – you opened your eyes after all, only to see that the text came from a student in your Sociology class, Namjoon. You were supposed to work on a project with him and he was wondering if you were free to meet him at the library today.

“It’s Saturday,” you texted back sleepily, thanking the God for autocorrect, “I don’t mind but don’t you have plans?”

You put your phone back down, hoping to get at least a few more minutes of sleep, but another text message came in almost instantly.

“Everyone will flock to the library on Monday and pick out the best books,” Namjoon said in his text, “so I’d like to get a head-start. Would 9 work for you?”

Nine in the morning – considering that it was eight right now – was absolutely not going to work for you because you were still half-asleep and weren’t motivated enough to have breakfast, shower, make yourself look presentable, and drag yourself across campus in an hour. But you didn’t want to be a nuisance, so you texted back, “sure! See you at 9” and sighed your way into the dorm bathroom.

Thankfully, everyone else seemed to be still asleep, so you got the whole place to yourself and could shower for as long as you liked, without fearing that someone was going to rip off the curtain, separating your naked body from the rest of the room – it was the sort of fear that didn’t go away in all of the three years that you’d lived here.

The shower did wake you up but, with waking up, came the memories of last night and the disappointment that Inna had brought home.

Truthfully, what hurt you the most wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had presumably spent the night with some other girl but rather, the fact that he did so right after you decided not to purposefully sabotage your budding friendship with him and, instead, give it a chance to see what happened.

Well, you saw what happened and you didn’t like it one bit. So, on the other hand, maybe this was for the better. Clearly, there was still a lot of the old Jungkook – the one you knew and loved once upon a time – left in him, but there was also a part of him that you had never gotten to know – that was the part responsible for the end of your friendship seven years ago.

And, stepping out of the shower in your robe, you decided it’d be best to never get to know the foreign parts of him. Obviously, some of those feelings you’d had for him all of those years ago – actually, a lot of those feelings – had survived the long hiatus and were very much making a comeback – if they ever truly went away, that is – so it was best to quit before you got burned. Again.

And then, by a stroke of simply awful luck, you exited the communal bathroom only to see a familiar figure leave someone’s room down the hall. Being the only two people here, the two of you immediately took notice of each other, and you were starting to wish someone had ripped that shower curtain off so you could have died of embarrassment back there, instead of suffering through seeing Jungkook right here.

“Hi,” he said, just as surprised to see you here even though he walked you home yesterday and knew very well where you lived. “W-why are you up so early?”

“I have plans,” you said, your answer more curt than you’d intended. Being subtle would probably work better since you didn’t want him to know how hurt you were.

“Oh,” Jungkook said. He noticed that you didn’t ask why he was here which could only mean that you knew. “Can I walk you? I was on my way home anyway.”

“I’m not going out in a robe,” you said, “I still need to change.”

“Well, I can—I could wait,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans to hopefully stop them from clenching into fists. Your coldness was messing with him.

“No need,” you said, abandoning all hopes for subtlety, “I’m sure you’d rather get back to your—well, friend, I guess. She’s probably waiting for you inside.”

You wanted to walk past him into your own room – and would have done so, too, if you were only a little faster – but he was quick enough to get his hand out of his pocket and grab your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you jealous?” he asked and you began fuming at this—very observant and absolutely correct—accusation.

“What? I’m not jealous,” you lied loudly and proudly. “I just think it’s funny how you’re trying to get your life together one moment, and then go ahead and sleep around the next.”

He let go of your hand. “I—”

“If that’s your version of drinking responsibly,” you added with a scoff, “then I have to tell you, it’s not all that different from any other type of drinking you’d been doing since you started college.”

“Drinking—are you going to preach about absenteeism to me now?” he asked, suddenly focusing on the wrong thing. “That’s very closed-minded coming from someone like you. I thought you were—”

“I’m obviously not who you thought I were,” you cut him off again, even angrier now that he’d touched you – just like that time at the party last week – because, despite the circumstances, the softness of his skin felt outrageously nice.

“Okay, fuck!” he couldn’t help raising his voice. “I’m still trying to catch up on all that we’ve missed about each other.”

“Why?” you demanded. “Why does it matter?”

“Because we were friends once upon a time,” he quoted the words you’d said to him and you groaned as you recognized them.

“Once upon a time was a long time ago,” you said. “Maybe what’s in the past should stay in the past.”

Jungkook had gotten into physical fights more times than he could count and yet he’d never gotten punched just by someone’s words until now. It hurt and, frankly, he’d have preferred it if you’d socked him in the eye instead. At least that way you could both could see the damage done.

“Right. Well, in that case, it’s really none of your business how or how often I’m drinking,” he said, his hurt feelings coming out in chilly, stone-hard sentences and you’d already heard him tell you something like this before. You should have listened and hung up the phone as soon as he called to apologize about it.

“Hey,” you raised your hands in defense, “you’re the one who called me last night.”

“I was drunk,” he shot back, his voice as cold as yours had been, “I barely even remember it. Don’t think it means anything or gives you the permission to—”

Not realizing what excellent liars you both were when you were angry, you allowed yourself to listen to him until his words started to sting too much.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said then, turning around to go back to your room. He didn’t try to stop you this time. “I never thought it meant anything.”

You were late to meet Namjoon at the library because, after having closed the door of your room, you didn’t dare to come back out into the hall even after you dressed up and got ready, in case Jungkook had lingered. But it all turned out to be just wishful thinking – he probably left as soon as you went inside – and there was no sign of him anywhere when you did finally come out.

Well, that was that. This time last week, you had been on your way to visit Jungkook at the hospital, and now your very unsuccessful attempt at reconnecting had ended. 

You should have seen it coming, it’s been far too long. Pretending that it hasn’t and rebuilding your friendship on memories had, clearly, not worked.

“So sorry I’m late,” you announced to Namjoon when you finally reached the library, all out of breath and with a very poorly hidden bad mood.

“It’s alright,” Namjoon replied, showing you his cup of coffee, “I stopped by the café next-door, so I just got here myself,” he said and then realized, “oh! I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what—”

“Oh, no, there’s no need,” you plopped down into a seat opposite him. “I had a quick cup before I left the dorm. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded and, taking a sip of his beverage, gave you a look that he’d hoped appeared as nonchalant and not at all suspicious – even though it was – and, as soon as he placed his cup down on the table between you, he inquired somewhat awkwardly, “are you okay?”

You were busy taking your backpack off and putting it on a chair next to you, so his question took you off guard.

“Hmm?” you turned to give him a look. “I’m fine, why? Is it about being late? I was just—”

“No, no, it’s just that—well, nevermind. I thought you looked upset,” he said and then regretted ever bringing it up. His perception had gotten him labeled as creepy several times before. “Sorry if that’s out of line for me to say.”

“No, it’s, uh—” you looked down, unsure if pouring your heart out to someone who was virtually a stranger to you was such a great idea since you obviously sucked at making – or, well, remaking – friends. “I am somewhat upset, I guess. I got into a fight with—with a friend before I left. But I promise it won’t interfere with my work!”

“Ah. Sorry to hear that,” Namjoon said and he sounded genuine, which was nice, considering he didn’t have to try so hard for someone who was just his partner for a Sociology project.

“Yeah,” you spoke and allowed the quiet atmosphere of the library on this early Saturday morning to engulf you both before finally saying, “anyway. Do you have the literature list, perhaps? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“I have it on my phone,” he said and, in an attempt to sit up straight and pull his phone out from his back pocket at the same time, he spilled some of his drink on the table. “Oh, shit, uh—sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, reacting immediately and reaching for a pack of tissues you always carried in the outer pocket of your backpack. You extended it for him. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he took one out and wiped his own hand first before cleaning the drink off the table.

“Is your hand okay?” you asked. “The coffee seems to be hot.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said with an awkward laugh. He’d already showcased enough of his inability to function as a normal human, he didn’t want you to have to deal with the stinging pain of his palm, too. “So, anyway, as I was saying, I have the list on my phone. I can send it to you and then we can split up to find the books faster.”

“Okay. That sounds great!”

And it really was great because, aside from being somewhat clumsy – he spilled his coffee again when he was pushing his chair back to get up from his seat and then dropped his phone as he was attempting to clean the new puddle – Namjoon was also an honest, dedicated worker and you appreciated that. You’d already had to work on many projects with peers who were more than happy to let you do all the work.

“I love the library at a time like this,” Namjoon told you from the other side of the book shelf as you two began to freely roam the near-empty library, browsing for books. “Not crowded with people, I mean.”

“Yeah, I love it, too,” you agreed. “But I don’t get to see it often, to be honest. I’m one to jump on the bandwagon and come here when everyone else comes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, usually, I’m like that, too. But I started coming on weekends recently. It’s blissfully empty here, especially in the morning.”

“Everyone’s probably hungover,” you observed. “Parental Advisory had one of their usual ragers last night.”

“Ah, yes,” Namjoon nodded and then, somehow hesitantly, asked, “why weren’t you there?”

He made it sound as though you were supposed to be there and, for a minute, you wondered if your very few public conversations with Jungkook ended up bringing more attention to you and him than you’d realized.

“I—well, I don’t really go to those things,” you admitted, “it’s not really for me. I was home, binging on TV shows instead.”

He laughed – not mockingly but rather, understandably. Like he could relate.

“That’s my usual weekend, too,” he said then, confirming your thoughts and you gave him a smile through the gap between the books on the shelves. “I’ve been catching up on the movies I’ve missed during mid-terms.”

“Oh?” you picked one book up to check the edition and then put it back after realizing it wasn’t the right one. “Did you watch anything last night?”

“I tried to give the Kristen Stewart movie a shot,” he replied, dragging his finger on the spines of the books as he looked for the one he needed. “But it didn’t do it for me.”

“Underwater?” you asked. You had dragged Inna to see this movie in the theater with you. “I didn’t like that one, either. Even though Kristen Stewart was, predictably, great.”

“Oh, you’ve seen it, too?” he seemed surprised as he stopped and glanced at you over the shelves.

“Yeah, horror movies are much more my thing than campus parties,” you said.

“Really?” now he was properly intrigued. “Mine, too.”

You stopped browsing as well and your eyes met even if your bodies were separated by shelves of books. Not wanting to make this awkward, Namjoon didn’t let his gaze linger for too long before he looked back at his phone and continued his search for books.

“What would you say were your Top 3 horror movies of the last few years?” he asked, not just to keep the conversation going, but also because he was genuinely curious. He hadn’t met a lot of other people who were into horror.

“Only three?” you put your hands on your hips, deep in thought. “Okay. I’d choose Get Out, Us… and Midsommar.”

Namjoon wrinkled his nose at this. “Midsommar? Really?”

“Yeah,” you looked at him in confusion. “Why? It was good!”

“Well, it wasn’t bad,” he said, “but it just… I don’t know, it didn’t have enough horror elements for me. You do have good taste, though. Get Out is definitely one of the few late-decade films worthy of its’ horror genre.”

You couldn’t deny that but felt like you had an addition, “I actually quite liked Hereditary, too. It was different from what I usually watch.”

“Is that the one with the actress from The Sixth Sense?” he asked as he pulled a book from the shelf nearby to check the cover.

He was truly proving to be a project partner sent from heavens as you squealed, forgetting the library rules for a minute, “Toni Collette! Yes!”

He turned around, surprised by your excited tone.

“You liked The Sixth Sense?” he asked with a laugh, then.

“Loved it,” you said, still overwhelmed by the realization that you two seemed to share the same taste in movies. “It’s one of the best movies out there, in my opinion.”

“I think it might just be,” he agreed. “I’ve never seen Hereditary, though.”

You stopped walking and turned to him with wide eyes. “No. Are you serious? It’s terrible! I mean, terrible as in, I had to look away from the screen several times and I’m not one that gets fidgety during horror movies. That really proves how good it is.”

“Ah, yes, as the rating for horror movies goes – boring, decent, bad, terrible,” he counted with his fingers as you both laughed. “No, I don’t know, I just somehow never got around to watch it.”

“I have it on my computer,” you found yourself saying, “if we wrap this project up quickly enough, we could watch it. If you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” he said, smiling, and then stopped himself, “although, I don’t think the library allows that sort of activity here.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” you thought about it for a moment and then came up with a plan, “well, are you free on Monday? We could work on the project at my dorm and watch the movie then. My roommate has classes in the afternoon, so it’ll be quiet.”

You hadn’t even realized that you were inviting a guy you’d almost literally just met over to your room and neither had Namjoon as he considered your offer – trying to remember his own schedule for Monday – and then nodded. 

Truthfully, he didn’t even consider that there could have been some concealed intentions behind your invitation – he genuinely wanted to watch this movie with you since it seemed to have left an impression on you.

“Okay, yeah,” he said finally. “Monday sounds good. I’ll bring my books.”

“Great!” you’d have clapped your hands together if you weren’t holding three books and your phone. “I’ll bring the movie.”

Shortly, the two of you had finished your search for the books for the project and Namjoon excused himself – apparently, his drunk roommate had lost his keys and couldn’t get home – agreeing to meet you at your dorm on Monday.

You didn’t even realize it until you sat down by the table to put the books into your backpack but discussing your favorite movies with Namjoon had helped you forget all about your fight with Jungkook. Smiling solemnly to yourself, you concluded that you were actually feeling surprisingly well right now in comparison to how disheveled you’d been when you first arrived here.

Deciding that it was your choice how to feel about your second falling-out with Jungkook, you chose to move past it with surprising swiftness. If a good conversation was what it would take for you to forget about him, then you were just going to have to find more interesting people to talk to. Inna, once she sobered up, would work perfectly.

You’d have probably succeeded at this plan if it weren’t for the two girls that just arrived to the library, sunglasses and paper cups of coffee in hand. You merely glanced at them, choosing not to say hi even though you thought you’d seen them around the dormitory, as they sat down a few seats away from you.

“Okay, listen, why does it matter that he left early?” one of them was saying as you pulled the zipper of your backpack, opening it up. “Everyone still knows that you went home with Jungkook last night.”

That’s when you froze, focusing all of your energy into not turning around to look at them again. 

One of these girls was the girl whose room Jungkook had left this morning.

“Yeah, but so what?” she replied to her friend. You knew you had to keep putting the books into your backpack or else you’d look weird just sitting here, obviously listening. But moving with minimal noise, so you’d still be able to hear them, was difficult. “Nothing happened between us.”

“I mean, not nothing,” her friend countered and then hesitated, “you did kiss, right?”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know. We kind of did,” her friend said and you found yourself drowning in waves of hotness. You decided you should probably go if you wanted to still have a chance at the swift-moving-on you’d planned. “But it was really more me, kissing him. He didn’t even—he was just there, you know what I mean?”

“Was he drunk?”

“No—well, yeah, we both were,” she giggled. You mentally gagged as you hurriedly stuffed the books into your bag. “But he was sober enough to recognize where I lived.”

“He knew where you lived? Girl, that’s good!” her friend clapped her hands together.

“No, but he didn’t, he just—he knew someone in the building,” she said. You sat up straight suddenly and the two girls stopped talking. Trying to play it cool, you coughed nervously and pushed your chair back, standing up. They carried on, “anyway, I think he just went with me because he wanted to visit that friend who lived there. But he tripped over the door on our way in, and I said that maybe we should stop at my place first, I could get him a drink or something. He said, ‘yeah,’ so we went and… he fell asleep basically as soon as he entered my room.”

“What? Seriously?” her friend asked as you zipped up your bag.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “I sat him down on my bed, left to pick up some snacks from the mini-fridge, and when I came back, he was full-on snoring.”

“Shit. Maybe he’s sick or something.”

The girl wasn’t so sure. “Or maybe he’s just not into me.”

Choosing not to listen anymore or else they’d have to notice you loitering, you picked up your backpack and headed for the exit. Your mind was buzzing and even the walk across campus to your dormitory didn’t help make it stop.

Apparently, Jungkook hadn’t slept with the girl that brought him home – he just let you assume he had. Not that you’d given him a chance to deny it, to be fair, accusing him of sleeping around one second and drinking himself blind the next.

It was clear that you’d overreacted and, in a moment of weakness, you considered calling him to apologize. But then you stopped and reconsidered – he’d told you it wasn’t your business to worry about his drinking. He’d told you his late-night phone call meant nothing and that he could barely even remember it.

So, maybe the argument in the hallway meant nothing to him, too. Maybe you were the only one still thinking about it while Jungkook was already off, doing whatever he did Saturday mornings because, God knew, moving on came easy to him.

Deciding that it was time you listened to him when he told you not to get involved in his decisions, you exhaled shakily and put your phone back in your pocket. 

There was no point to apologize to him about anything.

It was over.

keep reading | masterlist

[ds-ts-smut-fics]

Lovely Boys [Chapter One]

Summary: Janus and Logan are both in love with Remus, it’s just a matter of who can convince Remus of their feelings first. 

Trigger warnings: NSFW, real hardcore insecurity, not the healthiest habits, rough sex, being caught (kind of, they’re not walked in on), mention of abusive and negligent past exes who neglected proper BDSM rules, some very rude degrading self talk, sl*t as an endearing term

Genre: Hurt/Comfort smut (Sub Remus, dom Logan, switch Janus), intruloceit 

Written by: Virgil & Claire

Edited by: Virgil 

A/N: This is completely written, so unlike Sweet On You, the whole thing should be posted relatively quickly/consistently lmao. We set out to write a quick one shot and then wrote an angsty 40 pages. ~Virgil

Remus fell in love with Janus the moment they moved in together. 

He walked through the door with his arms loaded with half-closed luggage, and when he saw the man standing in the kitchenette, he realized what a mistake he had made responding to the ad. He was thin, with vitiligo paling his otherwise tan skin. His hair was dyed yellow, with floofy bangs that hung in his gray eyes. 

Without looking back, Janus hummed softly. "Hello, you're certainly not welcome… Come in and put your things down? You would be Remus, I presume."

Remus cleared his throat and tried not to stumble over his words. “Yep!” He kicked the door shut and dropped his luggages with a loud clatter. “Yeah, that’s me, Remus. You’re, uh, you’re not Janus, are you?” Surely this was Janus’ super hot boyfriend— Not someone Remus had to converse with regularly without imagining him… Just, never mind. 

"I am… I hope you weren't expecting a female…" A frown crossed his face as he turned, showing black painted nails as he tapped his cracked lips. "That would be unfortunate indeed."

Remus coughed. He was, actually. “That’s not the problem here,” he said cheerfully, quickly averting his gaze from Janus’ nails, his mouth. “The ad sure didn’t warn me I’d have to be able to withstand sexy roommate syndrome.” 

Surprised laughter bubbled from his lips as he leaned on the counter. "Oh, my… You're quite a charmer, aren't you? At least you didn't run. I promise not to bite unless asked~?" 

Remus shuddered. “Which way’s my room?” He squeaked. Don’t pounce your new roommate. Real shitty first impression. 

Waving him to follow, he labeled the rooms, opening Remus' door for him. "I do hope you're not afraid of snakes, or the gays~?"

“Snakes?” Remus grinned and bounced after him. “You have snakes?!” 

Nodding, he smiled. "I shall introduce you after you unpack and we eat dinner?"

Remus flushed dark red. “You want me to eat with you?” His voice came out a little more subdued. 

Janus nodded with a frown. "Yes? It's rather important to me to make sure people I know are taking care of themselves— Just ask the debate team! I bring snacks and water to every practice debate."

“Well…” Remus straightened up with a grin. “Then I’ll help cook!” 

Remus rushed back to the front door and grabbed one of his overstuffed suitcases, which had bursted open upon impact, and dragged it towards his room. Dirty laundry, lewd comics, and crinkled sketchbooks trailed behind. 

Picking up after him, Janus nodded. "That sounds entirely doable…. Split the food budget and alternate dish duty then?" 

“Mhm!”

Remus got all of his shit into his room, and throughout dinner, he had somehow managed to not slobber all over everywhere staring at Janus. He wasn’t… Entirely prepared for his roommate to be so hot and so gay. So he had fallen pretty fast, and then tucked away any notion of his feelings being returned. For safety. 

That was pretty simple, until he met Logan. 

Frowning softly, Logan nearly ran over someone in the sidewalk, stumbling and holding his bag. "Terribly sorry… Do you know where 241 is?"

Remus brightened up. He’d had a pretty shitty morning, what with walking into the kitchenette to find Janus shirtless and somehow Remus spilled hot bacon grease on him, but this boy was extremely cute. Any excuse to get his mind off the embarrassment! 

“I sure do!” A predatory grin slid over Remus’ face as he squinted up at him, the sun in his eyes. “Headed there right now, why don’t I escort you and keep you safe from all the assholes headed that way?” 

"A capital idea indeed… Would that indicate that you are also taking anatomy lab at this time?" Falling into step with the smaller boy, a small smile tugged at his lips. He's too cute… That streak in his hair, the mustache. I want to know how that would feel. Oh, dear.

“Mhm!” Remus’s cheery voice, and his arm wrapping around Logan’s, broke him out of his daze. “Right now and later tonight if you’re up for it!” 

Blushing, he nodded. "Perhaps… See if you can keep up with me as a lab partner and then we can see if you're still up for more~?"

Remus looked up in surprise. His shitty pickup lines never worked! He laughed a bit. “Are you shitting me?” 

"If you are truthfully asking and can put up with my, admittedly very dominating, personality, I see no reason to not try at least a one night arrangement. Unless you were joking and are in fact straight?" He tipped his head gently with a smirk. 

Remus shivered in excitement. When was the last time he was dommed? He ruffled Logan’s hair and giggled. “I can handle you if you can handle me!” He yanked him into class, picking the seat next to Logan and glaring at anyone who tries to sit near them. 

Laughing lightly, Logan hummed, setting up his workspace carefully and nudging Remus to do the same. "Focus, show me how well you take direction. Think of it as an interview for the position you desire~?"

Remus grinned. It was the slyest, shittiest way anyone’s ever convinced him to do his classwork, and he loved it. He couldn’t help going home that day with the biggest grin, rushing around to make sure everything’s ready for Logan’s arrival. 

Logan had a bounce in his step as he collected some supplies before coming over at precisely the time they had discussed, knocking.

Remus threw the door open with a manic grin. “My roommate won’t be home for a few hours,” he said as he grabbed Logan by his shirt and yanked him inside. “Do what you will with that. Bedroom’s this way.”

Chuckling, Logan tugged Remus around to stroke his face. "Mmm, then shouldn't you kiss me, Rem~? Show me how much you want to study with me…"

“Anything you say,” he whispered, and shoved their mouths together. 

Remus hadn’t kissed anybody in a long time— Several years, in fact. He was probably sloppy, and not the best, but he enjoyed it and fully intended on making it up to Logan with his… Obedience. 

Sighing, Logan took him into his hand, guiding their kiss to press him into the nearest wall, encouraging his mouth to open and humming appreciatively at the taste of mint. Remus whimpered softly. He almost wouldn’t mind just doing this until Janus gets home. Logan was more commanding than Remus had really expected, manhandling him around exactly how he wanted, and the way he kissed is nothing short of wonderful. 

Slowly pulling back, Logan cupped his face with a soft look. "Such a good boy for me… Show me to your room, I want to see all of you, my dear. Tell me your safe words, hmm? Also, you preferred term of endearment while you are mine~"

Remus groaned and nearly buckled. “Slut,” he said instantly. “And, uh, colour system. This way.” He tugged Logan into his room with shaking hands. It was cleaner than usual, but Remus was still Remus, and there was clutter spread about that he simply hadn’t thought of until then. 

Chuckling, he hums. "Perfect… my little slut~!" Giving another deep kiss in praise, he gently spanked Remus' ass. "Put some music on and strip for me, show your dom what he's working with~"

Remus hurried to plug his phone into his speakers with an excited grin. 

Sitting on the bed, he hummed. "Make me want that ass more, my slut… "

Remus stripped for him, and it wasn’t exactly a tease so much as it was Remus impatiently tugging off his clothes and looking at Logan with wide, validation-seeking eyes. 

Sliding his legs apart, showing the erection tenting his pants, Logan crooked his fingers. "Good boy… Help me out of my pants and you can suck me as a treat, my lovely one… I'm finishing in your sexy ass, though~ "

Remus bounded over and knelt between Logan’s legs, impatiently tugging at his jeans. He got them down to Logan’s knees, yanked his boxers down as well, and ducked down to take Logan into his mouth. 

"Oh~!" Fingers tangled in the surprisingly soft hair, he moaned out. "Fuck, Remus~! Such a good little slut, aren't you~"

Remus whimpered around his cock, wanting to respond but not daring to pull off. Instead, he pushed deeper, taking all of him. 

"Yes, you are… Swallow too, Rem… Want to fuck your throat~" Tugging at his hair, he guided the motion to slowly fuck his mouth. 

Remus moaned happily and swallowed every few seconds, though mostly drool dripped down his chin. He let his mind float off, gripping Logan’s hips. Had he ever been in subspace before? He didn’t think so. 

Humming, Logan grinned as Remus relaxed, taking over completely to fuck into his throat. "Such a good little slut… Earning a treat before the main event~" 

Remus mumbled something unintelligible around Logan’s cock, eyes rolling back. 

"Tap once for yes, two for no… Your mouth is full~!" Taking him deeper, he hummed, cutting off Remus' air a little more. Remus gagged and rubbed his cock against the blankets, hips stuttering. He tapped hard, once. Logan grinned, thrusting faster. "Going to cum for master, my slut~? Only after I feed you the treat you've earned… Master cums first unless you have permission~!" 

Remus whined and tapped along Logan’s hips in two-tap intervals, hips hunching. 

"You beg so prettily… How can I refuse~? Cum for me, Remus~ " Using his mouth and throat, he moaned out, watching Remus fall apart.

Remus sobbed out as he came, nails digging into Logan’s hips. He didn’t pull off, as much as his throat spasmed and his back ached. 

Stroking the soft hair, Logan moaned, tugging to warn Remus as he came hard. "Oh, fuuuuck~"

Remus inhaled sharply and nearly choked, but forced himself to swallow it down with watery eyes, his cock already hardening back up. 

Petting him in apology, Logan moaned out, "Sorry, my slut… Couldn't hold back with the way you came apart for me~!" 

Remus leaned into his pets with a little whine. “It was good,” he rasped, “I liked it.” 

Stroking Remus' face, he wiped away the tears, encouraging him up to his lap. "I'm glad… "

Remus kissed him sloppily, hands rested on his chest. “Need you, master,” he mewled. 

Kissing back, he grinned, petting the wiggling sub. "Mmm, let me get a condom and finish stripping as you present for me, sweetie… I'll let you pick whether you see me or I take you from behind~"

Remus bounced out of his lap with an excited giggle, flopping onto his tummy and tucking his knees underneath him. It was the best position he’d ever tried— He’d never felt anyone deeper. 

Logan laughed as he saw the plug, giving Remus a squeeze. "Good boy… Do you always wear the plug or is that special for tonight~?" 

He flushed deep red. He’d honestly forgotten he had it in… “Mostly just for tonight, but, um… Sometimes, you know…” 

Nodding, he stroked the amazing ass presented to him, sliding on a condom and kneeling up. "You need to feel full, claimed? It's okay, my slut…"

Remus clenched and forced up a manic grin to push away the tightness in his chest. “Nah, I’m just a cockslut! Get going?” 

Humming, he slid his cock over Remus' crack, teasing the plug as he tugs his hair to pull him into a kiss. "Mmm, it's okay if it's both, Rem… I'm definitely down for this to be a repeatable event if you are~ "

Remus can’t help it slip out, in a pathetic little whimper: “I’ve been that good?” 

"Yes, Rem…. so good~" Removing the plug as they make out, he pressed in slowly. 

Remus whimpered and buried his face in the pillows. “Ah… Yes, master, so good!”

Kissing at Remus’ neck, he took the slim hips with a moan, slowly bottoming out and starting to thrust. "So good for me, my pretty slut~! Oh, Remus~ "

“Master!” Remus cried out, thrusting back against him. “Master, harder!” 

Growling, he nipped at Remus' neck, thrusts speeding as his fingers tighten on Remus' hips, bucking into him wildly. "Fuuuck, oh yesss… take my cock, slut~!"

Remus’s legs fell open and he sobbed into the pillow, coming without warning with a little shout. 

Nipping his ear, Logan growled, fucking him through the high without pause. "Mmm, that good, hmm~? Break for me, slut… Shout my name for the entire building to hear~!"

“Logan!” He whined, squirming and gripping onto the sheets. “Ah, Logan, please! Too- Too much!” 

Bending to press deeper, Logan chuckled in his ear. "Unless you use a color you will take it exactly as I give it to you, slut~!"

Remus let out a high whine and thrusted back into him wildly. “I’m sorry, master!” 

"That's a good boy~! Submit to your master, slut… " Working him to that edge again, he eased back when he felt those clenches. "You're mine for as long as I desire to give you my cock and attention~!"

Remus drooled on the pillow as he took Logan’s cock, whimpering. He’d lay himself out for Logan every ten minutes if he asked him to. He realized with a deep fear settling in his stomach that he would do absolutely anything for Logan, just to keep him around. 

Nuzzling his neck and shoulders, Logan spanked him. "Stay in the now even when you're floating, slut… focus~!" 

“Sorry,” he gasped, “I’m sorry, master!”

Taking a moment to kiss his ear, Logan hummed. "I know…. Just don't want to lose you to the past or bad thoughts… Stay here, feel good with me, Rem~!"

“Yes, sir! It’s so good! Can I please come again, please please?” 

Grinning, he sped his thrusts again. "Clench for me, make me cum and you can cum with me, Rem~"

Remus clenched down with a whimper, the pillow under his face soaking wet. 

Moaning out, Logan thumbed him open wider, watching him take his cock deep. "On three, pet…. One… Two…" Remus gasped and fought desperately to hold on. Pressing in deep, he slammed against Remus’ prostate, and came with a moan. "Three~"

Remus came with a sob and a shout of Logan’s name and title, pressing his face deep in the pillow. 

Janus paused with his hand on their front doorknob. Logan…? Is that Remus?!

Logan moaned out and grinned, burning the noise and feeling of Remus coming, laid out under him, into his memory as he filled the condom. He kissed and marked Remus up, hips slowly moving to ride the high. "Oh, gods! Remus, such a good boy~"

Remus moaned brokenly, his knees giving out to leave him flat on the mattress. “Master,” he managed. 

Logan stroked Remus' face and tipped it for a kiss, shifting their positions to settle him in his lap after pulling out and discarding the condom. "Good boy, such a good boy… So proud of you! Show master where the water is, sweetie?"

“Kitchen,” he mumbled, blushing bright red at the praise. “You can just leave me at the table, I can take care of it.”

Frowning, he shook his head, picking him up for more cuddles and heading for the bathroom instead. "No… You're worthy of aftercare, my dear one…" 

“What?” Remus buried his face in Logan’s shoulder. “You don’t have to. I can handle it.”

Petting him with a hum as he filled a glass, he smiled. "Remus… Look at me? I would be a terrible dom of I EVER left a sub without aftercare… and I am not that kind of person. You are worthy, and you were such an amazing boy for me!" 

Remus covered his face. “Thank you, master,” he whispered. 

Nuzzling, he smiled. "You're welcome… Show me your face, dear? You need to drink some water…"

Remus obeyed, drinking all the water Logan gave him. He didn’t realize how dry his throat was. 

Stroking his cheek, he smiled, refilling the glass and offering it again. "Good… More. Relax into me, sweetie… Enjoy the care…"

Remus had never had aftercare before. He decided he enjoyed it. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, sipping some more water. Then, as quietly as possible, “I’m hungry…”

Nuzzling, he smiled. "In a moment, dear…" Taking a cloth, he dampened it, cleaning them up a bit. "I know you said your roommate was unlikely to return, but… at least a blanket for you?”

“He’s seen me naked before. I sleep naked, and sleepwalk.”

Chuckling, he nuzzled lightly. "Mmm, for me then? Warmth and softness feels good as you come back to earth after a session, dear."

“Yes, sir.” He blushed and nuzzled back into him. “Anything you want.”

Heart clenching, he sighed. "You're so sweet…" Lifting again, he carried Remus back to retrieve a blanket, making him into a burrito. "Tell me what you're hungry for?"

“Waffles,” he said instantly. “I have frozen ones in the freezer. They’re blueberry.” 

Nodding, he scooped Remus into his arms after slipping his boxers on, missing the sound of the other bedroom door shutting carefully. "Waffles it is, then. Butter, syrup? Perhaps some time I can make you fresh ones~?"

“We don’t have a waffle maker,” Remus said sadly. 

Humming, he lifted his chin. "Ah, but I do… That was an invitation to my place, for next time~"

He lit up. “Okay!” He grinned and pecked his lips. “Sure!”

Kissing back softly, Logan laughed, and got started making the waffles. "Wonderful! You're entirely too precious to be just one night… "

Remus sniffled and forces his grin to stay up. “No… You’re probably just desperate.” He laughed. “I’m an easy fuck, you don’t have to pretend I’m not!” 

"Remus…" Cupping his face, he sighed. "Was it easy to see that we had a common interest in hooking up, yes… However, I also admire your keen mind. I was attracted right off the bat, but I would like to see more of you. As friends, or friends with benefits, or more if that's where the path leads us…"

Remus’ grin faltered as he met Logan’s eyes. It took all he has not to burst into tears— What a shitty, pathetic way that’d be to end their night. “Do you wanna… Sleep over?” 

Gathering him into a hug, he smiled. "If your roommate is okay with it, sure. How about a movie night and cuddles?"

He grinned. “I have a lot of movies! I’m sure Jan-Jan won’t mind, he’s super laid back.” 

Arching an eyebrow, he chuckled. "Must be if he lets you call him that… But I have an idea that you'd call him nicknames even if he said not to?"

Remus pouted. “Nicknames are my love language.” He hesitated, fiddling with his fingers. “Do you… Not want me to call you nicknames?”

Humming, he lifted Remus' face. "Don't magnify my fond tease to an expression of dislike, Rem… I don't mind one bit!" 

Janus listened near the door of his room, debating on going to the kitchen as his stomach twisted into knots. What is this feeling… Jealousy, but of whom?! 

“Okay,” he mumbled with a cute smile. His stomach growled loudly. 

Chuckling as the toaster sprung the waffles up, he stole a kiss. "Now… Butter, syrup, or both… And yes I will be cutting them up and feeding you while you sit on my lap, my pretty little one!" 

He blushed bright red. “Y-yes, sir… Both, please…”

Logan slathered them up, cutting them for him as he slid Remus over into his lap. "Looks good, hmm? Open up!" Remus opened, hands rested on Logan’s chest. Logan smiled as he fed him gently. "Such a good boy!"

“No,” Remus whined. “Nuh-uh.”

Kissing his cheek, he smiled sadly. "Why not?"

Remus looked away with a little shrug. “You’ve seen it.”

Tipping his chin back to feed another bite, he hummed. "Pretend I'm an idiot. Explain to me why you're not a good boy deserving of praise?"

Remus hesitated. “Do I have to?” He asked in a small voice. 

"No, you don't have to… I'm too curious for my own good sometimes." He stroked Remus’ cheek. "However, if you want to talk about things, I will listen. I’ll try to make you feel better."

For the millionth time that night, Remus could cry. “Shut up,” he mumbled with a sniffle. 

Smiling, he cuddled Remus close. "It is okay to use me as a literal shoulder to cry on, Rem… No judgement."

“I don’t need to cry,” he insisted. 

Breathing out, Janus decided to make his presence known, stepping into the kitchen as if summoned by the lie. "Whyever wouldn't you? Crying is healthy and a good release…" 

Jumping a little, Logan cleared his throat. "Indeed…" Janus is his roommate? Oh, gosh. 

Remus’ heart dropped. “Jan-Jan? When- How long have you been home?” His skin crawled in embarrassment. The dried tears still stuck to his face from earlier, wrapped in a blanket, and sat on a boy’s lap… He probably looked pathetic. 

Smiling, Janus stroked his hair lightly. "Mmm, if you're asking if I heard you two making friends… I did… I'm a tad jealous, he's cute…" 

Logan blushed softly. "Remus is adorable indeed…"

Remus’ face turned bright red. He buried his face in Logan’s shoulder. “Sorry, Janus… We wouldn’t have been so loud if we knew you were home.” 

Logan pet him softly, embarrassed, but chose to focus on Remus, helping him hide. 

Janus sighs softly, flushing lightly. "Remus… It's okay. Truly.” Then, he mumbled, “It covered up my moans nicely…"

Remus blinked. “Huh?”

Logan chuckled. "I believe we gave him, uh, motivation to touch himself, my dear…." 

Janus nodded, blush deepening. "The nerd's right… "

It didn’t quite compute in Remus’ head, until he forced it to make sense with a nod. “Logan is a really good dom, isn’t he?” He blushed and looked up at Logan. He was so handsome, and hot, and commanding… He didn’t blame Janus for wanting him, too. 

Janus resisted the urge to facepalm. "He did seem to elicit quite a reaction from you…" Damnit, you dense man! I wanted to be him, not fuck him!! 

Logan laughed softly. Oh my… Janus has a crush on Remus…

“He made me waffles,” Remus said with a delighted grin. “And he’s been really sweet afterwards… If you two hit it off, maybe he can make you feel good, too, Jan-Jan! Have you ever had aftercare before?” 

“You- You’ve never had aftercare before?! How?!” Janus tripped over his words, looking over Remus and stroking through his hair. “We can get a waffle maker… Do you want more?” 

Logan muffled a laugh, stealing a bite before offering Remus more. "I know, right? I want to find those negligent doms…" 

Together they finished with a low growl, "-and beat some sense into them!"

Remus, startled, looked between the two of them and wilted. “Is it… A common thing?” He managed. 

Cuddling Remus, Logan nodded. "It is supposed to be… As it was explained to me, a dominant partner takes the power gifted by the submissive to make their scene reality, but aftercare is the return of that power?" 

Janus nodded. "It also gives the pair time to relax, make sure that both are okay? Especially if there was a lot of degrading language or impact play, sometimes a dom needs reassurance that they didn't go too hard, and the sub is truly okay."

Remus nodded slowly. He wanted to explain that he didn’t need that, not really… But he didn’t want to. He yawned and curled into Logan’s chest, nuzzling up under his chin. 

Smiling, Logan petted his hair and offered another bite of waffle. "Even if you think that you don't need it, it's a good thing for both scene partners, Rem."

“Mm,” he mumbled. “Jan-Jan, we were gonna watch some movies, do you want to join? You don’t have any early classes tomorrow, do you?” Remus glanced at the clock. It was getting close to 11. 

Janus hummed thoughtfully. "I have a ten o'clock… But I think one movie would be alright." 

“Yay!” Remus doubted he could even stay awake for longer than one movie, so that was perfect. He nuzzled into Logan again then stood on wobbly legs, and nearly fell over. 

Logan chuckled and scooped him up with a soft kiss. "I think I broke your legs, Rem~!"

He giggled and blushed, looking over at Janus. “Whoops.” This is so embarrassing… What does Janus think of me now?

Janus snorted, reaching over to stroke Remus' cheek. "It is a good look on him…. Being cared for. Just relax, Remus… I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

If Remus could blush brighter, he would. Since moving in with Janus, he had seen every form of not-self care Remus took part in, ranging anywhere from unhealthy meals, skipping classes, and degrading comments about himself. Janus always made a fuss, but Remus didn’t think he meant it that strongly. 

Nodding, Janus grabbed a blanket and the remote, working with a blushing Logan to get them settled with Remus in the middle, draped over Logan's chest. "Indeed… you just lay on me and relax, Rem…" 

“Yes, sir,” he breathed before he could really think about it, eyes fluttering shut as he snuggled into Logan’s chest. 

Logan's heart squeezed as he kissed Remus on the head, not noticing Janus frown in jealousy. Why is it him that gets you to relax and take my advice on care… Remus, why not me?!!

Remus only lasted halfway through the movie before passing out, little snores blowing out his mouth. 

Janus inspected his nails, refusing to let his anger seep into his hushed voice as he asked, “So I assume you guys are dating now?” 

Stiffening, Logan finished tucking Remus into bed and turned, voice cold and hushed. "Shall we discuss in the living room so we won't disturb him?"

Janus rolled his eyes but obeyed, leading Logan into the kitchenette and starting on a mug of coffee. 

Following after retrieving his clothes and dressing, Logan took a mug and sipped. "We hadn't discussed anything like that… And I don't think he's ready. He was certain that this was a one night hookup and that I would leave after. I intend to work up to at least friends with benefits, but I assume you want him as well?"

Janus stiffened. “Remus is my best friend, nothing more. Wouldn’t dating him prove that he’s more than just a hookup to you? What do you mean ‘he’s not ready?’” He scoffed. “I see the way he looks at you— Hell, I see the way he looks at everyone. He’s just waiting for a boyfriend to drop into his lap. Are you sure it’s him that’s not ready, or were you just not prepared for the commitment?” 

Growling softly, Logan's fingers tightened on the mug. "He's not emotionally ready… I wouldn't want to take advantage of that raw need! Do I want him to be mine, definitely! He's a lovely submissive, but he didn't even know about aftercare! He needs friends first, an education on what it would mean for him… I want his informed consent, not a moldable puppet, Janus!"

Janus didn’t seem convinced. “And somehow you believe that’s impossible to do in a committed relationship… That’s fine. Keep dragging him along. I’ll be here when you’re not.” 

Logan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I'm terrified that I'm not enough for him. I saw how he looked at you, too… You can't tell me that he doesn't want both of us!"

Janus looked at him in surprise, then sighed as well. “Don’t fool yourself, Logan. He wants anybody who gives him the smallest bit of attention. He doesn’t actually want either of us.” 

He tapped the table with a deep frown. "That's a fair observation… Hence my reservation to commit and then have him run to the next person. However, if it were you, I wouldn't mind sharing, perhaps."

Janus’s face turned pink. He sipped his coffee and then turned away, busying himself with cleaning up. “You don’t have to say that. He chose you.”

Smirking, he smacked Janus’ ass lightly. "Perhaps…. I can't say I haven't looked at you, either~!"

Janus whipped around with a jump, face red. For the first time since Logan’s met him, he was flustered. “Wh- What?”

Adjusting his glasses, he hummed. "I had assumed you were far too dominant to attempt to obtain, but now I'm uncertain. Remus believed you were jealous of him…" 

Janus crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. “Remus is an idiot. He’s the most dense man I’ve ever met.”

"Is he? Or is that you?" Stepping in closer, he watched the reactions of the other man as he closed him in against the counter.

Janus’s eyes flitter around, landing on somewhere close to Remus’ room. “What does it matter? Has Remus told you he’s okay with not being exclusive?”

"We didn't discuss our relationship as yet… I know I'm poly and pan… But I need to talk with him. If he agrees, what say you, Jan-Jan~?" Reaching out, he stroked Janus' cheek softly.

Janus barely stopped himself from melting into the touch. “We’ll see,” he mumbled, looking away. 

"Agreed, but know that I'm open to the idea?" Petting softly when he doesn't get a flinch, he smiled. 

Janus brushed his hand off and stepped away. “You should get back to him,” he murmured. “He’ll freak if he wakes up.” 

Nodding, he stepped back, heading back to Remus. "Sleep well, Janus…"

“Thanks,” he muttered, and hurried to his room. 

When Logan went back into Remus’ room, Remus shot upwards and poorly tried to wipe away the tears before they could be seen. “Jan-?”

"Oh, dear…" Sliding into the bed after sliding out of his clothes, he hummed, taking Remus in his arms. "I'm sorry, Rem, I believed you to be asleep and didn't want to bother your rest."

Remus snuggled into his chest. “I’m okay,” he promised. His face was still wet. “I thought you left?”

"I promised to stay the night, dear… Janus simply wanted a chat." Stroking his hair, he encouraged Remus to cuddle, wiping the tears.

“Oh…” Remus kissed his cheek. “I hope you’re getting along. Janus is my best friend.”

Smiling, he nuzzled lightly. "I know, dear… He was very concerned about us, this, uh,  relationship… What do you want us to be, my dear?" 

Remus hesitated. “I want whatever you want.” 

He stroked Remus’ hair as he thought. "I don't want to take advantage of you… You're beautiful, and I want to take care of you, but I worry that you need more balance than a one on one relationship. Now, I am polyamoirous and pansexual, so… you simply need to communicate your needs. Do you want me to be your dominant, your boyfriend?"

Butterflies practically exploded in Remus’ stomach. “You want to be boyfriends?” He asked excitedly. 

Cupping his face, he smiled and lifted Remus’ to meet his eyes. "I would be honored to be your boyfriend, Remus,” he said firmly, “if you'll have me?" 

Remus nodded frantically, and kissed Logan messily. Kissing back with equal fervor, Logan’s fingers slid into his hair to guide the kiss. Mine~

Remus whimpered and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist. “I’m so glad I met you,” he breathed out. 

Snuggling Remus close, he nodded, kissing his forehead. "Me too, my precious."

Remus fell asleep in his arms, smiling.

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[yourfangirlfriend]

Wiring Issues

Multi-chapter

Rating: E! After chapter three

Chapter One

You’re a mechanic, not a therapist. Or a priest. Or whomever their creed confides in.

Besides, you like to work in silence. Sometimes there are electrical pops or malfunctioning gears that would be otherwise drowned out by music or small talk.

People talk too much anyway. Not comfortable in their own heads. They’re not a slick as they think they are when they try to fill the air with talk talk talk to drown out their own anxiety. Noise, it what that is.

But now you’re trying to think back to the last time you even opened your mouth, and, truthfully, it may have been even before he hired you weeks ago. Everything was over messages- Kreed recommended you, looking for a mechanic, I can pay- before he touched down outside your dilapidated hut a week later to begin your employment. You don't even remember if you waved at him or not. Once you got on the ship it was like you walked into a monastery. He disappeared up into the cockpit and you set about working on the problem in the hull. That’s been every day practically.

Maybe he said something that first morning, but you're not sure. The first week was a blur, most of it spent untangling the mess of wiring in the hull he had made trying to fix it himself. By the end of those first few days, your fingers were singed so badly from these messy nest you finally just decided to cut your losses and replace half of them. Sometimes he would pass by you, hovering just for a moment, but never said anything. Other than that, the only social exchange between the two of you was taking turns making caf and leaving the pot half full for the other.

The only other notable encounter happened in the second week when the hammock you had strung up in a little, out of the way nook had fallen right on your tool kit in the middle of the night with you in it. Before you were even fully awake, there he was at your door (er, curtain), blaster in hand and flipping on the light, ready to shoot the intruder. But it was just you, groaning on the floor, rubbing the part of your spine where you had landed on a wrench. Did he mumble an apology before leaving you to privately writhe on the floor? Or the next morning, when you had been checking out the bruise in the fresher when he walked in to see you crouched on the sink, lifting your shirt and contorting your body around to see your lower back in the mirror. He had left pretty quickly after that, but he must have gotten a good look and the large, angry mark because there was bacta gel left on your newly re-strung hammock that morning. It helped.

So, the routine went like this: he piloted, he went out to hunt, and he polished his guns. You kept the systems working, the lights on, and made the caf in the mornings. Most days he took the drink back up into the cockpit with a little nod of thanks. Sometimes you’d join him, and the two of you would sit silently, sipping the oily, black tar together before a little bell went off in both your heads to get to work. He’d go out, you’d stay in. When he returned and dealt with the bounty, you’d nod at each other like spice dealers in a back alley.

You’re here.

I am.

Still alive.

So are you.

Then up he went again, into his little hiding place, leaving you in a mess of wires.

Three more weeks into the usual, though, and you were getting bored. There was always something to fix, but lately, your jobs had become more cosmetic, and what monotony was broken up by your silent companion were few and far between, as his jobs took him away for increasingly long stretches of time, leaving you to your little projects. Once you had gotten the door to stop making that awful noise every time it opened, you had begun buffing out the dents and scrapes on the wall. When that was done, you fixed the bum lightbulb in the fresher and the track lights that ran through the ship, up until you got to his quarters. Then, you went to the cockpit and, using some old paint you had found in the ship's storage, that you had nearly pulled a muscle stirring with water it was so old, you color-coded the buttons. Yeah, the fucking buttons. When you decided to join him in the cockpit the next morning, the two of you silently drinking caf together, he pointed to them. You shrugged. You try being on a ship with nothing to do for weeks.

Maybe it was because you were so starved for any kind of interaction, but you began to sit with him in the cockpit more. Morning caf quickly became a routine, the two of you sitting and staring out into space together as you tried to wake yourselves up. Then, when your projects were small enough, you'd haul them up and deposit yourself into the co-pilot's chair, tinkering mindlessly as the two of you cruised through the infinite. In turn, sometimes during the evening, he would sit with you at the table as you ate. He never ate with you, but you always made extra in case he wanted to. Most mornings you'd find an additional empty dish in the sink, and smile in spite of yourself.

Maybe it would have kept going like this, this socializing like house cats, content to just be doing things around each other, you finding odd jobs and him continuing to do his broody badass thing if you hadn’t brought the caf up to the cockpit this morning and saw him with his head – his actual head- in his hands.

To be fair, you were usually noisier when you clambered up the ladder. And, also to be fair, he didn’t act like it was a big deal. But you nearly dropped the cups. Six weeks working for the guy and you had just kind of assumed the helmet was a permanent thing. Like, maybe he was disfigured or scared underneath that visor, or a breathing apparatus. Hell, you kind of had a running bet with yourself that he might just be a droid. But…ah, nope.

So when he turned to you and you met those big brown eyes for the first time, you jumped, like he had just caught you watching him undress. Hot caf spilled on your fingers.

“Fuck!” You rush over to the chair and set the mugs down before pulling the injured finger to your mouth and sucking.

“So she can talk.”

You swivel around and shoot him a look. He’s sat up now, reaching for one of the cups.

“I thought you were mute,” he says before taking a sip.

“Me?” you talk around your finger before remembering it was even in your mouth. You pull the digit out and move to take the other cup before taking your seat. “I thought you didn’t have a face.”

He puts his drink down and gestures with his palm under his chin as if presenting himself. “I do,”

“Yeah, and I talk.” You say before taking a sip. The two of you fall into an easy silence again.

“You snore.” He says.

“So do you,” you counter. “Shake the damn walls.”

There a flash of a smile before he finishes his drink and places the mug down again. Before you know it he’s pulling the helmet back on and standing.

“I’ll be gone a few days,” he says. “I left some credits in the cooking area. Not much but enough to buy anything we may need from the market.” He strides past you and makes for the ladder. It feels strange, not acknowledging how your silent routine has just been unceremoniously upended. But you don’t want him to stop talking.

“Any requests?” you ask just as his shiny little head is about to disappear down the ladder. He pauses.

“…yeah.” He says. “There’s these…blue cookies.”

“Blue…cookies…” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says. “like little sandwiches.”

When you don’t immediately respond, he speaks up.

“Just if you see them,” he grunts. Then he drops down before you can open your mouth.

“Aye aye,” you call after him, but the bull door is already opening, and it’s still a much noisier operation that you’d like. You doubt he hears your before it shuts behind him.

Alone in the cockpit, you smile to yourself.

The big, scary Mandolorian likes cookies.

The market ends up having the cookies, which makes you a little happier than you thought it would. The market also has whiskey, which definitely makes you happy. It’s a little pricey, but you plan to tell him to take it out of your pay – which he hasn’t given you yet. So, really, it’s fair game. You keep to yourself as you wander down the stalls picking up the random things you can justify purchasing – soap for the laundry, more ground caf, some produce. You don’t realize until you’re nearly back to the ship how little you talked. It surprises you.

Thought you were a mute.

Why does that annoy you?

“Not a mute,” you say to yourself as you key in the door’s code. When you deposit your haul on the table, you hum to yourself, if only to remind yourself that you can.

"Mute. 'Oh I'm the big scary Mandalorian with my secret pretty face and I never thought to start a conversation with the woman who fixes my piece of shit ship'." You begin to put the goods away. "'I don't appreciate good button paint jobs, stock the kitchen with shit caf, and snore LOUDER THAN A BANTHA.'  " You huff as you close the cabinet before stomping over to the table and grabbing the whiskey by the neck. You're just about to put it away before the thought occurs to you.

You hold the bottle up and bite your lip.

Well, buckethead isn’t here to judge you, and a clean ship is a clean ship.

Fuck. Alright.

Fuck.

You didn’t mean to get this drunk.

You had taken maybe two shots before you began to scrub up the cooking area and for fifteen minutes you thought you had just bought some shitty juice – your Jawaese isn’t great, maybe you misread the label – but now.

Hoo boy.

“You’re good,” you tell yourself. You squeeze the sponge out in the sink and momentarily become amazed just by how much water it can hold. You do it again. And again. “You are sooooo good. You’re just a little drunk and you’re on a ship,” you fall into a sing song rhythm.

Yeah. You’re drunk.

“Yeah, you’re just a little drunk and you’re on a ship, bada bah bah,” you drum on the counter before sashaying over to your little nook to collect the dirty clothes from the shameful dark corner. With more pageantry than is necessary, you swing the door to the washer open and throw the pile in with a flashy swish of your wrist. “you’re doing laundry because you smell like shit, bah dah bah bum” you skip into the corridor and head to the fresher. There’s an extra basket in there that you know is filled with towels, and in this very heady musical moment you’ve decided that you are just the best housekeeper. Gods, he’s lucky to have such a considerate employee.

“You’re doing the launnnnndry,” you sing as you kick the door open. The lights come on and you shimmy over to the basket. “Cause you’re just so connnssiiiidddeeerrrATE! Bah dah bum!” you bap the top of the basket. You haul the whole thing from the fresher and skip to the washer, banging the bottom against the floor in time.

“Uh! Uh! Yeah!” you crouch in front of the washer and begin loading in the towels, trying not to think about which ones are from you and which are from him. You are not going to think of him naked. “They don’t quite smell, but they need a cllleeeeAAAANNNN!” You reach for one last towel.

This is not a towel.

Oh Maker, if this is his underclothes-

Well, you’d just have to leave then, wouldn’t you? It took six weeks to see his face and hear him speak, for fuck’s sake, if this is what you think you’re really rushing down the hill of intimacy.

Feeling brave, you pull the garment up from the pile and glance down.

Oh god it’s brown –

And….not underclothes.

It’s…a tiny robe?

Before you can even begin to worry if this means he has a secret doll collection presented proudly somewhere in his room –

“What happened to the singing?”

-you nearly shit yourself.

“What the fuck!” you kick back from the washer and land hard against the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

It takes you a minute before you put two and two together. Your eyes flick up to the comm box on the wall.

“Are you- have you been – are you listening to me?”

“Are you spending credits on booze?”

You huff and pull yourself up to stand.

“This is a glaring invasion of privacy,” you say, crumpling the small article in your hand.

“Don’t worry. I just turned it on to tell you I’m coming back early. But seems like I caught you in the middle of the show.”

“Ha ha,” you say. “He’s got a face and he tells jokes.”

“I’ll be back after sunset. Don’t dent anything drumming” And with that you hear what you think is the click of the comm turn off.

“Hello?” you call. Nothing.

“Are you still there?” you try again. Silence. Well, now you’re angry. “You asshole. What if! What if I had been…” you reach for the bottle on the counter and begin to unscrew the lid. “…having a private conversation?” you pour a small amount into the glass.

“What if I had been actually singing? I’m a good singer when I try, you know.”

(you’re not).

The comm is quiet.

“I think this merits a serious discussion about boss and employee trust!” you screech up at the box.

Nothing.

Maybe that’s what makes you bold.

“What if,” You put the glass to your mouth. “I had been loudly masturbating, huh? Just really going to town, thinking of your stupid, surprisingly sexy face? ‘Uh! Uh! UH! YEAH! Keep the gloves on!’”

Smiling to yourself, and blushing just a little, you take a sip.

“Would you have drummed just as loud?”

You spit whiskey over the counter.

[moonscriptsx]

The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love (M)

SUMMARY: World renowned bestselling author, Kim Namjoon, has always been praised on his philosophical outlook on the many trials and tribulations of life, but when he decides to tackle a certain topic, he finds himself in a rut full of writer’s block. As a last minute decision, he decides to take up his best friend’s, Kim Seokjin, offer and agreed to speak to his writing class about the ups and downs that come along with writing. While helping out his friend, he managed to find the resolution for his writer’s block; falling in love.

GENRE/WARNINGS: Author!Namjoon, College!AU; Fluff, angst, and smut all in one, with an inexperienced!Joon and a (somewhat) fem!dom.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k.

A/N: I’m baaaaaaack! *throws confetti* After a few months and whatever-the-fuck happened to my old blog, I’ve resurrected from the deleted blog grave and have come back. I will be slowly (but surely) re-uploading more of my works as time goes on! This is the first of many. Enjoy loves!

There was a moment in time when Kim Namjoon was on top of his game; he was able to sit in front of his computer and write like there was no tomorrow, marking down every idea and thought he had dwelling in his mind. He pumped out three novels, all bestsellers, and was adored by the general public for his genius visions and elaborate words that managed to capture the feelings of the person reading the book. He was labeled as a prodigy, considering he had only been nineteen years old when he had published his first novel, and though he’ll deny it, that had been the reason for his constant stress. Living up to the expectations that other authors and the public had put on him caused a strain, ultimately leading up to his lack of inspiration and writer’s block.

It’s been two years since he’s published something else and as the days pile up, the stress upon the man builds even more. Countless nights and days are filled with him staring blankly at the blank document occupying his screen, his brain completely empty of anything he could remotely use as an idea to run with. His methods of writing have seemed to fail him this time around, and now he’s stuck with nothing -- and he hates it. The more he stares at the blank screen the more he becomes frustrated, the now twenty-three year old feeling as if he’s never going to be able to write anything else. The constant pressure has him medicating in ways he probably shouldn’t, bottles of alcohol and packs of cigarettes littered next to his desk has his friends worrying for his health, though they have yet to say anything. When Namjoon is stressed, he doesn’t take lightly to those who try to help him. His words become blunt and striking, venom laced in his tone as he curses at them, thus leaving him to push away those who had reached out to help.

There was another downfall, however, one that Namjoon has acknowledged as his weakness; Namjoon had never been in love.

While many authors or writers have a muse by their side, encouraging them and supporting them consistently, Namjoon had no one. All of his life he had his nose buried in books, the man opting to study up on writing techniques and broadening his craft as opposed to going out with his friends and experiencing the things most kids his age would have. Sure, he’s kissed a few people, but that’s the extent of any form of intimate contact he’s come encountered with. In college he was too busy writing his novels to let any sort of romantic relationship happen, though he did have a few dates who had struck his interest -- but he couldn’t find a spark with any of them when the time had come to actually getting to know them. He was a man who sought out someone who could give him the mental stimulation, someone he could actually hold an intelligent conversation with, and while those he went out on dates with weren’t exactly not intelligent, they still lacked what he had been looking for.

The loneliness stacked upon the stress and frustration was making Namjoon start to regret choosing this field of work, and he was desperate to get out of the funk that plagued his life for far too long -- so he decided to change it. Starting from now he’s going to scan through any and every piece of literature, he’s going to look around him and turn to the world to find the inspiration he lacked -- but his plans seemed to take a different turn when he had reluctantly agreed to host a seminar at his Alma Mater for inspiring authors and writers like himself, and he found himself inching closer to the source of his inspiration.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you huff in annoyance as you weave in and out of the students who cluttered around the lecture hall, silently cursing at those who stood in the way of your seat. It had been a rough morning; your alarm decided to ring twenty minutes later than you had set it, causing you to clamber around clumsily while you tried to gather everything you needed. You left your dorm with sopping wet hair and - if it hadn’t been for your roommate who called you out on it - you would’ve left with mismatched shoes. A large cup of coffee and another twenty minutes later, you had managed to make it to class on time, but even that doesn’t diminish your visible annoyance and irritation for the unfolding day.

Plopping your bag onto your desk, you lean back into your seat and rub your temples, the oncoming headache making you dread the day even more. A small snicker from beside you doesn’t falter your attitude, not even when your friend leaned over to place a concerned hand on your back.

“You alright, (Y/N)?”

Hana’s soft voice filled your ears as she rubbed your back soothingly, aware of your - very - irritated stature. Your gaze landed on her soft features, a small smile painted across your lips as you shrugged your shoulders.

“I will be, hopefully,” you admitted. “It’s been a rough morning.”

Hana nodded, the girl silently understanding your annoyance.

“You’ll be fine,” she smiled. “We’ve got a guest speaker coming today so we won’t have to do much work, thank god.”

Her words set you at ease, your shoulders slumping back into relaxation when you realize that you were able to sit back and enjoy today’s class without having to scribble endless nothings onto paper like usual. Hana giggles as she watched you sink back, her head shaking as she turns back towards the front.

“I feel you on that one, (Y/N).”

Your gaze scans around the room, eyes falling on the different pairs and groups that littered around the class as they talked amongst themselves. It was always fascinating to you when it came to observing others; you took note of their different mannerisms and gestures towards others, making mental notes of the people who have confident body language and those who consider themselves superior to others.

You snap out of your daze when the professor strolls happily into class, his hands clapping as he gains the students’ attention. The idle conversations fizzle into the air as everyone piles into their respective seats, the patient professor looking more than excited as he leaned against the edge of his desk. A pleasant smile is painted across his lips as his gaze swept over his students before he’s opening up to speak.

“As you all know, we have a special guest coming today,” he said happily. “Not only is he a bestselling author, but he also happens to be a very good friend of mine, so I expect you all to give him a respectful and warm greeting when I bring him in, though you’re all adults so I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly. I’m going to go fetch him from the hallway, so talk amongst yourselves.”

And with that, he exits.

Namjoon is nervous -- no, scratch that; he’s fucking terrified.

It’s not that he’s nervous speaking in front of crowds, he had always been comfortable talking to those who were genuinely interested in his craft, it’s that he feels like he’s lying to these students. His friend had whole-heartedly invited him to drop knowledge and tips for his aspiring students in hopes that they would follow the path Namjoon did, but the latter felt like he was putting up a front. How was he supposed to give pep talks to a bunch of people who are trying to get to where he’s at in his life when he can’t even bring himself to write another fucking novel? How was it fair that he pretends he’s been busy working on more books when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Namjoon could feel his hands shaking as he watches his friend emerge from the classroom, the bright eyed professor grinning happily at his friend as he claps him on the back.

“You ready, Joon?” He asked, making Namjoon suck in a harsh breath.

“Truthfully?” He sighed. “No.”

The man’s face falls at that, his head cocked to the side as he shot his friend a concerned look.

“What do you mean ‘no’, Joon?”

“I feel like I’m lying to them, Seokjin,” Namjoon huffed. “I’ve have writer’s block for the past year, I haven’t been able to write anything -- and you want me to give an inspiring speech to these kids who could probably teach me a thing or two.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at his friend’s words, the man shaking his head as he gripped Namjoon’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, Joon,” he said, his gaze piercing. “I don’t want you to think that you have to preach that the world of writing and becoming an author is easy or that it’s a breeze. I invited you here because I know that you’re the one person who will inform them of, not only the good things, but the struggles as well. Writer’s block is something that everyone will come across at least once or twice in their lives, Joon, and I want them to realize that that’s okay. I want you to be honest with them, I want you to not hold back.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, still hesitant.

“Isn’t that kind of discouraging them?”

Seokjin shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he denied. “It’s setting them up for the reality of the situation. You can’t expect to just pump out novels constantly - there’s a lot of work that goes into it, and sometimes it isn’t pretty. I don’t want them to go in with high expectations only to end up disappointed.”

You mean like I did... Namjoon thinks to himself.

Letting out another sigh, Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, a moment of silence slipping past the pair before the author nodded his head, reluctantly agreeing to go through with the lecture. Seokjin beamed with delight before he gives his friend an encouraging pat on his back.

“You’re gonna be great, Namjoon,” Seokjin affirmed. “I’ll be by your side if you need me to fill in anything you can’t.”

Opening the door to the classroom, Seokjin gestured for Namjoon to walk in first before he followed his friend inside. The daunting number of students has Namjoon swallowing the lump that formed in his throat as he tries to hurriedly collect himself. Seokjin plops down comfortably onto his chair, his eyes motioning for the author to take his place at the front, before Namjoon slowly treaded to the front. The curious glances of the students doesn’t help his cause as he anxiously taps his fingers against the desk.

“Hello everyone,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “Some of you may know me, others may not, but I go by the name of Kim Namjoon. I’m not sure what my friend, Seokjin, might have said about me beforehand but I’m a published author. I’ve written three novels, all bestsellers -- not that that matters or anything.”

A nervous chuckle escaped the author as his gaze shifted around the room, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

“You know -- not too long ago, I was in the same position as you. I was nineteen when my first novel was published, and I can honestly say that it was the best time of my life. When you spend most days and nights working on something consistently, it’s always nice to have your efforts acknowledged, right? To say I was over the moon when my book got picked up would be an understatement -- but I’m not here to talk about my own personal accomplishments.”

Taking a step closer to the students, Namjoon’s gaze turns fierce, his posture straightening as he glanced around the room.

“As you all know, it’s not easy to come up with a firm idea or plot to run with all the way through. If any of you are like me, you’ll most likely trash any kind of idea that you think isn’t good enough or that won’t capture an audience -- and while that is what you have to take into consideration, I want to make it clear that, at the end of the day, it’s what you want when it comes to your writing. Sure, the public’s opinion matters and sure the critics can make your break you, but you will never get anywhere unless you fail at least once.”

The clearing of a throat echoed around the room and Namjoon’s gaze falls on a burly student with his hand half raised.

“Have you ever failed, sir?” He asked, making Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “I mean -- no offense to you or anything --”

“None taken,” the author chuckled. “If I’m being honest… It took me quite some time to get my first novel published. Like I said, I was nineteen when someone finally decided to pick it up, but I finished it when I was eighteen, barely done my first year of college. Not many publishers want to take a chance on young kids who think they’re the next best thing.”

A hollow laugh escaped the man as he shook his head.

“I was lucky enough to have someone take the chance on me, but that’s only because I was headstrong, not willing to give up -- and that’s what I want to stress to all of you. Just because someone turns you down or tells you that you’re not good enough, I want all of you to keep pushing. Perseverance is something that is imminent in a field like this; if you really want it, prove it.”

The student nods in acknowledgement, silently appreciative of the man’s advice as he sunk back into his seat, intent on listening.

“I’m not here to preach, honestly, nor am I here to try and discourage you from evolving and moving up the ladder to becoming a published author. I’m just a firm believer in tough love, I don’t want any of you going in with these unrealistic expectations of the writing world, thinking that it’s easy breezy, when - in fact - it’s the hardest industry to crack.”

Seokjin nodded in silent agreement from behind the desk, his gaze locked on his friend as he ushered the author to go on.

“There are so many factors that go into writing something, let alone a novel. Not only do you have to be inspired to write something, you have to take into account how the flow of the message is, how the readers are going to relate to the characters, and how the whole plot is going to play out. You can have a beginning, middle, and end, but it’s how it’s delivered that really makes the story. Sometimes there are people who put too much in the middle and end up cramming nothing but nonsense in the end, or there are people who don’t exactly specify anything from the beginning to the climax of the book and it just gets so confusing and complicated that it makes readers lose interest. It’s really a tedious job, but I’m going to lie -- it’s stressful.”

As Namjoon drawled on about the pros and cons of the writing world, you can’t help but find yourself completely enthralled by him. The way he spoke, the way he worded his lecture, the intelligence that rolled off of him was inspiring in itself, and you were hooked from the first word he uttered. Your gaze scanned along his face, your eyes drinking in every detail and feature on it, silently memorizing it as he walked around the front of the room. From beside you, Hana gently nudged your side, your gaze curiously landing on hers as she smirked.

“He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” She giggled quietly, making you nod.

“That’s for sure,” you murmured.

Almost as if he had heard your voice, his gaze landed on your face and you felt your breath hitch momentarily. A small silence falls over the classroom as the author holds your gaze, an eyebrow quirking in question, before he’s opening his arms and gesturing towards the whole class.

“Any questions?” He asked. “I’m willing to answer anything.”

As if someone had pressed a button to activate the students, dozens of hands rose up high into the air, Namjoon chuckling at the response before he starts calling on people.

You sit quietly in your chair, listening to the different questions being asked, and while you had some of your own, you opted to stay quiet.

Being an aspiring author, it certainly was a bit discouraging. While you had many ideas and plots brewing within the back of your mind, you never knew how to start them or even had a clue on how to bring them to life on paper. Professor Kim had always praised your papers in class, admiring your thought process and the way you had laid out your ideas and rebuttals for term papers, research papers, and essays. Those had all come naturally to you, it was when you had to come up with a plot or idea yourself that you didn’t know where to begin. There were so many things that you had wanted to say but trying to find the words was the hardest part.

You were constantly inspired -- but you didn’t know how to act on it.

As Namjoon spoke, Seokjin (who was perched behind his friend at the desk), leaned forward to gain the author’s attention.

“Joon,” he called out, making the other man turn around to look at him. “The other day one of my students, (Y/N), was asking about writer’s block…”

You felt your breath hitch at the sound of your name, all of your classmates eyes finding your face and you suddenly felt the urge to slide down and hide.

“Is there anything you could touch on about that?”

Namjoon stands still for a moment, his teeth gently tugging at the flesh of his lip as he tries to find the right words to say.

“Writer’s block…” He murmured, turning back to the class. “Like I said before, it’s inevitable to not come across it at least once in your lives. For me -- that period of time is right now. For the past year, I’ve been trying to find that spark of inspiration that can help me write another novel… And while it’s taking me quite a long time, I’m certain that my muse will come to me eventually. It’s nothing to fret over, though it is a pain in the ass, but it will all work out in the end.”

Seokjin nodded, content with his friend’s answer.

As the class drew to a close, the professor stood up to take stand next to his best friend. A gentle, friendly hand is placed on the author’s shoulder which makes Namjoon turn towards his friend.

“Thank you for coming in today, Namjoon,” Seokjin grinned. “Both my students and I appreciate it.”

Despite his anxious start, Namjoon was now at ease, a warm smile painted across his plump lips as he gazed around the room. The looks on the students’ faces made him feel more relaxed, especially knowing that they had feared the same things he had when he was in their position. It was endearing, really, especially when they had all personally thanked him after class.

As the group filed out one by one, Seokjin’s eyes followed each and every one before they landed on the one person he wanted to pull aside personally -- you.

“(Y/N),” he called out, making you freeze momentarily. “Can you come here please?”

Hana glances cautiously at the scene before she pats you reassuringly on your back and walks out. Despite the instant panic that flared up inside of you, you made your way towards where your professor stood with his friend. Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you stand in front of the pair, a slight feeling of intimidation emitting off of them as Seokjin smiled warmly.

“Namjoon, this is (Y/N),” he introduced, making the authors gaze fall on you. “While I personally don’t like to single out students because I think they’re all brilliant, I will admit that (Y/N) has something special when it comes to her writing.”

Your face flushed at his words, Namjoon’s eyebrows shooting upwards as an impressed look crossed his features.

“Oh really?” He asked.

“Absolutely,” Seokjin affirmed. “I haven’t read anything that’s moved me in a while but her writing managed to do that. I have a few of her essays and papers if you would like to read some?”

Shock crossed your features at your professor's words, your jaw clenching as you fight to let it drop open.

“You really don’t have to, profess --”

“Oh, I insist, (Y/N),” Seokjin waved his hand dismissively before turning towards his friend. “You won’t be disappointed, Joon. I promise.”

Your face is flushed bright red as you watch your professor walk to his desk to scramble around to find your papers. The muted sound of rummaging around becomes static noise as your gaze falls on Namjoon, your heart speeding up when you met his eyes. His plump lips are parted as he scanned your face, a glint of intrigue hinting that he wanted to say something, and you held your breath as he spoke.

“This might come off pretentious,” he said, sheepishly. “But have you read my novels?”

Biting down on your lip, you guiltily look down at the ground as you shake your head.

“I actually haven’t gotten around to that yet,” you admitted. “I’ve been so preoccupied with getting my things done for school that I haven’t gotten to read anything new since I started college.”

Namjoon nodded, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping him.

“I understand,” he smiled. “It’s hard to be able to do anything remotely on your own will when you’re swarmed with work and papers.”

At that moment Seokjin pops up from the desk, a handful of papers in his hands as he smiled brightly.

“Found them!”

Both you and Namjoon turned to see your professor scrambling to his feet before he’s handing the stack of papers to his friend, which the author graciously takes from him.

“I’ll make sure to read through these tonight,” the author grinned, his gaze falling back onto you. “Hopefully we can talk again soon?”

You flush once again, your head nodding as you try to find your words.

“Y-yeah,” you agreed. “We’ll talk soon.”

Offering you a wide, dimpled grin, Namjoon nodded before he said goodbye, your eyes following his stature all the way out the door as your mind tries to comprehend what in the hell just happened.

“Wait, he gave him your papers?!”

Hana’s mouth is slacked in shock as she stared, completely flabbergasted, as you recall the events to her. A humble shrug of your shoulders makes her let out a squeal of excitement, her hand reaching over the table to grab yours as she grips it happily.

“(Y/N) that’s awesome!” She said, grinning widely. “That means a bestselling author is going to read your stuff! Do you understand how many doors this could open for you?!”

You scoffed at that, the cynical side of you coming to light as you deny any sort of recognition that you could gain from this.

“I highly doubt that, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s going to put them aside and never read them. I mean, would you want to read someone’s papers who has yet to read your own novels?”

Hana rolled her eyes at your words.

“Not everyone is able to read every single novel that’s published, (Y/N), and you said yourself that he understood --”

“He could’ve just been saying that,” you said, cutting her off. “He probably didn’t want to be rude.”

Hana shook her head as she leaned back against the booth, her hand leaving yours as she gripped her coffee cup.

“I’m just saying,” she began. “Anyone who’s actually willing to take the papers and offers to read them instead of blatantly turning them down speaks volumes to me.”

Hana smirked then, her gaze turning smug as she glanced at you.

“Besides,” she chuckled. “He’s not exactly the most horrible looking guy, (Y/N). Maybe he thought you were cute.”

A loud laugh escaped you, your head tilting back as you registered her words. That definitely was not a possibility in your case. What successful author would want anything to do with a college student who is barely scraping by?

“You’re funny, Han,” you laughed. “That would never happen.”

Hana whined, a pout crossing her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“It is possible!” She cried. “I mean -- look at you! You’re fucking beautiful!”

Shaking your head, you dismiss her words as you reach for your coffee cup to take a sip, the conversation between the two of you dropping completely.

The harsh burn of whiskey runs down the column of Namjoon’s throat as he downs the rest of his glass, his eyes burning holes into the screen in front of him. A blank document stares back at him, the blinking cursor taunting him each time it animates. It’s half past one in the morning and Namjoon can feel the frustration begin to overflow as he growled lowly before slamming the lid of the laptop down.

This was his nightly routine lately; staring angrily at the blank document that taunted and tortured him, cackling that he can’t write anything. Every time he thought he had something, the moment he would begin to type, the thought was gone and replaced with the block that has been invading his brain for the past year. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying, and Namjoon has had enough of it.

Reaching to the side of his desk, he grabs the bottle of whiskey and fills his glass back up, the buzz from the alcohol making the man’s body begin to heat up as he chugs down another glass. The silence in his apartment is heavy, a loneliness basking from it as he looks around the dimly lit study. Papers are scattered around him, some crumpled and balled up while others are torn, and Namjoon makes a mental note to find the will to clean up soon. His eyes cast towards the other papers littered next to his laptop, curiosity getting the best of him when he sees a name scribbled at the top of one of the papers; (Y/N).

Pushing his books to the side, he reaches for the papers given to him earlier, the man completely intrigued by the writing his best friend had recommended for him to read. The perfect marks at the top tells him that Seokjin really did appreciate this piece, that it was good enough to receive not only an A+ but also his friend’s approval -- which was hard to come by. Seokjin was tough on his students, he wanted them to be the best they could be, so he wasn’t going to give just anyone a remarkable grade.

Namjoon plucks through the different titles; a term paper, a research paper on the fundamentals of writing, another term paper, and a story -- but it piques the author’s interest.

The Pros and Cons of Falling In Love.

Tossing the other papers to the side, Namjoon’s gaze falls on the cover page of the story, his eyebrow quirking in question as he scanned the page. There were several paged attached - 250 to be exact - and he couldn’t deny the curiosity that swirled within him as he opened to the first page.

Pro #1: The electric shock of the first meeting.

It’s the feeling of one electric current surging through another. It’s the butterflies that erupt in the pit of your stomach the moment skin to skin contact is initiated, the fastening of one’s heartbeat the moment their eyes meet the other’s. It’s a mutual attraction, a sudden nervousness that you’re going to fuck up as soon as you open your mouth -- but then the calmness steps in. The easiness of talking to someone, of getting to know the stranger that you had only met moments before. The attraction is locked in and ready to move to the second step, or in this case…

Pro #2: The pure excitement and nervousness of the first date.

He swore that he was only going to read a little bit of it, but by the third paragraph, Namjoon was completely hooked. His eyes drink in the words, his heart feels the emotions poured into the characters, and by the time he reaches the climax of the story, there’s tears streaming down his face as the love story unfolds before his eyes. He can feel the love between them, the pain of heartbreak, the desperation of not wanting to lose the other person -- he’s moved, so incredibly moved, and he’s sobbing by the last page. The vulnerability that’s portrayed from both sides is almost too much for him, the raw emotion from the words scattered on the page has Namjoon applauding the efforts of your writing.

It’s half past three in the morning when he finally falls asleep, tears dried on his cheeks as his empty glass sits next to him, your story still embedded in his mind as he’s lulled off to sleep.

Wednesday mornings were always uneventful for Seokjin. His classes didn’t start until the late afternoon which left him some much relaxation time in the early morning hours. Although he didn’t have to be in his classroom until about eleven, he still made a point to show up between eight and nine, opting to use that time to grade papers that he had left until last minute. In the solstice of his classroom he lets himself get swept up with the soft hum of his stereo, the music calming him down as he marked paper after paper. But today seemed to be a different day compared to the others.

As Seokjin was wafting through the different essays, the door to his classroom burst open and he’s met with a disheveled Namjoon, the former’s eyes widening in alarm as he straightens up in his seat while his friend walks towards him. Seokjin opens his mouth to say something when Namjoon plops down a paper in front of him, his gaze falling on the large stack before he catches sight of the title. A small smirk formed on the man’s lips as he casted a knowing glance towards his friend, amusement clouding his features as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you read it, huh?”

There’s a fierce look in Namjoon’s eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he points at the stack.

“She needs to publish this,” he breathed. “I -- I honestly have no words as to how fucking incredible this is.”

Seokjin chuckled at his friend’s state, the man completely amused at his reaction.

“I’ve been telling her that for months, Joon. She won’t do it.”

“Why not?!” He asked incredulously. “This isn’t just writing, Seokjin, this is fucking art! I don’t think I’ve ever read a story that has made me feel this way in such a long time.”

Seokjin stayed quiet, instead opting to watch his friend frantically speak and drone on about your paper, his amusement never faltering.

“Honestly, I can’t believe that a college student wrote this. It’s beautifully written, you can feel the emotions from the characters, and it leaves you wanting more with every god damned chapter! How does she not want to publish this?!”

“She doesn’t think it’s good enough.”

Namjoon blanched at that, his mouth falling open as his eyes widened in disbelief.

“What?!” He shouted. “How in the hell does she not think it’s good enough?! I mean -- there are a few minor things that can be fixed but other than that it’s pure perfection!”

Seokjin’s smirk widened as he leaned back into his chair, another chuckle escaping him as he shook his head at his friend.

“Then tell her that, not me.”

Namjoon frowned, his pacing coming to a stop.

“I don’t know where she is or how I can reach her -- and besides, isn’t it a little weird if a complete stranger is looking for her?”

“You’re not a complete stranger,” Seokjin dismissed. “She already knows that you were supposed to read her stuff, so isn’t it fair to her that you tell her directly what you think of her writing? Don’t you think she deserves that?”

“I mean -- I guess --”

“She works in the school library every Wednesday, I’m sure she’s there now.”

Seokjin didn’t even time to blink before Namjoon was out the door, his head shaking with amusement at his friend, all-the-while hiding his secret knowing grin.

The quiet solstice of the library is something that always seemed to relax you, the aura sending an almost euphoric feeling aflame inside of you -- though that could just be because you’re surrounded by the plethora of books, which was another form of relaxation for you. It was the feeling of having a book in your hands, the smell of the pages, the mental stimulation sending you into a euphoric bliss. Each and every book that lined the shelves were different; though some had similar plotlines, the story contained within the pages were completely different -- and that is what set them apart from everything else in your life. You lived a predictable life, every move or thought that someone made or had was something that you could point out before they had even done it. With books, every page had you itching to know more. You clung to every tidbit of information, forming hypotheses and ideas that could possibly come next as you turn the page. It kept you on the edge of your seat -- and you loved it.

The tips of your fingertips run along the spine of the books littered along the bookshelves, your gaze falling on every title as you searched for a new book to read. As the second semester dwindled down and Christmas break approaches, you can feel the stress begin to simmer, your free time opening up right before your eyes. As you begin to lose yourself in your thoughts, your subconscious had seemingly taken you towards the ‘K’ section of the books -- low and behold, your fingers had landed on the author of the books you had never gotten around to read.

Kim Namjoon.

Curiosity mixed with genuine interest runs through you as you reached up to grab the first book that had his name on it; The Fundamentals of Life. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you turn the book over to read the synopsis on the back cover, your eyebrows raising in surprise at the topic of the book.

From the ages of five to twenty-five we’re taught to go to school, to find something that speaks out to us, to reach for the stars and achieve that goal we’ve kept hidden away for so long. Life is one big lottery game to some, a challenge for others, but it’s what keeps us going, and like everything else in this world, it’s got some rules and regulations that we’ve somehow adapted into our everyday lives -- and those rules are called ‘The Fundamentals of Life’.

You were so wrapped up reading the synopsis that you didn’t realize the presence that stood by until you saw a pair of black boots standing next to you, your head snapping up to catch sight of the smiling face of the author of the book himself. His wide dimpled smile made your face flush slightly, more-so because of the fact that you were reading about his book, and you bashfully slide the book back onto the shelf before you’re turning back towards the man.

“Sorry,” you apologized, grinning sheepishly. “Can I help you with something?”

Namjoon nodded, the smile never faltering from his face.

“Yes, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze fell everywhere but on you. “I was wondering if we could talk about ‘The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love’?”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his words, panic beginning to rush through you as you try to find the words to say.

He hated my story… Oh shit, am I ready for this criticism?

“I-- I, uh, yeah --” You stuttered out, deflecting around him as you went to find a table to sit down at. “We can sit here.”

Namjoon followed quietly, your story still clutched tightly in his hands as he watched you sit down at one of the tables in the back corner of the room. Much to your surprise, you took the seat next to you instead of across from you -- though that might have been because he didn’t want to talk too loud and disturb the others who were studying for their finals.

As he sets your paper down onto the table, you can’t help but let the apprehension grow, your hands nervously twisting in your lap as your gaze dropped to the floor, not daring to look at him.

“So, uh -- what did you thi --”

“I think you’re brilliant.”

Your head snapped up at that.

“W- what?!”

Namjoon’s smile transitioned into a wide grin when he catches sight of your shocked expression, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he nodded.

“You’re brilliant, (Y/N),” he reaffirmed. “I was just speaking to Seokjin about this but I honestly, genuinely, haven’t read anything that has had the affect on me like your story has in a long time. The way you depict the character’s emotions, the way you write -- it’s fucking beautiful, (Y/N).”

Your mouth had fallen open slightly by this point, your mind completely flabbergasted that a fucking bestselling author was praising your work.

“I -- wow,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”

“No -- thank you, (Y/N),” Namjoon said, gently placing a hand on your arm. “You opened my eyes to a completely new world, something that I - myself - have yet to, uh, experience.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, confusion swirling across your features as your head cocks to the side.

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly.

“While I did come here to tell you how much I enjoyed your book, I also came here to ask you a -- um -- rather personal question…”

You stayed silent, nodding for him to go on.

“I’ve never been in love,” he confessed. “And from the sound of your story, it seems as if you have… And I was wondering if you could -- uh -- teach me or tell me what it’s like when you are in love?”

Another wave of shock crosses you as Namjoon looked down towards the floor, subtle shame and embarrassment running through the man as he avoided your eyes. Your eyes scanned over him as he looked away from you, your gaze drinking him in, before you’re letting out a quiet sigh.

“I’ll do it,” you murmured, making Namjoon instantly lift his head, a bright smile painted across his plump lips as he looked at you.

“Really?” He asked, making you nod.

“It’s a tricky subject,” you pursed your lips. “But everyone deserves to experience -- or at least get to know -- what real love is.”

Namjoon had never been more grateful.

Pro #1: The Electric Shock of the First Meeting

You could’ve never been prepared for the loud shriek that had escaped Hana the moment you told her what was going on, the bubbly blonde all but tackling you with a hug out of happiness.

“That’s amazing!” She squealed, making you groan.

“Han, you’re gonna pop my eardrum --”

“I can’t believe you and the hottie author are going to be seeing each other!”

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like we’re dating --”

“But you practically are!” She squealed once again, making you wince with pain. “He asked you about love, (Y/N)! Of all things -- love!”

You inwardly groaned at her words, your hands coming up so you can rub your temples out of frustration.

“He’s never experienced it before, Han. He deserves to at least know about it.”

The wide grin on the blonde’s face doesn’t falter as she plops down onto the grass next to you.

“But still!” She beamed. “He asked you!”

You shook your head, denying any romantic affiliation she had conjured up in her brain as you laid down, your back against the crisp grass as you gazed up at the clear blue sky. Your mind was racing as Hana’s words finally registered in your head, the damage of the whole situation finally beginning to settle within you.

What if I fall for him during this whole thing? You thought to yourself. What if he falls for me? Is this considered a date? Why do Hana’s words keep getting the best of me, god dammit.

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind of all the thoughts that added to your stress, all-the-while secretly hoping that at least one of them comes true…

Pro #2: The Pure Excitement and Nervousness of the First Date.

Your fingers tap against the cover of the coffee cup, nervousness filled your body as your gaze scanned the quaint shop. You were supposed to meet Namjoon here, the first telling of the story being today, but he was ten minutes late. You weren’t anxious about him not showing up, in fact you had secretly hoped that he would forget about it -- not that you didn’t want to help with… whatever this was, it was just… Namjoon is a published author. He’s received more awards for his works than you could ever dream of, he’s highly intelligent, and he just reeks of supremacy of this field. Not to mention he wasn’t bad looking -- and by that you meant you had to keep yourself from swooning over him every god damned time he walked through that door.

Before you had personally met him, you could recall a few times when Professor Kim had brought up the author in one of his lectures. He always talked about his friend with such respect and admiration, it was almost cute, honestly. There was a special brotherhood bond between the two of them that you couldn’t help but admire. You had always assumed that Seokjin had just hyped him up, that he really wasn’t as great as he was made out to be, but the moment he opened his mouth and spoke that day in class, you were proven to be wrong -- he was more.

While you hadn’t known him that long -- keep in mind, it’s only been a few days -- there are just certain people who come into your life and make a strong impact in such a small amount of time; and Namjoon is one of them.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out from the table, the bleached blonde man smiling brightly at you from across the table. It wasn’t until he was snapping his fingers in front of your face did you finally snap out of it, a deep red blush flushing across your cheeks as your gaze settled on him.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was caught up in my thoughts…”

Namjoon hummed softly, his own coffee cup nestled between his hands as he sent you a curious glance.

“What were you thinking about?”

You.

“Just about the things I should tell you,” you lied, deflecting your gaze downwards towards the table before you’re lifting your coffee cup to your lips. The burn of the drink serves as punishment for your lie.

“We don’t have to get into that right away, you know,” he mused. “I’d like for us to get to know each other first -- just so we can get a fair judgment on each other’s character.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his words, somewhat surprised by his forwardness.

“We could definitely do that,” you agreed. “Would you like to go first?”

Namjoon grinned, his long slender fingers tapping against his cup in an unknown rhythm.

“Well, as you know, my name is Kim Namjoon,” he began. “I was born in Ilsan, I grew up with my mother. My father died when I was young so I don’t really have much recollection of him. For as long as I could remember, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. My mother would always read books to me when I was younger so I’ve constantly had different pieces of literature in my life, which is probably what sparked my love for reading in general. I was too preoccupied in school to actually pay attention to those around me, meaning I’ve pretty much lived a life of solitude -- apart from Seokjin, of course. I met him when I was a freshman in high school and haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

A deep chuckle escaped the author as he shook his head at the thought of his friend.

“I wouldn’t have it any either way, though. Aside from my mother, he’s been an incredible support system for me. But, anyways -- my favorite color is black, my favorite food is meat - literally any and all kinds - and, this may be shocking to you, but I’m a fan of rap music.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as you grinned widely.

“Rap music, huh?” You asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is that?”

Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly as he lifted his cup to his lips to take a sip.

“Much like books, rap - to me - tells a story. Granted, most mainstream rap isn’t exactly the most, uh, literary based, but there certainly are a handful of rappers who really know how to tell their own personal story through their lyrics. To me, there is nothing better than listening to someone who has passion within the field they work in, and most rappers definitely accentuate that with their words -- which I find quite commendable.”

An impressed look flashes on your features as he speaks, your head nodding in acknowledgement as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Wow,” you said quietly. “That’s actually quite impressive, if I’m being honest.”

The grin never leaves Namjoon’s face as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table, his gaze locked on yours as he nods towards you.

“Your turn.”

You blink as you stared at him, the proximity of him making your breath hitch in your throat and you’re positive that he’s well aware of the affect he has on you -- especially when you can feel your cheeks begin to heat up.

“I -- uh, well I’m (Y/N),” you stuttered. “There really isn’t much to me, if I’m being honest. I grew up just like everyone else -- though, like you, I’ve taken a liking to books much more than other people have. My parents were always busy so they didn’t really have the time to read me books but that didn’t stop me from reading them myself. My grandfather actually bought me my first book -- The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He told me that that was his favorite book growing up and he passed it down to me in hopes that I would like it as much as he did, needless to say, I was pretty much obsessed with it.”

A quiet laugh escaped you at the recollection of the memory.

“I carried that book everywhere; at school, at the store, to family parties. It never left my sight,” you paused, your gaze dropping to look down at the table as you hooked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “He passed away about a year before I started college, but before he did, he told me to pursue the one thing that made me the happiest it could. When I was younger, I had a journal -- but I wouldn’t write diary entries or anything like that, the book was actually for me to be able to write down poems. My mother is actually a published author, she has had many of her poems published and has also won a few awards for it, as well. I guess it runs in my family but I believe that my love for writing stems from my own inspirations and genuine intrigue for the field. And - I guess - I would like to be a published author one day but as for right now, I enjoy writing for me.”

Namjoon let a smile grace his lips, a bright twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.

“That’s what makes you special,” he muttered. “When you’re able to write for yourself, you know that this field was made for you.”

“You think so?” You asked quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It takes a whole lot to be able to write for someone else, but when it comes to writing for yourself, that’s true passion.”

Silence falls between the pair of you as you both divert your gazes towards something else, not having the courage to look into one another’s eyes. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, Namjoon’s words beginning to resonate in your brain, and the blush from earlier begins to cascade along your cheeks once again as you silently lift your cup to take a sip. The warmth of the coffee shop helps set you at ease, the faint smell of the coffee beans almost making you feel at home, and you can’t help but look around at the other customers.

Namjoon, on the other hand, was lost in his thoughts.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot the distant look on the author’s face. His plump lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze casted downwards towards the floor, and his fingers are fumbling with the cardboard surrounding his cup. He’s quiet, almost too quiet, and you’re certain that he’s going to say something -- and he does.

“You know,” he began quietly, eyes still focused on the ground. “I’ve been on a few dates before. I’ve been in the company of quite a few people, but none of them ever really stood out to me.”

You stay quiet, your silence urging him to go on.

“I think my main problem is that I crave too much mental stimulation,” he admitted. “I know everyone bases their ideal types on looks and such, but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. All I want is to have someone who can understand how I’m feeling and to be able to talk about the things I love most. Sure, it’s nice to just have someone by your side, but I’m the type of person who needs to be able to have an intelligent conversation with a partner.”

You nodded in agreement, a heavy sigh falling from your lips.

“I’m the same way,” you said quietly. “My last boyfriend, Jace -- the one who I wrote the story about, he was fun -- not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the more I spent time with him, the more I realized that we were two completely different people. He was more about living the adventures of life; not being one to deal with responsibilities, not having a care in the world, always making impulsive decisions. He was a free spirit. For the majority of the time, he brought me out of my shell and showed me so many things that I had missed out on, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t the one for me. We went our separate ways after high school but there was a moment in time when I was in love with him. I don’t regret any of it, to be honest, I just wish I had known that he wasn’t the one for me earlier on… That way it wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did when we parted ways.”

Namjoon hummed softly, his gaze finally lifting from the ground to shyly meet yours.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to experience love?”

You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Absolutely.”

Whenever someone is called to see the professor after class, the worst is always assumed. While you knew that you were one of his favorite students, you still couldn’t help but worry when Professor Kim called your name before you could walk out of the door after class, a striking fear of being in trouble and losing your scholarship a prominent thought in your mind. But Seokjin didn’t harbor any sign of being mad; in fact, he wore a bright grin on his face as he sat comfortably in his chair.

“Miss (Y/N),” he greeted brightly. “How are you doing, is everything going well?”

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you nodded curtly.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you said meekly. Seokjin chuckled at the tone of your voice, his hand gesturing towards one of the seats.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’re not in trouble. Have a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”

Timidly you shuffle to the seat he pointed towards, your bag falling to the ground as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. Seokjin’s smile never faltered as he leaned forward in his desk, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Namjoon came to me yesterday looking for you,” you sucked in a breath, awaiting his next words. “Did you speak to him?”

You nodded. “Yes, he met me in the library.”

Seokjin beamed.

“Good, good!” He said happily. “He was genuinely moved by your story, (Y/N). I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy about a piece of literature in a long while, it was definitely a sight to see.”

A wave of heat rushes to your cheeks at his words as you bashfully looked down at the desk.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, causing Seokjin to laugh.

“Call me Seokjin, dear. After class is over, the formalities are over and done with,” a smug smirk formed on his lips then. “Besides, I think you’ve made my friend quite happy, and any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of your throat before giving him another curt nod. The mischievous glint doesn’t escape Seokjin’s eyes as he lets out a soft chuckle, his finger pointing towards you.

“You know,” he mused. “I think both you and Namjoon would make a great pair. There are certain traits that the two of you share, and though it might just be my wishful thinking, I think you could both benefit something from one another.”

His words stunned you to silence; you blink once, twice, a third time, before you’re sputtering nonsense.

“I -- Sir --”

“It’s alright, (Y/N),” he grinned. “Things like this take time so you can’t deny anything yet. But if the two of you keep hanging out at that coffee shop --” he paused, sending you a knowing smile. “Something great can come of it.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, even as he dismissed you the words he had said still resonated deep within your brain. You didn’t believe him, hell -- you had just met the guy! -- but you also couldn’t dismiss the way your heart sped up at the thought of it.

Heaving a deep sigh, you make your way out of the building, Seokjin’s words still rumbling about in your mind.

“So do you have writer’s block too?”

Your gaze lands on Namjoon who’s sat across from you, his coffee cup between his hands as he takes a sip. You shook your head, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you lean back.

“Actually, I don’t,” you laughed quietly. “I think I have reverse writer’s block, to be honest.”

The man’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“Reverse writer’s block…?”

“I have ideas and a bunch of inspiration to write something but as soon as I got to type, I can’t figure out how to word it. I try and try again but nothing is ever good enough for me.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “So you know what you want to write about but you can’t find a way to bring it to life?”

“Exactly.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, his fingers idly drumming against the table as he wracked his brain for any advice he could give.

“Have you ever tried to actually think about the plot?”

Your head cocked to side, trying to decipher what he meant.

“Meaning…?”

“When I wrote my first novel, I played out the whole story in my head. It’s sort of like a movie; you imagine the characters coming to life and you watch them act out every scene you have plotted. That way you can figure out what you want to put in the beginning, the turning point, and the ending.”

You stared blankly at him, your hand idly clutching your cup as you begin to nod.

“That’s… brilliant actually.”

Namjoon grinned, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders turning the man bashful.

“It’s just something that helps me,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose you’d know any advice for writer’s block?”

“I probably know as much as you do,” you laughed. “But we’ll find something that’ll inspire you. I’m sure of it.”

You watch as he sighs, your eyes raking over his face as he lifts the coffee cup to his lips, Seokjin’s words suddenly floating back into your mind as you look at the author. Just the sight of him was enough to get your heart racing, the organ pumping loudly in your ears as it beats rapidly. The increase in speed has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your mind not ready to admit any sort of attraction you had towards this man. Instead you take a hasty sip of your coffee, silently hoping this damned feeling goes away.

Con #3: Denial of Feelings

“This is so exciting!”

Hana’s squeals make you instinctively cover your ears as you grimaced at the high pitched noise.

“Han please --”

“No, I will not quiet down, (Y/N)!” She shrieked. “He’s so smitten with you! How are you not freaking out right now?!”

You shrugged, even though you felt your heart leap at her words.

“It’s not like that,” you deadpanned. “It’s strictly professional between us.”

Hana scoffed at your words, her eyes rolling as she sends you a look of disbelief.

“Bullshit!” She laughed. “What the two of you talk about - dating and such - is certainly not professional. Especially when he’s opening up to about his ex flames or whatever they are. He likes you, (Y/N). Just face it.”

Running a hand over your face, you can’t help but let out a groan as you faceplant onto your bed. You could already feel a headache coming on - whether that was from thinking about the situation you were currently in or from the high volume of Hana’s shrieks, you weren’t quite sure, but you knew you needed to sleep.

“(Y/N), if his best friend is literally pushing you in his direction and openly voicing his opinion that you’d make a great pair, it’s meant to be.”

You can’t help but snort at that, your head lifting from the bed as you shoot her a dismissive look.

“That tells me nothing, Han. One person’s opinion doesn’t determine fate’s course.”

Hana shrugs, the bubbly blonde sending you a knowing look as she climbs into her own bed.

“I’m just saying,” she mused. “You’ll see it eventually.”

Rolling your eyes, you drop your head back down onto your pillow.

“Whatever, Han.”

Pro #4: Getting to Know the Person on a Deeper Level

As the months droned on, you found yourself growing closer and closer with the author. The more you hung out with Namjoon, the more Seokjin’s words stuck in your mind. Every single look or gentle brush of a hand ignited something inside of you; you suppressed it, however, not making it known or noticeable to the author in fear that the feelings were not reciprocated -- and that was something you had always feared when it came to expressing your feelings. The worst thing in the world is having someone you deeply care about not give two shits about you.

You tried to keep your distance. Even when he had decided to invite you over to his place (which was, despite the mess, fucking beautiful) you kept your distance from him. Instead you focused your attention on the empty bottles of whiskey and crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around the living area. While others might have depicted this type of lifestyle as toxic, dangerous almost, you understood where the man was coming from. When you spend your life doing something that you genuinely love and cherish, all the while spending every waking minute working on something just as precious to you and that inspiration stops -- it’s not a fun feeling.

Those on the outside wouldn’t understand what it’s like to sit and wait for something to spark that inspiration back up, to sit and wait for what seems like a useless cause. Writer’s block is something that could make or break someone; you either keep going and try to find something to pique your interest or you give up on it entirely. Namjoon had mentioned in his lecture that what you need the most in an industry like the writing field is perseverance -- and he’s not wrong.

He’s never wrong...

The crisp autumn air whips past you as you quickly follow Namjoon down the path he had led you, your body shivering underneath the light jacket you had stupidly chosen to wear, all-the-while mentally cursing the author out for leading you to a place that nowhere near being heated. Dead leaves crunch beneath your feet as he reaches behind to grab your hand, successfully pulling you up to get to the spot that he had wanted to show you.

‘It’s my secret spot,’ he had said. ‘I go there when I’m at a loss for inspiration.’

You felt honored that he had wanted to take you there, especially since you had a spot of your own back home -- but not even that could’ve prepared you for the beauty that was placed in front of you.

As you reach the spot, you couldn’t help but inhale the salty air, the melodic sounds of the waves crashing against the shore instantly putting your mind at ease. The sand crunches soundly beneath your feet as you walk across the beach, your gaze set on the rising sun across the horizon. It was breathtakingly beautiful; the way the dark blue early morning sky ignites into vibrant pink and orange hues, almost as if the sky was on fire. It was calming, a serene sight to witness, and you can’t help but plop down onto the sand as you stare at the beauty unfold.

Namjoon lets out a quiet chuckle as he watched you sit on the sand, the author not far behind you. He rests his elbows on his legs as he stares ahead, a comfortable silence drifting between the pair of you as you stare at the colorful horizon. The colors reflected off of the crisp blue ocean, the three hues intermixing and creating one big colorful hue. It certainly was a sight to see.

“I found this place when I was writing my first novel,” Namjoon began quietly, eyes still trained on the horizon. “It was this exact spot that inspired me to write it; the story about a young boy finding his way through this crazy thing we called life. He often took it for granted, thinking that he was so much bigger than world, that he was destined for things greater than everyone else. Well… he was certainly proved wrong when he was able to witness something as magnificent as this.”

You hummed softly, shifting your position in order to find a more comfortable spot.

“I need to read that book,�� you murmur, distracted by the view. Namjoon chuckled.

“Actually, it wasn’t the book I was talking about. That boy was me.”

You turned towards him at that, an eyebrow quirked upwards in question.

“But you just said --”

“I said this view is what inspired me to write, but what I said about the boy… The one I wrote about -- that was me.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

“In my twenty-three years of living, there were so many things I had taken for granted. When I was younger, I thought I was the next best thing when it came to writing. I was beyond my years, as my teachers put it, and I let all of the praise and admiration get to my head. I was fueled by everyone’s fascination with -- not just me -- but my writing as well. I constantly attempted to outdo myself and, nine times out of ten, I managed to… But the more I locked myself up in my room and typed away at my laptop, the more I realized how fucked up it was that I let people get to me like that. Writing isn’t supposed to be a chore or a job, you’re not supposed to write because people or waiting and anticipating your next piece of work. Writing is supposed to be for yourself -- it’s supposed to be because you love it.”

Namjoon continues to stare ahead, his fingers twisting together as he lets out a humorless laugh.

“When I discovered this place, I realized that I had been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Sitting here on this beach, getting lost in my thoughts, it’s therapeutic to me. The serene setting, the peace and quiet… I always feel so inspired here -- and nowadays, it’s starting to feel like I’ve used up all of the magic it’s offered to me.”

“What makes you think that?” You asked quietly. Namjoon shrugged.

“I’ve been coming back here since the beginning of the year, which was when the writer’s block first happened. Each time I come I think that maybe - just maybe - this time it’ll lift, that I’ll be able to find that spark again. But it doesn’t happen.”

“That doesn’t mean this place has lost its magic, Joon,” you murmured. “Maybe you’ve grown used to this kind of inspiration. Maybe you need to find a new place, something that can offer you an entirely different scenario.”

Namjoon hums softly.

“Maybe…”

Another silence drifts through the air and you can’t help but lean over to him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you look up at his face. Namjoon peered down at you, a small smile gracing his lips - dimples prominent in his cheeks - and he lifts his arm so he can wrap it around your shoulders, effectively bringing you in closer towards him.

“You’ll find inspiration soon, Joonie. I’m sure of it.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

Con #1: Waiting Around for the Person to Call or Text

The next week was full of nothing but stress; day after day you were swarmed in books, empty coffee cups, and crumpled up pieces of paper as you try to cram for your midterms. Six finals, one term paper, and the urge to pull each strand of your hair out was enough to make your roommate schedule an intervention -- though you had heavily protested the idea of the moment she had brought it up. But here you were, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a carton of ice cream while The First Wives Club plays on the television.

Hana sits on the other side of the room on her bed, her eyes every so often shifting from the TV to you, a playful smirk painted on her lips as she leaned back against the headboard of her bed.

“How’s Namjoon?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. You shrugged in response while shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Haven’t talked to him in a while.”

Hana looked at you incredulously, all-the-while shaking her head.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

It does...

You frowned and turned your head to look at her, feigning a confused look.

“No..?” Your voice was soft, the fake confusion never faltering. “Why should it bother me? He’s busy.”

“But you guys are pretty much dating…” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at her words.

“We’re not dating, Han,” you countered. “We’re just friends -- and even that is putting it loosely.”

Hana’s expression is unreadable, though her eyes tell another story.

“You do realize that he pretty much asked you to show him how to fall in love,” she pointed out. “Which means that, along the way, he’s going to end up falling in love with you.”

Her words make you choke on your ice cream, your eyes widening in shock as you look at her like she’s gone crazy.

“Woah, woah,” you coughed out. “That’s definitely not what I’m doing!”

Hana shook her head at you, a quiet laugh escaping her.

“Sure it’s not,” she replied sarcastically. “All I’m saying is that when you’re in situations like this, it’s very much likely for one person to fall for another.”

Yeah, I fell for him...

“And I’m saying that he’s definitely not going to fall for me, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s already got someone in mind that he wants to fall in love with.”

“Yeah,” she paused. “It’s you,” she chuckled.

Rolling your eyes at her remark, you opened your mouth to defend yourself once more when the buzzing of your phone pulled your attention, your gaze locking on the screen as Namjoon’s name flashed.

“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, making Hana’s eyes widen as she clambered off of her bed and onto yours.

“See!” She shrieked, playfully hitting your arm. “Answer it!”

There’s always a moment of hesitance when it comes to answering phone-calls. It’s the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach that automatically ignites whenever your ringtone goes off, a moment of panic that triggers in your brain because what the fuck am I supposed to say? But then it’s as if something clears out all of that negative energy and substitutes the panic for impulse -- which is what makes you press the green answer button.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief silence on the other line, but then Namjoon’s voice is filling your ears and you can feel your body relax immensely.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he chimed. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

You smiled at his polite demeanor, all-the-while pushing an overly excited Hana away from you as you push yourself up from the bed.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m actually taking a brief break from burning out my brain with all this studying.”

Namjoon chuckled, the sound making your heartbeat increase and you subconsciously yell at it to stop.

“Ah, I understand all about that,” you can already picture those damned dimples protruding from his cheeks. “Well, anyways, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out or something? I’m not exactly in the writing mood tonight and I’ve been dying to go out for a drink or something…?”

You inhale sharply through your nose as you sneak a peek towards Hana -- who, by the way, was furiously nodding towards you in encouragement.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll come out.”

You can practically see the grin on Namjoon’s face as his voice filled your ears once more, a harsh blush coating your cheeks as you run a hand over your face.

“Perfect!” He cheered. “I’ll meet you soon, yeah? At the pub?”

You nodded, regardless of whether or not he could see it.

“Sounds good.”

The moment you hang up the phone, Hana doesn’t waste any time in pouncing on you, her cheers filling the dorm room as you groaned loudly.

“Please let me do your makeup!” She begged. “I wanna pick out your outfit too, (Y/N)!”

“Han --”

“Please!” She begged again. “I just want you to go out looking nice!”

Sighing in defeat, you collapse into her grip and reluctantly let her take the reigns.

“Fine…”

And yet again, you were nearly deafened by the high pitched shriek emitting from your friend.

Con #2: Experiencing Jealousy Over Someone Who Isn’t Yours (Yet)

Pro #6: The Realization of the Intense Feelings

It had been a while since Namjoon had drank in a place that wasn’t his apartment. While he did enjoy the comforting four walls of his place, he had to admit that actually going out for a drink with others was far more fun than staring at a fucking blank screen. It gave him more opportunities to find the inspiration he was lacking, something that he was determined to finally put to rest. As he makes his way into the bar, he can’t help but feel at home within the company of the quiet bar. For a Thursday night it was fairly packed, but there’s definitely not as many people as there would be during the weekend -- which Namjoon is incredibly grateful for.

Taking a seat at the bar, he doesn’t hesitate to order himself a drink -- whiskey on the rocks -- while he waits for you. It had been a whirlwind of events since the day he met you and he has yet to entirely process the way he feels about you. Sure, he’s convinced there’s at least some kind of spark between the two of you, but Namjoon hasn’t ever experienced the true meaning of feelings; he’s confused as to what is going on inside of him, perplexed by the complexity of the emotions that he had always heard Seokjin drone on about.

When his friend would boast about the girls he was with, Namjoon was always half-heartedly listening. Most of the time it would go through one ear and out the other, but he always paid attention to the important details. Though you hadn’t exactly touched on the basis of what it was to be in love, he definitely heard enough about it from Seokjin to know that it’s supposed to feel like you’re the only two people on earth, that nothing else matters except the person who holds the true reign of your heart. Namjoon, though he would never admit it out loud, subconsciously seemed to yearn for that kind of love, a love that was so intense and fulfilling that it consumed him.

But at the same time, he was afraid.

He feared the vulnerability that came along with falling in love, let alone expressing his own feelings. Most of it is due to the fact that - once again - he has yet to experience such a thing, but he’s not really one to open up to others easily. But with you, it felt different for him. The common interests and similar mindsets between the two of you has seemed to put him at ease, the author finding a sense of comfort whenever he’s in your presence. He’s open minded and the feelings or fears that he would usually keep away would roll off of his tongue without a second thought, and even though that scared him - he would much rather express them to you than to anyone else. Even Seokjin.

As Namjoon sips on his drink, his gaze fell on the door to the bar, a wide dimpled grin forming on his lips when he catches sight of you walking through the entryway -- and fucking christ, have you always looked this beautiful? You were dressed in all black - something of which he did not mind one bit - the silk dress clinging to your upper body while the black tights clung to your legs, chunky heeled ankle booties adorning your feet and elongating your legs to the point where Namjoon had no idea where they began and where they ended. You looked stunning, and the author takes note that you - in fact - had always been this beautiful.

You catch his gaze the moment you walk through the door, the bleach blonde author looking more than handsome as he leisurely leaned against the bar. Adorned in a black and white checkered button down and black skinny jeans, his hair was pushed off of his forehead and styled back, and you swore that he had gotten more handsome since the last time you saw him. Offering the author a small smile, you take a seat next to him at the bar and rest your elbows on the counter. Namjoon’s gaze makes a small wave of heat appear on your cheeks and you have to break your gaze from his, not wanting him to catch sight of the blush coating your cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted, grinning widely. You smiled towards the ground.

“Hey, Namjoon,” you said politely. “Did you order a drink?”

The author nodded, his slender finger pointing towards his glass.

“Sure did,” he chimed. “I was going to order yours but I wasn’t sure what you liked…”

You sent him a small smile, your head nodding towards him in acknowledgement.

“It’s alright,” you brushed off. “We hadn’t really discussed what kind of alcohol we preferred. Although… assuming from the amount of empty whiskey bottles in your apartment, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that that’s your drink of choice?”

Your teasing tone makes Namjoon chuckle, the man bashfully looking towards the ground before his gaze rests on you once more. You, on the other hand, turned towards the bartender to order yourself a drink.

“Cherry vodka and sprite, please.”

You can faintly hear the deep chuckle resonate from Namjoon, your curious gaze falling on his dimpled grin as he looks at you. Raising an eyebrow towards him, you can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips.

“What?” You asked, making Namjoon shake his head.

“Nothing, nothing,” he grinned. “I just didn’t peg you as a vodka girl.”

You mirrored his grin at that, a quiet laugh escaping you as you shrugged.

“It tastes good,” you admitted. “I’m not a fan of really hard liquor. I like the sweet and fruity stuff.”

“That makes sense,” he hummed softly. “Most people like drinks that resemble themselves.”

You give him a look mixed between surprise and confusion.

“Are you saying that I’m sweet, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon smirked, his body leaning closer towards yours.

“Possibly,” he mused.

You can feel your heartbeat increase at the close proximity of him, the smell of his cologne hitting your nose, and you can feel yourself melting into his ways. For someone who had zero experience with girls, he was surely confident when it came to flirting. Then again, there was a mutual comfort between the two of you. It was natural, almost like you had known him for years, and you certainly weren’t complaining about it.

Gripping the cherry in your drink, you hold it out to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Want it?” You asked, making Namjoon reach out and take it.

“Do you not like cherries?”

“Eh, not really a fan,” you admitted.

Namjoon feigned shock.

“Perposterous!”

The two of you laughed at his antics while you idly stirred your straw around to mix the drink, another blush coating your cheeks as you take a sip of the drink. The natural air between the two of you sets your mind at ease, a breath of relief coming from you when you realize that you don’t have to pretend with him. When you were with Jace, you felt like you had to act like a completely different person whenever you hung out with him. He was the outspoken type and you thought that you had to stoop to his level of immaturity and obnoxious nature in order for him to notice you -- and while it did end up catching his attention, you weren’t comfortable pretending to be someone you weren’t.

The more time you spent with the author, the more you began to realize the similarities between both yours and his personalities. He understood you in ways no one else ever could, the strong passion and admiration for the field that both of you work in sealed the deal.

Casting a glance towards the man, you can’t help but examine his features. Sure, you had noticed the obvious things like his dimples and his plump lips but you never took the time out to actually look at him. You can feel your brain internally memorizing every curvature and point marked on the man; his slightly puffed out cheeks, the subtle point at the tip of his nose, his sharp jawline. He really was handsome, that you will admit. But aside from his looks, it was his intellectual nature that drew you in. The pure intelligence that was buried within the author’s brain never failed to impress you; he was smarter than most (a fact he had revealed to you whilst talking at the coffee shop), and he always managed to pay attention to the small details within everyday things.

He was brilliant, he was kind, and he was yours.

...Wait -- what?!

The feeling of panic rushed through you within that moment and you tore your gaze away from Namjoon’s face, the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your ears as your brain goes into overdrive. Namjoon definitely was not yours -- nor did you want him to be. You were just helping him out, teaching him the ways of how love works and what it feels like when you’re with that person. Under no circumstances are you - or him, for that matter - supposed to feel any sort of romantic feeling towards one another. You were simply friends helping one another out.

You were so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed Namjoon looking at you with a curious gaze, his head cocked to the side as he gently places a hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?”

His deep, velvety voice that filled your ears only fueled the chaos within your brain, your heart beating rapidly now as you turn back to face him. Plastering a fake smile on your lips you nodded your head furiously.

“Y-yeah!” You choked out. “Why wouldn’t I be?!”

Namjoon sends you an unsure look, the author - no doubt - knowing you’re lying. But before he could open his mouth, another voice beat him to speaking first.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Both yours and Namjoon’s eyes focused on an older woman standing next to him, a sickly feeling rushing through your stomach as she eyes the author up and down. Namjoon, who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, smiled politely at the woman as he nods in acknowledgement.

“Hello,” he greeted.

You can practically feel her undressing him with her eyes and you bite back a scoff as you turn back to your drink, irritation filling you up as you gulp down the alcohol.

“I saw you from across the bar and I couldn’t help but come over here and tell you how incredibly handsome you are,” her voice is sickly sweet, the sound churning your stomach even more. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Namjoon chuckled.

“Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”

You gritted your teeth at their exchange, your gaze shooting deadly daggers towards the woman as she places a hand on his arm.

“You’re too sweet --”

“Too bad he’s here with me,” you shoot back, plastering a fake smile on your lips. The woman gives you a look of disdain, her nose turning up into the air.

“I see,” she replied curtly. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“She’s not my --”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Namjoon’s eyes widened at your words, the man’s body turning towards you as he looked at you completely flabbergasted. “So I would appreciate it if you left my boyfriend alone, thanks.”

The woman sends you one last dirty look before she finally drops her hand from Namjoon’s shoulder and walks away, a string of curses being muttered under her breath while you smirk in satisfaction. An uncomfortable silence shifts between the two of you as you down the last of your drink, your blood pumping loudly in your ears as you feel the anger begin to dissipate, devastation in its wake as you reach to grab your jacket.

“I think I’m going to head out,” you muttered, making Namjoon look at you.

“What?” He asked, following you as soon as you stood up.

Sending him a small smile, you slip your jacket on and grab your purse.

“I’ll see you later, Joon.”

The man can’t utter one more word before you’re out the door, the chilly winter breeze serving as a punishment for the lack of control you had over your feelings. Your brain is screaming at you for the stunt you pulled in there, the devastation of the events beginning to unfold, and you can’t help but mutter under your breath. Your heart, on the other hand, is commending you for standing up for your feelings. Despite the willpower to conceal them, your heart overtook your brain in that particular moment and you were torn on how to feel about it -- either Namjoon could totally hate your guts right now for killing his flirting game or he could be thankful…

...It seemed to be the latter because not even a minute later, you could hear your name being called.

Namjoon was breathless by the time he made it by your side, his eyes wide and plump lips parted as he panted for air. Your heart seemed to awaken again at the sight of him and you cursed the organ for contradicting your feelings, not wanting them to show anymore.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, still slightly breathless. “Did I do something?”

You let out a humorless laugh, your head shaking as you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Not at all, Joon,” you affirmed. “I’m just tired. All of the studying for finals has me completely wiped out.”

Namjoon frowned at that, his eyes searching for something -- anything.

“Then why did you agree to come out tonight?”

You fell silent at that -- though you did have your doubts about coming out with him tonight and it was heavily influenced by Hana, there was a part of you that was aching to be around him. It’s funny how fast feelings that you’ve suppressed can come into light, the subconscious thoughts of your mind ruling out any good judgment that you had possessed earlier. You wanted to be around him, you wanted to be with him -- but the cynic inside of you ruined any chance of you actually going for it.

Bottling up your emotions, you sucked in a deep breath before holding your head up high and offering him a small smile.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

You had barely managed to walk a step away from him before his footsteps could be heard, the harsh crunching of leaves beneath his feet echoing around the silent air.

“(Y/N)!”

His hand wrapped around your arm before he stands next to you, his steps gradually falling into place with yours.

“At least let me walk you home,” he begged, his deep brown eyes pleading. “It’s not safe for you to walk around at night by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Namjoon --”

“Please.”

His voice fell to a quiet tone and you could feel your heart clench as your gaze lifted to meet his, a heartbeat passing between the folds of silence before you’re slowly nodding your head.

“Okay…”

There’s a tension between the two of you as you walk side by side, Namjoon’s arm brushing yours with every step of the way. You can feel your heart racing at an uncomfortable speed just by having his presence near, the annoying butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as you try to calm yourself down. Namjoon is silent the whole way to your dorm, the man not daring to look in your direction. His hands are shoved within the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes straight forward ahead, and you can feel your heart crumble at the crestfallen expression on his face.

As you approach your dorm, you stop in front of Namjoon and turn towards him to send him a small smile.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you said quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“No problem,” he smiled back. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“I appreciate that,” you murmured. “Goodnight, Joon.”

As you turn towards the door, you can still feel his presence from behind you, the light clearing of his throat making you turn back to look at him as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you sure there wasn’t any particular reason as to why you came out with me tonight?” He asked quietly. “Or as to why you jumped down that woman’s throat?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line at his questions, your heart screaming to tell him the truth -- but you couldn’t. The intense feelings you held for the man in front of you were something beyond anything you felt for anyone before - even Jace - and honestly… it scared you. It scared you that you had managed to fall hard and fast for a man you’ve only known for few months, that he had managed to wiggle his way into your sealed shut heart. So you pushed away your feelings and put on a fake smile.

“I came out because I like hanging out with you,” that wasn’t necessarily a lie… “And that woman was up to no good, Joon. She wasn’t looking to have an intellectual conversation with you, she was looking for more… intimate things.”

Namjoon blinks, but he doesn’t say anything. You give him one last pained smile before you’re waving at him.

“Goodnight, Joon. Get home safe.”

...Yet you still hadn’t managed to move inside.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

The hand you had on the doorknob froze as he spoke, your heartbeat speeding up immensely as Namjoon steps closer to you. You don’t move and inch, not even when you feel his hand on top of yours, the warmth creating an electric shock that wracks your body. He’s quiet, lips not uttering one word, but you can feel his hot breath cascading along your neck, the sensation emitting goosebumps to flare up on your flesh. A shiver knocks through you and you can’t help but let your lips part when you feel the plump flesh of Namjoon’s lips brush against your skin.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, an arm loosely wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. “Please… Be honest with me…”

You can feel your self restraint beginning to break, the emotions that you had fought off for months were free now, the wall you had put up completely crumbling into pieces as you sink into his touch.

“I feel it,” you breathed out, eyes closing as you relish in him. “God, Joon, I’ve felt it for months.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Turning you around in his arms, Namjoon cups your face and pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours without a second thought. The frustration and denial you had tried to convey towards your feelings were gone, completely diminished by the pure, raw emotions you felt towards this man. Your lips move against his in a slow, languid dance, and surprisingly - or at least for someone who lacks experience - he’s magnificent. His lips are softer than you imagined they would be, but there’s a hidden passion behind his kiss. He’s taking his time, almost like he’s mapping out every movement you make, trying to decide his own move.

You can feel your breath hitch when you feel your back press against your door, Namjoon’s hands moving from your face to rest on your waist. You’re lost in him, completely mesmerized by the man, and you can feel the oxygen leaving your lungs -- but you don’t care. He’s addictive, his pillow soft lips calling out to you in more ways than one. But you pull away, a ragged breath escaping you as you pant quietly, fighting to catch your breath. Namjoon, on the other hand, takes it as his cue to move his kisses elsewhere. While you rested against the door, his lips found purchase along your jaw, his tongue sweeping along your skin, the sensation making you shiver beneath him as you lace your fingers through his blonde locks. He’s mouthing at your flesh, sucking softly on your skin, and you’re crumbling even more - your body completely craving his touch, each and every part of you calling out for more.

Tugging softly at his tresses, you let out a quiet whimper when he reaches your neck, his mouth suckling on a spot that has you arching into him.

“Joon,” you murmured. “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to end up dragging you into my room.”

Your words have Namjoon smirking against your neck, his tongue swiping along your collarbone before he nips at it playfully, earning himself a quiet yelp from you.

“What if I don’t want to stop?” He asked, making you draw back from him.

“Joon seriously --”

“I am being serious, (Y/N).”

Lifting his head from your neck, Namjoon has a dangerous glint in his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hands moving up to cup your face once more.

“I like you,” he reiterates. “I want you, I want to be with you.”

You sigh softly as you relish in the touch of his hands.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you…”

“How are you taking advantage of me when I want it to happen?”

“We’ve had drinks, Joon --”

“So?” He chuckled. “I’m not obliterated, (Y/N).” Gripping your face, he pulls you closer towards him. “I want you to show me what it feels like to be loved, I want you to show me what it’s like to feel wanted…”

His mouth reattaches itself back to yours as soon as he finishes speaking, only this time it’s not closed. The tip of his tongue prods against your lips and you hesitate momentarily, wondering if what you were doing is right; but then he’s murmuring sweet nothings against your lips, his hand gently caressing your cheek, and you melted instantly.

Reaching out a blind hand, you fumble with the doorknob before the two of you are stumbling into the room. Pulling away from his lips you call out for Hana, only semi-aware of her absence as Namjoon mouths hotly at your neck, his hands unzipping your jacket until he’s sliding it down your arms. Reattaching your mouth back to his, you’re pulling him towards your bed whilst helping him shed off his jacket. The moment Namjoon is pressed against the bed, you’re breaking your mouth from his and attaching your lips to his neck, the man beneath you instantly pressing you closer to his body.

Your tongue runs along the skin connected to his neck and collarbone, the spot seeming to be a sensitive one for the author considering the moment your mouth latched onto it he lets out a deep growl. You smirked against his flesh, his sounds egging you on as you continue to nip at the skin. You can feel him begin to harden beneath you, a low whimper escaping the man when he feels your hands run underneath his shirt, his hips bucking up into your touch as you press a kiss to the column of his throat.

“(Y/N) please,” he murmured. “I want more.”

Peering up at him through your eyelashes, you begin to unbutton his shirt, your lips attaching to each newly revealed part of his chest until you’re moving down his body, your tongue dipping along the indents of his abdomen as you slip the shirt off of him. He may not be the most muscular man around but it was nothing less of beautiful, his tan skin glinting in the moonlight, the faint shadows of the small hint of muscle was just as impressive as one who held a more muscular build. Namjoon was truly beautiful -- inside and out.

As your mouth reaches the hem of his jeans, Namjoon lets out a small groan, the feeling of your fingers making the man crave so much more than what you’re giving him - but he knows that you’re showing him what it’s truly like to feel appreciated. So he stays rooted to the bed, his hooded gaze locked on your form as you unbutton his jeans and slide them down his long, lean legs. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin has him squirming, the anticipation bubbling up within his body. He’s already beginning to sweat, the man on edge as he anxiously awaits for you to continue.

A small hiss of pleasure escapes him when he feels your nails gently rake against his skin as you slide up between his legs, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you place a kiss on his hipbone. If it was up to you, you would be leaving marks upon marks upon marks on the man’s skin -- but you decided to save that for another time. This time around, the first time (for him at least), you were determined to show him what it meant to be adored.

“Joonie,” you cooed softly, peering up at him. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, hips rising from the bed when he felt your fingers play with the hem of his briefs. “Keep talking to me, (Y/N).”

Your smirk grew wider at his pleading and you tug the briefs teasingly slow down his legs until they crumple into a ball on the floor, your hands ghosting along his honey thighs as you position yourself comfortably onto the bed. Your eyes are trained on him, gaze locked on his, and you send him a flirty smile as your hands reach his inner thighs.

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” you murmured, before leaning down to press your lips to the flesh of his thigh.

Namjoon whimpers, his hands reaching out to clench at the bedsheets as he digs his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip.

“I feel fucking amazing, (Y/N),” he moaned. “You make me feel amazing.”

Half listening to him, you gently grab his cock in your hands before letting the tips of your fingers glide along his length, the action earning you the sweetest groan to emit from the man’s lips. Sinking down further onto the bed, you dip your head down and teasingly lick a stripe to the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck --!”

The hiss of pleasure is all you needed to hear before you’re completely enveloping the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it as your hand wraps around whatever wasn’t being touched. Namjoon is writhing beneath your ministrations, the man’s hips bucking upwards off of the bed as cries of pleasure are falling from his lips, his breath falling in short pants as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s putty in your hands - and he knows it too - and god, he’s so glad he waited for this until he actually developed the feelings he has for you. His passion towards you only fuels the pleasure for himself, all he sees is you and he’s crashing down fast - almost embarrassingly fast - but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Inhaling sharply through your nose, you take as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand gliding along the rest that doesn’t fit, before you take a deep breath and swallow around him. The action has Namjoon keening loudly, his hands moving from the sheets to rest in the locks of your hair, nimble fingers tugging harshly at your tresses as he bucks his hips into your mouth. You choke slightly, but you power through it as you drop your hand from his shaft. Swallowing once more around him, you glide your mouth down the rest of his length until the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis, a string of curses falling from Namjoon’s mouth when he realizes you’ve managed to take all of him.

He’s reaching his brink quickly, the man feeling his body beginning to coil and his balls tighten, his release building faster and faster with every flick of your tongue - and before you know it, he’s letting out a loud cry of your name as he comes undone. His thighs tremble with the aftershocks of his release, your tongue happily lapping up every last drop of him as a growl rips through his chest. Slowly you’re drawing back from his cock, your tongue running over your lips as you swallow what’s left of his release, a playful smirk on your face as you slither back up his body. Namjoon’s hands clutched you tightly to him, his lips surging up to find yours as he kisses you sloppily.

“Please let me touch you, baby,” he pleaded against your mouth, his fingers sneaking underneath the hem of your dress. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” You asked, teasingly. Another growl rips from Namjoon as he drops his hands to your thighs, the man rolling you over without hesitation.

“I’ve watched enough porn to know how to treat a woman,” he purred, making you scoff.

“Porn isn’t reality, Joonie --”

“But it still taught me how to find a woman’s spot.”

He wastes no time in ripping your dress off of you, the article of clothing being carelessly discarded as he reaches behind you to clumsily fumble with your bra, the pesky lingerie finally coming undone after the fourth attempt. It was endearing, honestly. Namjoon’s movements are precise yet clumsy, the man far too eager to even begin to slow down his pace -- not that you were complaining anyways.

When his mouth attaches to your now revealed breasts, you can’t help but mewl with pleasure, his warm tongue soothing your flesh in soft circles. His fingertips are dancing along your stomach, the pads gently tapping an unknown rhythm as his tongue strokes your pert nipple softly. The slow ministrations sends your body into overdrive, the craving for him growing to an excessive want as his mouth unlatches itself from your breast and trails down your body.

He’s carelessly pulling down your tights, your panties soon following, and you open your eyes fast enough to catch the glimpse of him licking his lips in anticipation. This time you’re molding to the bed as his warm hands part your thighs, his blunt nails softly digging into your flesh as he faces your dripping core. Reaching down, you give him an encouraging tug on his locks, a nod of your head soon following before Namjoon leans in and attaches his plump lips to your folds.

“Shit…”

The hiss falls brokenly from your lips as he mouths at your core, his tongue running along your folds every now and again. He’s definitely watched some sort of pussy eating porn because the moment he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, you’re shameless bucking your hips into his face, a cry of his name falling from your lips. You reaction makes the man smirk, a devious glint in his eyes as he peered up at you from his eyelashes, Namjoon gaining pleasure from just watching you relish in the touch of him.

He can feel his cock twitch as he laps at your core, every once in awhile sucking at the sensitive bud, but he’s never been more satisfied. From between watching you writhe with pleasure and all but grind down onto his tongue, he’s relishing in everything that’s you. He may not be as experienced as the guys you’ve had before, but he’s a damn fast learner and he’s determined to make you feel even half - if not more - of the pleasure you’ve felt when you were with others.

Experimentally he’s running the tip of his finger along your folds, the action only adding to your pleasure, and you reach down to grab his wrist to push him more against your core - a sign that it was okay to do what he had planned. Slowly he’s running the digit along your slick folds, coating it thoroughly before he’s pushing it inside of you. Instantly mewling at the contact, you swivel your hips to rock against the touch, silently guiding him to build up a rhythm with his fingers. He takes the reigns, however, curling the digit inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion, the length of his finger brushing further inside of you as he begins to pump it in and out.

You’re feeling yourself begin to falter, your release building slowly in the pit of your stomach, and although you loved to relish in the feeling he’s giving you, you didn’t want to cum this way. So instead you’re gently pushing him off of you and sitting up, Namjoon’s eyes widening at your actions as he licks your juices off of his lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, slightly panicked. “Did I do something -- oof!”

Namjoon’s words were cut short when you gripped his forearms and pulled him onto the bed, sneakily grabbing a condom from your bedside drawer before your legs are placed on either side of his legs as you settle comfortably onto his thighs. A dirty smirk is painted on your lips as you run your nails along the skin of his back, your nose gently pressing against his cheek.

“You were perfect, baby,” you praised. “I just didn’t want to cum like that.”

Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion Namjoon opens his mouth to ask what you meant when a loud groan emits from him, a soft giggle falling from your lips as you slip the condom onto his length and align yourself up with him. With one arm looped around his neck and the other placed gently on his thigh, you slowly slide down onto his length, gasps of relief escaping from both yours and Namjoon’s mouths as he fills you up to the hilt.

Namjoon is gritting his teeth, the man not used to having his cock be completely enveloped in a tight warmth. You stay still for that reason, patiently waiting for him to control himself so he doesn’t blow right then and there. It’s only when Namjoon whimpers softly, his hips gently twisting against you, do you finally begin to swivel your hips. The slow rhythm is enough for you to hold onto him tightly, your nose pressing against his as the two of you rock gently into one another. Namjoon’s lips seek out to find yours, a messy kiss being exchanged as you begin to fasten the tempo of your hips.

You’ve been with your fair share of lovers, some worse than others, but you can confidently say that none of them were at all like the man in front of you. The intimacy shared between the two of you was like none other; it wasn’t hasty, it wasn’t rushed. It was raw, it was pure, and it was real. You could feel yourself become overwhelmed within the situation, your lips parting in pure pleasure as Namjoon rocked against you, your nails gently raking against the skin of his flesh as you angled your hips to make him surge deeper within you.

You clench around him, the sensation making Namjoon growl against your skin, his teeth biting into the skin on your shoulder as you reach to grab his wrist. Placing his hand between your interlinked bodies, you urge him to press his thumb against your clit, the man doing so without any sort of hesitation. You’re rocking roughly against him now, the feeling of him inside of you mixed with the rough circles being rubbed on your clit making your delayed release begin to build again. Namjoon isn’t far behind you, either, the man inching closer and closer to his own release as the rhythm begins to grow sloppy.

White hot pleasure is illuminating between your bodies as you clench once more around him, Namjoon coming with a low groan against your skin, his teeth softly nibbling at your flesh as he trembles beneath you, the rough circles on your clit and the soft brush of the tip of Namjoon’s cock brushing against your sensitive spot has you soon following, your hips grinding down onto him as you ride out your release.

Sweaty bodies are molded together, neither you or Namjoon wanting to break the contact as you unwind from your highs. The gentle nibbles of his teeth on your skin transition into soft pecks, his tongue running along the marks he had bitten into your skin until he’s making his way up your jaw and to your mouth. Lips tangle within a passionate kiss, soft flicks of his tongue against yours making you mewl quietly, the sound reverberating into his own.

Slowly he’s bringing you back towards the comforter, your sweaty skin sticking to the blankets as he throws them over your bodies. His fingers lace with yours as he finally draws back from your mouth, his nose gently grazing against yours as a blissful, dimpled grin forms on his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against yours. “For finally showing me what it feels like to be in love.”

Mirroring his grin, you lean in to place a soft kiss against his lips.

“And thank you for showing me how to love again.”

A loud shriek of happiness echoes within the hallway, your hands instantly covering your ears as Hana bounces excitedly.

“I told you so!” She cheered, clapping her hands happily, making you roll your eyes as you bite back a grin.

“Shut up, Han,” you laughed.

She’s beaming with pride, the bubbly blonde wrapping her arms around you as she squeezes you tightly in a hug.

“I knew it from the beginning, (Y/N)! You two are most definitely meant for each other!”

Not even being able to bite back the grin this time, you let it consume your lips as you beam at her.

“I think we are,” you agreed. “Thank you for opening my eyes, Han. I appreciate you.”

She gives you another tight squeeze, the blonde bouncing on her heels as she pulls away from you. Nodding her head in the direction behind you, her grin slips into a wide smirk as she nudged you playfully.

“Your boyfriend is here,” she teased.

Quickling bidding you goodbye, you watch her bounce away before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, soft, plump lips gently pressing to the skin on your neck.

“Hello, beautiful,” Namjoon’s deep voice fills your ears as you turn around to lock your arms around his neck.

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned. “How was your morning?”

“It was uneventful,” he pouted. “I didn’t have my beautiful girl with me.”

Rolling your eyes at his cheesiness, you lean in to peck his lips softly.

“Well I’m here now,” you murmured against his mouth.

“And that’s all I need.”

“I thought that I would never be able to fall in love. I thought that my career would essentially leave me lonely; no one by my side, no one to help me get through this rough patch. I was swarmed with an empty mind, no creative outlet allowing me access from within. It was hard, I’ll admit. Endless nights of me drinking myself into oblivion, hoping that somehow my drunken stupor could bring me at least one idea or spark my inspiration once again. I was drowning in nothingness, falling into a black hole filled with nothing but regret -- and then it happened. An angel from above came down to save me from my stupidity and rash behavior. She taught me everything I needed to know; from learning how to get past the writer’s block that plagued me to learning what the true meaning of love meant. She is my savior, my angel, my muse -- and her name is (Y/N).”

-- Kim Namjoon, The Angel of Love (Release Date: Coming Soon)

[hermannsthumb]

Once Newt and Hermann finally move in together, Newt accidentally stumbles upon Hermann's vibrator. Newt gets hard immediately just imagining his beautiful sexy husband using it on himself. Newt wants to see that. Newt wants to do that. Newt wants to see Hermann fuck himself with his vibrator, and fuck Hermann with his vibrator. Hermann's all adorably flustered when Newt brings it up, and then he sees just how turned on Newt is by the idea.

well uh. this is (as you might expect) kind of a hard 18+/not safe for work

———————-

“Need help with that?” Newt says.

Hermann heaves a small cardboard box up to his bad hip with a groan; Hermann Gottlieb is written on the side in Sharpie, in Hermann’s neat, tidy hand. All of his boxes are marked similarly. It’s kind of cute, really, that he even bothers–half of his stuff is Newt’s now anyway, and vice-versa, and truthfully has been since the lab. Odds are it’s stuffed with their shared mugs or papers Newt co-authored. “No, no,” he says. “I can manage.”

The box doesn’t look particularly heavy, but Hermann’s been quite insistent on not leaving all the heavy lifting to Newt all day, and he’s wincing in a way that means he might’ve strained himself a bit too much. Newt shoots him a small smile and places a hand on the box. “Hey, look, why don’t you take a break?” he says. “We only have a few things left. It’ll take me, like, ten minutes. Go test out the new couch. Better yet, find us some fucking dinner. I’m starving.”

The previous renter left behind a drawer full of take-out menus (which Newt discovered as he attempted to unpack their mis-matched collection of utensils earlier), and Newt’s sure at least one of them will be promising. Hermann returns the smile gratefully and relinquishes his hold on the box. Newt was right–it’s not very heavy. Pretty light, in fact. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Hermann presses a kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth. “Is there anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”

“Nah,” Newt says, and then catches Hermann’s sleeve with his free hand to reel him in for a much filthier kiss. “Something quick. I have plans.” Those plans involve spending plenty of time breaking in their nice big, new, soft bed, before the exhaustion of the day inevitably catches up to them. 

“I see,” Hermann says, and adds wryly, “Perhaps I ought to take a nap, too.”

Newt gives him another kiss for his troubles, enjoying the small sound Hermann makes into his mouth when he flicks his tongue against the seam of his lips. But when Newt pulls away, Hermann’s all business. “Do be careful with that,” he says, eyeing the box Newt took from him warily. “Its contents are–er–rather delicate.”

Mugs after all, then. Or maybe family photographs. “Kitchen?” Newt says, already headed down the hallway.

“Bedroom,” Hermann says. Oh. Newt does a one-eighty in the opposite direction. “Er–just leave it on the bureau. I’ll deal with it…later.”

Now, Newt’s no snoop, and he would certainly never go through Hermann’s possessions without permission–mutual trust, respecting boundaries, all that shit that healthy couples need–but accidents happen. He’s only trying to be helpful. He puts the box on the bureau, as Hermann instructed, but he must do it a little too hard, because its contents roll around and clatter and thud, and then–bewilderingly–begin to vibrate.

Newt shakes the box. It doesn’t stop.

He peels off the packing tape.

He’s not really sure what he expects to find in it besides the obvious: there are very few things a vibrating box deposited into a bedroom can contain, after all. Sure enough, when Newt opens the flaps, he finds himself staring down at a pretty high-end bottle of lubricant and the most expensive-looking vibrator in existence. A vibrator that’s currently buzzing. Newt flicks it off quickly, then–before he can help himself–picks it up.

Hermann has a vibrator. Hermann has a nice vibrator. It’s long, and curved, and made of a dark material that is fucking amazing to the touch. Another glance in the box reveals a small remote control, with settings in speed and rhythm all the way from one to ten, and a few bonus ones labelled with things like Pleasure Overload. 

Hermann uses a vibrator that has settings for things like Pleasure Overload.

“Hol-lee shit,” Newt whistles.

Newt can picture it now: Hermann, stripped bare, face down on his bed, writhing and gasping in pleasure as he crams the vibrator into himself over and over. Begging aloud for it to go faster. Coming, untouched, all over his pasty chest, his rumpled sheets, wailing into his pillow as he fucks himself through it, not even stopping–

“Newton?” Hermann calls.

Newt throws the vibrator back into the box and tapes it messily back shut. There’s nothing to be done about his raging boner, but maybe Hermann will be too distracted by the Thai or Italian or whatever takeout to notice it. He pokes his head out of the bedroom. “Yeah, babe?” he says, heart thudding. 

No Hermann in sight. Hermann’s voice comes from the living room when he speaks again. “What on Earth is keeping you?” he says. “I need to know what you want on your pizza.”

Hermann uses a vibrator. Hermann uses settings like Pleasure Overload.

“Mushrooms,” Newt croaks. 

“What’s that?”

Newt swallows thickly and steps into the living room. Hermann is sprawled out on the new couch, his cane settled against one of the armrests. Luckily, he’s too engrossed in the pizza menu to look up and catch sight of Newt’s little problem. “You ought to look this over,” he says in a hum. “They have some very interesting combinations. This one has shrimp, and onions–and this one is called the Athenian, with feta cheese, black olives–oh, I forgot, you don’t like olives. Too salty, anyway. Though I suppose we could order it without if we wanted to, but that doesn’t seem to quite fit the spirit, does it…”

It isn’t like Hermann doesn’t have sex. Hermann has sex plenty, Newt as his enthusiastic witness. Hermann fucks Newt. Newt fucks Hermann. Hermann sucks Newt’s dick, and jerks him off in the shower, and moans like a whore when Newt gets his tongue in him. But a vibrator’s different, isn’t it? A vibrator isn’t just sex, and it isn’t even just jerking off–it’s a very certain kind of jerking off. A certain kind of jerking off he hasn’t even let Newt be privy to. They haven’t even used dildos together.

It’s hard to imagine the Hermann sitting in front of him now, in a moth-eaten sweater vest and smudged librarian glasses on a chain, jamming a vibe up his ass on the reg.

“Are you even listening to me?” Hermann says.

“No,” Newt admits.

Hermann scowls, but he doesn’t push Newt away when Newt plops next to him on the sofa, nor when he starts pawing at the hem of his sweater. “Newton,” Hermann says, “I thought you wanted–dinner–” Newt mouths at his neck, and Hermann gasps. The menu slips to the floor. “Newton. We haven’t finished moving everything from–”

“I don’t give a shit,” Newt says.

He pulls Hermann’s hand down and presses it at the tented front of his jeans; Hermann’s eyebrows jump. “What has gotten into you?”

“Honey,” Newt mumbles against the skin of Hermann’s neck, “can I fuck you with your vibrator?”

Hermann’s whole body tenses. He rips his hand away in the middle of what had been a pretty nice feel-around of Newt’s junk. “My what?” he echoes shrilly.

“Your vibrator,” Newt says. Oh, right, he wasn’t supposed to know about that, was he? It’s hard to think straight when he’s horny. He grins sheepishly. “I kinda accidentally looked inside the box. You could use it on yourself instead, if you want, and I could watch.” Actually, that’s kinda hotter–no effort required for Newt, and Hermann would probably be so carried away he wouldn’t mind if Newt jerked off on his chest or something. Hot, hot, hot.

Hermann isn’t a very good sport about it. “That’s,” Hermann splutters, “that’s a very personal object, Newton! And expensive! I told you–if you hadn’t been careful–I don’t go snooping through your belongings, do I?”

“It was an accident,” Newt says, and then, in a snort, “Expensive. How expensive?”

“If you must know, I saved up a month of paychecks for it,” Hermann snaps. “And it was bloody worth it. Dealing with the you day in and day out–I was tense as anything. I would’ve cracked years ago without it, and then where would we be?”

Newt sits back against the opposite arm rest with a pout. “It was a waste of money, is what it was,” he says. “Why didn’t you just ask me to lend a little hand? Or, you know.” He leers at Hermann, parting his legs slightly. Truthfully, he is a little offended, even though they didn’t start their thing until a few months after their drift–Hermann would’ve rather dropped several hundred bucks on a piece of plastic when he had a living, breathing, and very available lab partner at the ready who would’ve done anything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. Give Newt a few cans of Red Bull, hide his Ritalin, Hermann wouldn’t have remembered his own name. It’s a crying fucking shame.

“Yes, but unlike you,” Hermann says, “it wasn’t a walking breeding ground for extraterrestrial bacteria.” He makes a face. “Who knows what I might’ve caught from you. Urgh.”

That one stings a little, even though Newt firmly believes that proper lab protocol is for losers, and he was completely justified in his lackadaisical approach to…well, everything. “Hey, dude, no fair,” he says, weakly. “My tests all came back clean!”

“This argument is ridiculous,” Hermann says. “We’re not using it, and that’s final.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermann is lying on their new bed with Newt’s fingers and a decent amount of that high-end lube up his ass. Hermann, despite his posturing, is a pushover when it comes to the promise of sex. “You’re going too slowly,” he complains, wriggling and pushing back against Newt’s hands.

“I’m going perfect,” Newt says. “It’s not my fault you’re impatient.” The lube feels awesome on his skin, kinda warm and tingly, and he can’t help but be a little disappointed he won’t get to feel it on his dick tonight. And that Hermann’s never broken it out before now. Hermann buys the lubricant they use in bulk, generic as hell and in these massive gallon-size jugs with a little soap-dispenser hand pump on top. Totally stupid. He can’t imagine what the Shatterdome delivery guy thought of them. “Hey, how come you don’t let us use the fancy stuff, dude?”

“You wouldn’t appreciate it,” Hermann says. “To the left, darling. Yes.” He sighs happily, melting against his mound of pillows, and gives his dick a few languid strokes. Newt withdraws his fingers.

“I think you’re good,” he declares. “What do you mean I wouldn’t appreciate it?”

Hermann gives him a look over his glasses. Newt understands his point, though he’s not ever going to admit it out loud; he gets a little carried away with how awesome everything is when he tops, sometimes, and Hermann gets carried away with it too. He’s not sure he’d even notice if they were using fancy lube. “Whatever,” he says, and hands over the vibe. “C’mon, I want to watch you already.”

“Impatient,” Hermann echoes with an eyeroll.

The vibe is switched on (on setting 5, to Newt’s disappointment, no pleasure overload yet) and after that, everything is all business. 

“Often, if I’m–er–feeling up to it, I start–” Hermann presses the end of the vibe against his nipple, and his whole body shudders. “Ah. Oh. That’s–what I’d do, if you’d been–” The other nipple; another shudder. “Particularly–particularly dreadful one day.”

“Would you think of me?” Newt says with a grin.

“Absolutely not,” Hermann snaps.

He trails the vibe down his abdomen, stopping in the messy patch of dark pubic hair just above his dick–which, Newt notices happily, is fully hard and already wet at the tip. “Mm, maybe sometimes. I would now. Only I haven’t used it since we…”

“Yeah?” Newt says. He watches Hermann move the vibe in little circles over the thatch of hair, just avoiding his dick each time. “That’s hot.” All if it’s hot: Hermann thinking of Newt while he masturbates, Hermann masturbating, Hermann admitting that Newt is just so awesome in bed he hasn’t had to masturbate in months.

Hermann grazes the vibe down one thigh, shivering this time. “Most of the time I’d just–”

He pushes half the vibrator into himself in one sharp motion; his dick gives an equally sharp jerk. Newt and Hermann, meanwhile, moan in unison. “Goddamn, Hermann,” Newt whines, eyes glued to Hermann’s stretched, red rim, the sleek little bit of machine it twitches around. “That’s really hot.”

But Hermann’s eyes are screwed up tight in concentration behind his lopsided glasses, and he pays Newt no mind as he grips the base of the vibe and continues to push it deeper, breath coming out in a series of short, needy puffs. “How’s it feel?” Newt says. “Tell me, I want–”

“Very–very good.” Hermann grips his dick, tugging on it as he works the vibe in and out of himself in perfect tandem. He’s going nice and slow. Slower than Newt would go. Newt’s not surprised–Hermann told him it was meant to be stress relief, after all. (Maybe that’s why Hermann was always a bit more cheerful the morning after they’d had a nasty fight in the lab.) “Newton,” he groans.

Newt can’t help it: he bends down and kisses him. Hermann’s just too fucking sexy for him not to. Hermann groans a little louder into his mouth. “Hermann, Hermann,” Newt pants, “dude, can I–”

“You can do whatever you bloody want,” Hermann says, his voice high and breathy. 

Newt takes that to heart. It’s a bit of an effort to fit his dick in alongside the vibe, but holy shit, is it worth it. Between the vibrations and Hermann clamping down impossibly tight around both Newt and the toy, he’s surprised he doesn’t pass out from just sitting there. Hermann, meanwhile–Hermann’s eyes roll back into his head, he writhes on the bed, and he grips wildly at Newt’s shoulders, and for a second Newt thinks Hermann might pass out too.

“Ah, ah–!”

“How’s’it feel?” Newt manages to croak out.

Hermann kisses him messily.

Once he’s sure he’s not about to blow it then and there, Newt reaches down and nudges the vibe in to the hilt. He knows at once when he hits Hermann’s prostate: Hermann’s whole body seizes, and shakes, and his mouth falls open in a wordless cry against Newt’s. After that, it’s over for both of them.

They lay in a sweaty, sticky heap for a little while, Hermann breathing like he’s just run a marathon, Newt already threatening to doze off like he always does after an awesome round of sex. The vibrator lays innocently between them. Finally Hermann prods at Newt’s shoulder and rouses him from his self-congratulatory afterglow. “You still have two boxes to carry in,” he says. 

“Dude,” Newt whines.

[adultswim2021]

Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law #15: “Blackwatch Plaid” | January 1, 2003 - 12:08 AM | S02E01

Mere minutes into 2003 Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law debuted it’s first episode in a little while: “Blackwatch Plaid”. The new year is traditionally a time when we reflect on our previous year and re-evaluate old habits. At the time of this airing, I was fastidiously recording Adult Swim every week and saving anything new that aired to my own carefully labeled home video archives. Historically I’d been recording to VHS, but I had received a DVD recorder for Christmas and immediately began transferring certain Adult Swim shows from VHS to DVD. The DVD format was still rather young, and the idea of Adult Swim shows actually making it to retail DVD didn’t seem like such a sure thing (even though at this time, two such volumes had been produced; more about those during EPHEMERA WEEK)

This was the tenth episode aired, and 10 episodes was what could fit on a DVD-R recorded in SP mode. So, I completed my first and only custom DVD of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law. When faced with the prospect of beginning a second volume of Harvey Birdman on DVD I was at a bit of a crossroads. Keep watching this show I hate in the name of completionism? Or, do what any sane person would do and stop watching? I gave it away a few sentences back, but at the time I picked the later. This was a pretty big deal for me! Sure, I thought less of shows like Brak and Sealab from their strong starts, but I still stuck with them. My rejection of Birdman was a radical act. I was now no longer enjoying Adult Swim as a whole. I was now picking and choosing what I wanted from it.

“Blackwatch Plaid” isn’t so bad, truthfully. It’s a parody of the then-current Homeland Security Terror Alert Level Color Chart, which had debuted earlier in 2002. the eponymous blackwatch plaid is one of the colors on Phil Ken Sebben’s chart, which is created in this episode in response to an imagined office theft. The fact that this imaginary office theft is treated with the same high-level importance as a terrorist attack on our country is the whole joke of the episode. It’s a worthy target for satire, for sure.

Okay, so it’s 2021, and I’m watching these with a more open mind. I can admit the anger I felt at Birdman was “a little much”, this episode is more cohesive than most and the jokes aren’t bad. I didn’t laugh at them then, and I didn’t laugh at them now, so really not much has changed. But I recall one sticking point I had: the live-action montage. There’s multiple bits of live-action in this episode, and they are fun. But jealousy that these guys had a comedy show and I didn’t really worked wonders on me, because I remember really detesting the main montage in the episode. It was as if I thought “how dare you guys have fun, this show sucks.”

In the montage, Sebben presents Birdman with footage from the newly-installed security cameras that proves Birdman doesn’t get much work done in the course of his work day. A now live-action Birdman is seen milling around the office doing nothing much, then suddenly we are treated to a bright and colorful montage of Birdman playing hooky. He’s riding a ferris wheel, getting his nails done, showering at home with Boo Boo who playfully slaps his ass, cavorting around a fountain, popping out of a ball pit, and then running/tip-toeing around a field in different directions, for no reason. It’s wacky. It looks like it was a lot of fun to shoot. And I was pissed.

Okay, I’m primarily using this blog entry to try and get to the bottom of why I hated the montage so much. If a show I loved did something similar, I’d probably applaud it. It’s a fun idea, fairly low-effort (not that doing a live-action shoot doesn’t require real effort, it does!), and it just reads as “comedy is happening” for the entirety of the sequence. From a production stand point there’s little reason to not include a sequence like this.

I feel like this was a form of humor you’d see a lot of amateur comedy makers doing: the bright and cheery montage. It’s ironic, because I’m acting cheesy! I couldn't name names if I tried, but I just had about three or four different amateur sketch group videos pop into my head with the same comedy stylings. I can’t imagine what the point of view is here, or if anyone participating in this particular joke actually thinks they’re being original. At this point I’d say that the number of ironic/spoof montages in this vein outnumber the ones that are actually doing them in earnest. So, the idea can’t be “I’m doing a very original joke here.” The humor in those videos seem to be rooted in the more narcissistic ethos of “this is funny because *I’M* doing it!”

Have you ever seen Stella Shorts? I feel like a lot of aspiring comedy creators saw Stella Shorts and tried to produce similar sketches. That is: hammy, broad, intentionally sorta cheesy but ironic capitol-c comedy. And most of them would fall flat. It’s because the Stella guys were geniuses and the amateur comedians trying to do dime-store imitations of Stella Shorts were mostly not. So, it was the climate that really shaded my disdain for the montage. I wish I had my own TV show, still. I’ve occasionally written comedy pieces with the intent of putting together a low-budget sketch comedy show, and I’m certain that if I were to actually produce said comedy it wouldn’t be so easy, and I’d be very much guilty of putting unoriginal ideas on screen. But, the jealousy remains. So, sorry, Birdman. You’re still forbidden from entering my heart. Fuck you.

MAIL BAG

This is the part of the blog where we all get our eyes ready for some good messages and some good times. Here we go:

Just tried the Popeyes Nuggets, I've enjoy popeyes bone in chicken in the past so I thought I would give their boneless option a shot.

Please stop sending me nugget stuff. This is an anti-corporate, anti-capitalist blog. No one should eat any nugget unless they make it at home themselves. That’s just the facts

I can't believe I felt a little melancholy about the abrupt end of Brak. The first full fledge Adult Swim program to bite the dust. It was mostly terrible and you were better off airing an Aqua Teen episode in it's place but...wow, we'll never have that again. Goodbye Andy! See you in the shitty webtoon.

Andy is in hell now and “that’s gotta suck”. RIP.

Took the kids to Great Falls the other day, last treat before they head off to school and on our way back we stopped at Popeyes. The kids got the nuggets I went with the classic chicken. Cost me about 18 bucks with drinks and all that but it was pretty good chicken. The kids loved the nuggets. My son was like, "it's crunchy". Pretty cool place. Thanks for hipping me and my family to it. If you have any other kid-friendly places let me know because fall soccer season is coming up.

!!! SHUSH! stop that!

You arent gonna write about it since its not an original but Family Guy just left Adult Swim. Why don't you speak your mind about the show in general and what it meant for the programming block. Yeah, that sounds like a good waste of your time.

Little do you realize!

Popeyes chicken

Suck my dick

[calypsoff]

Thirteen. Part 2

I know Chris is annoyed, but if I clear that and clear my schedule I will be his throughout his birthday, all his but he doesn’t know that “so I haven’t seen you in weeks and you say I have a day with you?” he questioned “maybe two?” Chris shook his head “oh wow, queen Rihanna, I may get two days with you. I am so obliged, thank you!” he shouted “don’t be like this with me, it’s busy when I roll out an album. It is not easy for me either, I miss you so much. If you actually come with me then we can always be together, but you refuse to do that because I am taking the masculinity off you, right!?” let me not shout “follow you like a dog? That ain’t me, that ain’t my life Robyn. But I have to suffer because you have to bring out an album, you come here and I am on a timer, how is that fair!?” I feel him, I get why he is upset, I do and I can tell he just wants to spend time with me like I do him “it’s not and I am sorry” I can only apologise “this sucks because I had things planned but now we can have sex tonight and then that’s it yeah, that is it. Sex on the low, a nigga got feelings too. You have a jet you could come” he just wants sex “then fly back, when do I get a break? It’s hard on me Chris, you probably don’t want to hear it but I am indebted to my record label, and I need to get out of it. I am not the richest person yet Chris, I need to get out of the claws, you don’t get it but I do because I am in it. I am stuck between two worlds, once I figure it out I can leave and I will be my own woman but right now I need you to be my escape, where I can just relax with you. It is not ideal, but it will get better and I promise you that, can you just calm down” walking over to him slowly, he is very uptight. Rubbing his arm, he isn’t looking at me because he is annoyed and I get it “I love you” Chris wrapped his arm around me, I can tell he does that is why he wants me here.

Holding up the Ace of Spades box, I forgot to get this out of my suitcase for them. I really do love his apartment; his bedroom is nice too. It is way better then his old one, so much space and air “you coming?” Chris said, I ran back in the room to get this “I got you boys this” walking towards Chris “for us!?” he spat “or you” I chuckled, he took the box from me “this is fancy baby, thank you. We can open it now. Celebrate you’re here too and the apartment” Chris placed his arm around me as we walked off “why not, I am so happy for you Chris. You look so much happier, you are you. You’re free too, I feel it in your heart” TJ looked at me all wide eyed, he can’t get used to it but he will “look what Robyn got us boys” Chris held up the bottle “wow, you spending. Thank you!” Barry said “we going to pop this shit now” TJ got up “yeah bro, open it” Chris held it out to him “I got the wife here so open it now” TJ took it from him, he’s cute. I know he is fed up and wants me to be around, Chris hugged me close kissing the top of my head “I love you so much” he is the sweetest and he is showing me so much love “bro, I don’t blame you being so in love” hearing Barry say “she is a good woman” he is making me emotional.

We cheered as TJ opened the bottle “put your lips on that we are fighting!” Chris spat “I ain’t doing shit, I will pour the glasses evenly too” Chris grabbed my hand “sit down, come” he pulled me along “I will bring the drink to you” I have missed this so much, I have missed a man spoiling me. This is what I deserve in life, sitting down on the couch “if you told me I would have Rihanna on my couch I would be like fuck off, this is crazy but how you been? I am glad you are here; Chris is like a lost puppy. We been hearing his sick ways, now we can see his ways in person. He out here being sad and shit, but on a real. He missed you, that time last week when you were supposed to come and you didn’t, he cooked you a meal” Chris came up behind Barry “shut the fuck up! You might as well tell everything” I didn’t know that “leave him, he did? I didn’t know he did. I feel awful” he cooked for me “that day I was scared to cancel, and I was trying to find way to get here but he cooked for me?” Barry nodded his head “the food was nice though, we ate it with him, but he been waiting for you to come here and look at that, you’re here” I feel such a bad person “Robyn ignore this fool, he is just talking. I was happy you ain’t come” Chris is such a liar, I believe Barry “anyways, drinks!” Chris made his way over to me.

Taking the glass from Chris “here is to my baby being here after all this time, here is to us all having a new future we all deserve. I am super excited for what is to come, and I love all of you that are in this room, thank you for this drink too. But yeah here is to us” I cooed out, we clinked glasses “also to me getting some pussy tonight” Chris cackled “not with those pubes” I drank the contents “you didn’t really tell me you were coming so quick; I wasn’t ready. But I think you niggas may go out tonight, I need to spend some alone time with this one” Chris winked at me “is that all I am to you? Somewhere to dock your penis” Chris sat next to me “don’t be so dramatic, I love you” he patted my leg “so how is Robyn? What you been up too in California?” Barry asked “work, I know it seems like because we are famous that we don’t work but it’s pretty fucked up in the industry. When I went there and got the record deal, I practically signed my life over but I was young and didn’t understand it. I am like indebted to them, so I am trying to release so many albums to get out of it, but I have plans to get out of this. The things you see I have and stuff, it’s mostly free but I do have money but not to the extent people assume but I promise you I will get out of this, so yeah. Things are hectic at the moment, then I will be on tour for seven days, seven countries, seven shows which I am not excited about, but it will be fine. I am having fans with me, like people that can come with me to see how it is, the record label are paying out for a whole Boeing to be packed for this and I ant to ask if you guys would like to come? I can get you places; well I would like Chris to come” looking over at him “seven countries!?” Chris spat “yeah, I really want you to come” I hope he does “we will discuss it later, I mean I didn’t even know of it at all” letting out an oh, it’s like a battle with him. Drinking from the glass “I think it’s good, we should go?” TJ said “we will see” rolling my eyes “if you two want to come then I will put your names down, if he wants to be stubborn then he can stay here” he really can “don’t test Chris, he will end up staying here” Barry laughed, he frustrates me.

TJ filled my glass again “least Gabby can leave you alone now” TJ laughed looking at Chris and then the smile slowly faded “Gabby?” I repeated “who is Gabby Chris?” TJ slowly retreated “do you ever just shut the fuck up bro?” Chris said to him “no I would like to know, TJ tell me” sipping my drink, TJ looked at me “I thought he told you, he said you knew” well this is awkward “is that something to do with the group picture I found out?” looking at Chris, he is glaring at TJ, he angry but for what “I will knock your ass out, seriously. You know I can beat you up, you just open your mouth for fucking what!? The shit was irrelevant, Gabby is some girl that has been harassing me. She wants my dick yeah she knows I have a girlfriend, but she has been after me, like finding me on social media. I didn’t tell you because it made no fucking sense to tell you but this loud mouth nigga did” Chris is so angry, he needs to relax “I think you and I need to talk, but in private. We have a lot to speak about, just leave TJ alone” placing my glass down “I thought you said we would speak more, didn’t we speak on that? You also told me that, you’re angry not at that. You haven’t seen me in so long and we do have a lot to speak on, in private but you need to calm down” Chris got up from the couch in a huff, he is angry at me.

Chris is angry at me I think, he has been angry since I told him that I am only here for a day or two but what does he want me to do, watching him walk off outside “he is worse than a woman” TJ took his place and sat next to me “you trying to take his place already?” Barry joked “I can’t help but like her, I mean look at her but anyways! Fuck you” TJ put a finger up at him “we joking Rihanna, we don’t want to offend you” waving him off “it’s ok, I understand. How has he been though? Truthfully? I know he is your boy, and you are down for him, he could cheat on me and I know you both won’t snitch on him, but I just want to know how he is, has he mentioned anything?” I just would like to know but these do ride for him “he was pretty pissed off that day when he cooked for you and you didn’t come, I think it knocked him. Chris is closed, I mean I know that. We both know that so for him to do something for you he fucks with you, like he ain’t been that same nigga we know when he was in school. He was live, now he is grumpy. He does get those moments; he does like to be in his room a lot though. Noticed that, he lives in that room but yeah. I know he does love you, funny because like we say something for a joke. We said oh you set, you have Rihanna and he got angry at it, oh he is his own boss. He is his own enemy” nodding my head, he is.

I thought I would join him outside, but I don’t want to argue with him at all “are you calm now?” I asked, I didn’t go to the balcony I stayed a little behind, you never know people may be looking “I am” he turned to me “you promised you would talk to him Chris, I know it’s hard. It’s hard on you, on me. On us, I am sorry that I have to be busy, but I want us to work, you think we will?” crossing my arms across my chest “I do, I want us to work but I just miss you so much. It sucks you know, I see you on social media having fun and stuff and all I Want to do is be with you, it sounds mushy and shit. But I do, I hate it and I am going to learn to get used to it. Just hard to see you on there when I can’t have you, I uhm. Probably just being annoying, talking about feelings is difficult for me at most part Robyn and I get annoyed with myself because I get angry instead, it sucks. I just also think you should just fuck your record label off too” I wish I could “I understand, I think maybe we need to talk properly before we do anything, this conversation needs to be had for the both of us yeah?” Chris nodded his head “shall we go to the bedroom?” he gestured “we shall, lead the way” I need to tell him he will be coming with me to the seven shows and that we will be going public, I need to be hard on him because the way he said I will decide on that annoyed me.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter Six

You miss the party, which is no big deal. Really.

Nothing to worry about at all.

You were just going to go poking around to find all that juicy gossip to bring back home if you ever end up getting off this hellish planet. The glimmering black metal that holds your bathroom mirror is a little too well wielded for you to pull off for a makeshift weapon, you discover, as you try your damndest to wriggle one of the sharper points back and forth to snap off. Curse this excellent example of Lolth craftsmanship.

“Breakfast is ready, ma’am!”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You stare at yourself in the mirror, trying to ignore the dark crescents beneath your eyes, despite however long you had managed to sleep. Given that the last thing you remember before waking up in your bed was being on the train with the prince, it probably means that you had been picked up by someone and brought to your room delicately enough to not be roused. You don’t know how you feel about that quite yet. Not disgusted, no, you don’t feel repulsed by the idea of his hands on you…. Which, in itself, is a new thought that you aren’t sure how to process.

When you leave your room, a familiar breakfast is laid out on the table. Human food, you think, looking over the spread as a pinch of hunger finally squeezes your stomach. You barely manage to thank the maid before you inhale it all, a dull throb in the front of your head reminiscent of a hangover. Whatever that demon doctor gave you yesterday left you feeling like you are starving.

“Blessings, ma’am,” the maid says, handing you a mug of something piping hot. “The keias’ assistant asked me to inform you that your servant is being put under surveillance and repairs.”

“Oh,” you say, a small ripple of relief running through your body. Also apprehension, that’s there, too, because you aren’t sure if what you have been doing is Starward Matchmaker’s Approved™. Issues might arise. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course, my lady.”

You bite down, ignoring the shiver running down your spine at the maid’s words. My lady, she said like you were almost royalty. It feels strange, yes, but this time you think that the maid really believes what she says, rather than spitting out empty promises on the prince’s behalf. “I… I think after breakfast, I’ll just go back to my room and rest.”

“A wise choice, ma’am,” the maid responds, beginning the tedious process of washing dishes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed,” you add, shoveling something else into your mouth.

“Of course, ma’am.”

You finish the food, placing the dishes in the sink and rinsing them because you aren’t a fucking animal, and head back to your room. The lock is thick, you can hear it click as you turn the nob, but you don’t trust it. It’s an illusion of privacy, if someone wanted in your room, all they would have to do is either get one of those old fashioned keys or electronically request permission from someone with access. Easy. But still, you think that the drow maid respects your privacy enough not to come barging in when you’re worming your way through the ducts.

Because, you think, pushing the bookshelf back underneath the metal grate, any control freak would at the very least have some kind of way to monitor all entrances and exits, these bad boys included. Besides the sensor, you mean, quickly disabling it with a flick of your finger against the tablet. Anyone with common sense wouldn’t immediately assume that their charge has somehow hacked their way into their boss’ primary system.

It’s not that tight of a space for you, probably because drows are just a tad bit larger than the average humans, so it makes sense that you’re able to get around without feeling the oppressive feeling of being trapped by metal on all sides. For today, you think that you’re going to investigate that room with that matching serial number, the one on the lower floor, and for that, you will need to find a kind of maintenance tube, preferably one with a ladder. Despite all your other adventures in the atmo ducts from before, the metal in this one is warm. It isn’t distressing or anything; it’s just an odd, so you march on, pausing every so often to look over the map on your tablet. After a little while of floundering around in the breezy tunnel, you find a four-way junction, well, six-way, technically, since up and down are also options.

You wriggle your body around, sliding down feet first, going as slow as you can manage until your foot hits an indent in the metal. It probably isn’t smart to rush downward, but you do, hand over hand, moving downwards as quickly as you would risk. Falling and breaking something is going to be the least of your worries, honestly, because being found in an area where you aren’t supposed to be is high on that getting in trouble list that will not end nicely for you, shattered limbs or not.

It’s difficult trying to find the room without any of the numbers painted on the inside of the walls sucks, because you have to keep careful track of how many grates you’ve passed. Plus, the fact that might not even matter because different suites might have a different number of rooms and, therefore, a wonky set air filters. Still, though, you keep looking down at the numbers on the map, and comparing it to the numbers you’ve passed, and keep going. There- there! Just up ahead, you mentally calculate everything once more, then stop to peek into the room.

At first, it’s a bit difficult to make everything out, but there is definitely someone in there. Someone large, with eight, spindly legs, leaning over a tall desk piled high with tablets, quarry-stone paperwork, and royal stamps. You fidget, trying to find a more comfortable way to spy on your number neighbor without your tablet digging into your thigh. After a moment of absolutely silent struggling, you realize that there is something very much wrong with your friend down there. Namely that they aren’t working anymore, they’re staring right through the grate, head cocked, eyes narrow, and you finally get a good look at their- his face.

Okay, there are two ways this can go about. You can scurry back through the dark like a coward, then deal with the consequences of unwanted questions and tighter security measures, or you can take this situation by the throat and throttle it. Calmly, you kick the grate open, then wriggle your body through the opening, plopping down on your feet and trying to hide the fact that your super cool landing hurt a lot more than you had initially expected it to. But no doubt, it probably looked real wicked.

“Hey, how’s it going?” You ask a very confused prince.

“What were you doing up there?”

“Having a look around the palace?” You say, trying to stick to as much truth as possible.

“You know- you could have asked Elias for a tour.”

“I could have,” you say, thinking very quickly on your feet, “but I didn’t want to bother him.”

“It’s his job to be bothered.”

“Maybe so, but I wanted to bother you directly rather than bother someone else to bother you.”

You figured that admitting- truthfully, unfortunately- that you wanted to see him would at least swing the situation in your favor, and it appears that you are correct. He no longer looks like he’s worried about whether or not you were planning on ambushing him while he was working to take his, uh, stone figurines or something, but you’re definitely not out of the woods quite yet.

“How did you find where I was?” He asks.

Ugh, truth time now. Say goodbye to a loophole that’s undoubtedly going to be fixed in no time. “Maintenance map,” you say, turning your tablet’s screen around and showing him. “I was wondering why my number didn’t match everyone else’s on my floor. Guess I know the answer now.”

He lets out a huff of breath, one that isn’t quite disappointed, but also wouldn’t be labeled as positively thrilled. “I see. And if it wasn’t me who caught you? What if it was someone less… accepting of your species?”

“If it were, I wouldn’t have made such an astounding entrance, babe,” you say, hopping on the smooth petrified wood of his desk, “I ’d’ve scurried off into the dark like a phantom.”

“And you would have been reported,” he says, less convincingly than he was a moment ago. “The whole situation would have been difficult to cover up.”

“Sorry,” you finally give in, “I didn’t know that I was risking you as well as me; otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried anything.”

He remains silent for a moment, you see him mulling over whatever you had said over in his mind, mouth slightly pursed in thought. After a hot, thunderously quiet minute while you await his verdict, your palms start to sweat from stress. You have been pushing his boundaries, you realize, that can’t end well. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone this far, you think, picking at the ends of your nails, so you don’t begin panicking.

“I have something for you,” he says suddenly, and you almost jump out of your skin.

“Oh- um, what is it?” You ask, swallowing thickly, trying to destress yourself before your entire body freezes up and you have a panic attack.

“The human protocol would be not to ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” The prince says breezily, opening one of the drawers in his desk and pulling out an ornately decorated box. “What you told me yesterday while you were, er, rather intoxicated made me realize that this whole situation is rather unfair for you, especially given the amount of trust you would have to exhibit just to cross the border into my people’s territory.”

You can barely remember anything from the night before, just a hazy jumble of colors and voices… and that creature, the one with such a death toll on their hands that there’s order for all ship captains, civilian included, to shoot them on sight. Still, you must have said something for the prince to suddenly be so gentle with you all of a sudden. You accept the gift he holds out, running your fingers over the stone of the box, admiring the golden engravings across the top. Slowly, unsurely, you open it, finding a wickedly long, devastatingly sharp blade lying in a bed of velvet-like material, the hilt intricately shaped to look like a single, golden serpent.

“It’s a thiamas,” he quickly explains, “They were only made during the territorial wars, but the last skirmishes ended centuries ago. Now they collect dust as objects of decoration… but I thought you might appreciate learning to use one.”

“Territorial wars,” you echo, wrapping your fingers around the hilt, “so… they were used against driders?”

“Yes. I would have to train you to use it, of course, and it would be no small task, but you should at least have something to protect yourself with whe- if you decide to stay.”

You look at the knife, at the imperfect curves and bumps in the blade, the gleam of the tip in the low light, how deathly black the crystal looks in your hand. Out of all the gifts you’ve ever received, you’ll be honest, the weapons have always been the best. Tools for you to use as you will, for better or for worse. You don’t expect this to be any different.

“You’re smiling,” the prince observes, “you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly, giving him a little nod.

“Perhaps, since you aren’t busy, we should start training now?”

“Yeah, one sec,” you say, placing the knife back in its case and setting the tablet beside it. “Hold still.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“Depends,” you arch your eyebrows, placing your hands onto his shoulders. “Maybe you should be.”

Then you pull him down, just a bit, enough for you to brush your mouth against his while balancing on the very tips of your toes. It has the desired effect, throwing the prince off whatever rhythm he had been on, his entire body going impossibly still against your mouth. When you part from him, it’s a quick, jerking movement. A soft, huff of breath escapes your lips as you look at his reaction, your heart beating much faster than should be considered healthy.

“That was a kiss,” he says, slowly, as if running through the logic of the action in his head.

“Yes.”

“It’s a sign of affection.”

“Yup.” Is he flustered?

“And… it is often used as a gesture of attraction.” He regards you once more, running his tongue over his bottom lip almost too quickly for your eye to catch.

“So it is,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest.

The very corner of his mouth twitches upward, just slight enough to be easily mistaken for literally anything but a smile. “I have a private training room that is reserved for my use only, we won’t be interrupted.”

You pick up the knife again, feeling the weight of it against your fingertips. “Lead the way.”

It’s a large room, better lit than his office, with sturdy mats covering the unforgiving stone floor. The stone itself isn’t what you would call cold, far from it, actually, but the mats must have some kind of cooling gel or whatever because they feel significantly less hot than everything else. The space is another thing, though, because it’s basically a warehouse. The ceiling towers over you like a cathedral’s, and you’re pretty sure that you’ll hear an echo if you shout. You suppose that driders do need a ridiculous amount of space to train, especially since they can jump a good amount higher than they are tall. It’s actually not bad to train on, you think, stretching your legs out, it’s better than that hellhole Clementine had you in, anyway.

“You can’t be afraid to get close,” the prince instructs, “the one flaw about fighting with a knife is that distance will not be your friend. But since you are so short-”

“Not short,” you can’t help but interrupt.

“My apologies,” he says, “I was under the assumption you’ve looked in the mirror recently.”

It takes you a hot minute to realize that the prince… is teasing you? You look at him, aghast, and then say, “I am perfectly not short where I come from.”

“Not being the shortest person in a species full of short people does not make you tall.”

You place your hands on your hips. “Okay, Mr. Tally McTallface from Tall People Land, how am I supposed to make up for the height difference?”

“You’re going to have to climb up me, whatever means necessary. Give it a try.”

Challenge accepted. You look over his body again, all angles, barely any softness. The joints of his many legs might offer you a decent foothold, but you’re going to have to use something else to haul yourself up. After pondering for a bit, your eyes zero in on the flaps of his clothing, open, begging for a small pair of human hands to grab on. So you give it a try, jumping up, grabbing the open neckline of his robe, and settling your foot up on the flattest bit of his leg, and press the dagger up against his throat.

“A fine start,” he says, clearly unconcerned with the weapon digging into his skin, “but that’s not where you want to aim.”

You slide back down, landing rather gracefully on your feet. “Where should I, then?”

“Here,” the prince places a hand on the very center of his chest, “you’ll manage to hit something vital if you aim here. This is a spot where two bones sit, fused together with collagen. The thiamas is sharp enough and strong enough to pierce through with little effort.”

So you try again, offering no words of warning as you snap into action, repeating your climb but sticking the point right where the prince had been pointing, mere seconds before.

“Better,” he allows, “though you may want to move a bit quicker. Anyone with the bare minimum of combat skills could see your movements before you even make them. Again.”

Finish him, a voice inside you hisses as you jump back down to the ground. So close, so close. Take his heart and leave him bleeding. You try a different approach, this time, leaping as high off the ground as you can manage, bracing your foot right where his hip ends and one of his legs begin, then gripping his shoulder to keep from falling back down. The tip of the dagger slices at his clothing with barely any force, you immediately yank it away in fear of nicking him.

“Again.”

He’s a good teacher, much better than Clementine or the matchmaker rep. You don’t think either would be particularly pleased to hear your observation, but it’s definitely true. While he does believe that skill takes practice, he isn’t nearly as unbearably harsh as the seasoned army vet put in charge of your brief combat training, nor is he fond of physical punishment for your ‘outrageous’ behavior. It’s… actually kind of nice, you realize, because a few hours fly by without you even noticing where the time was going.

Your focus isn’t on avoiding any untempered wack with a cane or an ungodly shock of electricity; it’s on how the prince’s skin feels against yours when you pull yourself up to his eye level, knife in hand. It’s on how his eyes seem to glitter in the low light when you manage to throw him only marginally off guard and nick just the smallest needlepoint of skin. As though you aren’t merely meeting the lowest expectations he’s set for you to accomplish, but like he’s- like he’s proud of what you are managing to do with the time you have had so far.

The idea of someone being proud of you… god, you don’t want to think about that right now. It’s doing something to your insides, making everything all melty, and your eyes begin stinging with something. Sweat, probably.

“Lunch?” He asks, letting you drop back down onto the mat, his hand on yours to slow your fall. “You seem hungry.”

“I feel hungry.” Your body is doing that thing where it vibrates due to a drop in blood sugar, which is basically its way of telling you to shovel food into mouth now please. “But I’m trying to acclimate to the two meal per day schedule you guys have here.”

“Nonsense,” he says briskly, “you shouldn’t starve yourself. I’ll order your maid to bring up some food while you clean yourself up. Unless, of course, you would rather return to your suite for the day?”

Do… do you want to go back to your room? Not really, especially with the matchmaker rep’s shell rotting wherever his assistant sent it. You do need to talk with the prince about what’s supposed to be done with that thing, but you had forgotten entirely about her just now. Plus, food does sound super-duper at the moment, and since you don’t think you can do much until you replenish all fuel gone with the training session, it’s pretty darn easy to decide that you would very much prefer to remain in the prince’s quarters for as long as he’d have you. If someone dares question your judgment… it was all for reconnaissance.

“If your bathtub is better than mine,” you threaten, waggling your fingers, “I warn you, I will only bathe there from now on.”

He seems amused. “I’ll allow you to judge the difference, then.”

The prince’s bathtub isn’t just better than yours, it’s much better. Like, you might have been just a tad bit put off by the luxury of your own apartment, but holy motherfuck, you don’t even know what to do with yourself when you step foot into his bathroom. Maybe wash your hands? Apologize to the polished marble for even looking at it? The bathtub is precisely the size you’d thought it would be, ridiculously large, big enough to fit the prince’s towering frame and then some. To you, it’s essentially a swimming pool, maybe one big enough to do some laps in, and your immediate thought at finally gauging its size was: bubble bath + big tub = bubble mountain.

“Is it better than yours?”

You barely manage to croak out a word in affirmation.

“I’ll leave you then. There should be something in my closet you can wear temporarily, feel free to look around.”

Bubble mountain bubble mountain bubble mountain bubble mountain. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Um,” you take in a shaking breath, “if you could turn on the water while I look for something to change into, yeah. I don’t know how to work the controls.”

“Of course.”

You make your way to the closet, and that almost feels like stumbling into some kind of otherworldly dimension. It’s… large, that’s for sure, and filled from wall to wall with clothing, jewels, weapons, and even armor, but you aren’t confident what exactly you can fit into without swimming in fabric. You pull open a drawer, rifling through different robes and tunics, until you find something that you can at least tighten around your waist so it doesn’t slip off your body like a silken tube.

When you emerge from his closet, the tub is only about marginally full, despite the water from the spout gushing like a goddamn waterfall. It’s… odd, you guess, seeing water used too liberally without any thoughts of conservation, but that isn’t needed here like it is up in space. Thousands of rivers run through the stone and metal, so it’s not like the prince is just showing off how much water he can afford to waste, either. It’s just a thing that’s normal.

You show him what you picked as if you expected him to be at all particular about the clothing you borrow. He only offers a nod, letting his eyebrows arch, and then saying, “I’ll leave, then, come out whenever you feel ready.”

“Right,” you say, reaching down and feeling the water’s temperature. Perfect. Huh. “Will do.”

The water feels glorious against the muscles you hadn’t even realized are sore until this exact moment. Everything melts down into a puddle of warmth, and after scrubbing some soap over your sweaty bits, you lean back and let yourself float. It’s almost like being adrift in space, in an endless void, surrounded by a vast nothingness that makes you feel like a blip in the eternity of the universe. There isn’t anything here to worry about, the matchmaker rep, the admiral, Clementine... even the prince fades away, bleeding out into the water. You take a long, deep breath, closing your eyes for just a moment, and pretend that you’re out doing a run for a local smuggler. Something external is damaged, so you just popped out of your ship to do a quick repair. Everything is fine. Everything is safe.

But it doesn’t last. The water begins to run cold, which you usually wouldn’t mind, except now you’re reminded that you’re here, grounded, and on a mission. The crushing feeling returns, the stress resuming to rest around your body like a smothering blanket. You don’t cry, though, because tears help no one, but you do let out a single, whimpering breath just to get a portion of it out of your system. Get up, get out, you tell yourself, hauling your soaking body out of the tub and onto the slick floor. Dressing isn’t as bad as your brain psyched it up to be since your arms are a tad sore, and you manage to wrap it around yourself enough to the point where, while not particularly attractive, serves its function as a temporary outfit.

You look at yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath.

Don’t forget to smile, the matchmaker’s voice echoes in your ears.

You leave the solitary safety of the bathroom.

[pocminiseries]

Sweetest Taboo|2

Taking Chances.

♣️♣️♣️♣️

"So, I uhh...seen your little baby's comeback with his group recently and I must say, he was looking mighty fine in the video,"

"Don't start this today, Jessie, please..." Subria was quick to protest, clearly not in the mood for her friend's antics and childish teasing.

Hearing Subria's tone, Jessie playfully held up her hands in self-defense. "Look, I'm just saying he looked nice. You know as well as I do that these record labels know exactly what they're doing when it comes to these idols. Most of them are barely legal but out here doing and saying questioning things while playing innocent. They not fooling no one cause I know," She voices with the shake of her head. "Tell me I'm lying?"

Subria gave Jessie a knowing look, choosing to ignore her question altogether. "As if you haven't tested those waters before," She throws out, earning a sneaky grin from Jessie in return. "Army will eat you alive if they found out what you did to their precious Jungkook,"

With the shrug of her shoulders, Jessie twirled in her chair at the memory. "He was 20 when that happened and till this day I don't regret it," She shrugs, winking at Subria's bored expression. "But all jokes aside, how are you and Hyunjin doing? I'm surprised that you two have even been talking this long,"

Sitting back in her chair, Subria laid her head on her closed fist as a slight smile pulled at her lips. "You and me both but in all honesty, we're good, for now at least,"

"What do you mean?" Jessie questions, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"You more than anyone knows my situation when it comes to love or just relationships in general," Subria begins as Jessie quickly realized where this conversation was going. "Things between him and I are changing, and have been for a while now if I'm being honest. So just to be safe, I decided to take things slow...I mean extra slow in an attempt to protect us both but the shit is harder than I thought,"

"So you mean to tell me that Ms. I'm not looking for anything serious, has developed feelings? And for someone you swore up and down was too young for you-"

"He still is," Subria swiftly cuts in, making it clear that the statement she made before she and Hyunjin were even introduced, was still very much relevant.

"Barely. Regardless of how you may feel about that, you can't let past failures reflect on what you have going on now. You're smarter than that," Jessie voices, taking on a sudden tone of seriousness. "Might as well keep going and see where and how things will end up,"

Biting into her bottom lip, Subria eyed her phone as it dinged with a new text message. "I know that you're right but Hyunjin...it's just-"

"Just what? There's a five year age gap between you two, Bria, not fifteen. You really need to let that go already," Jessie urges with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "With all that set aside, have you two...you know?" She proceeds to question with the wiggle of her eyebrows.

"What? Hell no. I want to ease him into that. I'll break him if we just jumped right into it," In order for this to work, Subria knew that she would have to teach Hyunjin a few things, let them explore each other first.

"For what though? I thought you said that Hyunjin wasn't a virgin?"

"He isn't but let's not pretend as if I'm not a whole different breed from what he's used to," Subria states, using her hand to wave over her body. It wasn't that she was being cocky but it was clear between her and Hyunjin who was the most experienced.

"So what all have you two done so far?" Jessie probes, wanting her best friend to get to the juicy details of her relationship.

"We've kissed but that's about it," Subria replies, avoiding making eye contact with Jessie because she could already feel her judgemental black orbs staring back at her.

"Huh? This isn't the third grade, Bria. You haven't even let him get a taste yet?"

"No, Jessie."

"Play with your pussy?"

"Definitely not,"

Crossing her arms, Jessie shook her head in disapproval. "Well damn. Did you at least let him feel on your titties?" She questions curiously, watching as Subria shook her head. "I'm surprised. Since you insist on treating him like he's a baby, you might as well let him suck on your nipple like one too,"

"Shut the fuck up, Jess. Besides, you know how respectful Hyunjin is. A few nights ago he gathered up enough courage to feel on my booty. Shocked the hell out of me when he did it," Subria reveals, causing Jessie's eyes to grow wide.

"Really?! With all that ass you got, I know babyboy was living the dream at that moment," Jessie laughs as the image of a nervous Hyunjin gripping a handful of Subria's backside played out in her mind. "You were probably leaking like a faucet, weren't you?"

Subria rubbed the back of her neck, refusing to answer the question. In reality, all Hyunji had to do was look at her, and her body would always seem to react to it. "Look, it's just better that we take things slow, you know, to really get to know one another,"

"I hear you, I really do. However, you need to accept the fact that something serious is blossoming between you two. It's ok to cross that line, Bria. You can put on a front with him all you want but I can see that you want him, just as much as he wants you. Just let go and go with the flow. You're too damn serious sometimes," Jessie advises before she downed the rest of her drink, slamming the glass onto the countertop.

"Anyway, I need to head home. My bathtub is calling my name, Plus it's my turn to open up this place tomorrow," She adds, standing up on her feet, stretching out her long limbs. "I'll see you in the morning,"

Pulling Jessie into a warm hug, Subria watched as she gathered her things and headed out, locking the door behind her. For a minute, Subria sat inside of the quiet restaurant she ran with her best friend, in her own thoughts. Jessie's words replayed over and over in her mind just as the sound of an incoming call filled the silence around her.

Glancing at the name on the screen, Subria couldn't help but smile at who was calling her. "Yes?"

"Come get me," Was Hyunjin's reply on the other end in a hushed tone. "I want to see you before my schedule gets hetic...please, noona,"

Glancing towards the clock on the wall, she saw that it was almost midnight. And though she wanted to argue with him that it was late, she decided to accept Jessie's advice. "Where are you?"

______

"So you guys still keep in contact with Woojin? I know you guys must miss him," Subria questions before she takes a lick at her ice cream cone.

"Of course but we all knew that him deciding to leave was something he's been thinking about for a while. We just hated when the day finally came," Hyunjin answers, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but at her.

Nodding her head, Subria lowly hummed, briefly glancing at him. For a second, she looked over his side profile and wondered if he ever got tired of looking so perfect all the time? 

"Papi..." She says lowly, knowing how much he liked when she called him by that pet name specifically.

His eyes were quick to find hers just as she took another lick of the cold treat in her hand. "Hmmm," Was his only response back while he laid his head back against the headrest, letting his bangs slightly get in his view.

"Have you been good though? Eating well? Sleeping well? I know how you can get sometimes," She recalled the number of times he would tell her how many hours of sleep that he and the boys would sometimes get or what their diets would be like. Giving him his props for dealing with it was a necessity because there was no way she could do it.

"Yes I have, I promise. If anything, our manager gets upset when we don't eat or sleep enough. Things are better now," He tells her truthfully, watching her tongue lap up her favorite flavor of ice cream. In a way he found it to be almost funny at how his body was reacting to her eating something but there was no doubt in his mind that she was partially teasing him simply because she enjoyed too.

"Better be because you know I'll whoop somebodies ass over all of you if I have to," She reminds him as she gave him a serious look. "Just ask your old makeup artist,"

At hearing her bring that up caused Hyunjin to instantly bust out laughing. He still remembered the day the woman showed up with a badly bruised face and limp walk after Jeong-in had informed Subria about some harsh comments the woman had made while she was doing his make up. It's safe to say that she hadn't dared speak to him or any other member in that way again.

"I'm almost positive that's the day he fell in love with you," He lightly jokes, once his laughing fit had died down earning a playful eye-roll from Subria.

"He had contacted me earlier about already having my birthday present ready," She softly chuckles before eating more ice cream. Just mentioning her birthday was bittersweet. She thought about what Jessie had up her sleeve for her big day almost to the point where she was dreading it. That woman could not be trusted.

"He wouldn't leave us alone until we took him to get it while we were in the Philippians. I think you'll like it, noona," He nods, knowing how excited Jeong-in is to give it to her. "And I think you'll like mine as well," He adds, shooting her a look that left her curious.

For a few seconds, she eyed him as his words replayed over in her mind before she went back to licking her ice cream again. "Well, that's good because I have something for you too,"

"Like?"

"You'll like it, papi. Don't worry," She winks, watching him shift a bit in his seat.

A comfortable silence fell between them with Subria finishing her snack and Hyunjin deep in thought about something he's been waiting to tell her all day. Every time his gaze settled on her, he found it to be difficult to say what's been on his mind for a few days now.

He was nervous, and Subria was starting to sense it.

"Noona..." Hyunjin finally speaks up, reaching his warm hand out to link his fingers with her cold ones.

Leaning back against the driver's side door, Subria softly squeezed his hand once her eyes settled on him. "Wassup? I can tell something has been on your mind,"

Licking his lips, Hyunjin broke their stare, choosing to look glow of the radio that played a familiar song through the speakers. "I've been talking to someone else for a while now...but it's only because our label suggested it. I guess they decided that I'm old enough now to be involved with other idols more freely," He reveals, biting his lip nervously. "The girl, Eunbin, she's nice and I..." He slowly trails off once his eyes met Subria's.

Staring at her, he tried to read the look on her face but the light illuminating from the radio only did so much. Reaching up, he clicked on one of the lights above them to give him a better view but still, he struggled to see what she was thinking.

"You what?" She questions softly with her eyebrows slightly raised, making him almost hesitant to continue but he had already started so he pushed himself to tell her the rest.

"I mean it's nice to have someone to talk to that understands certain things that only we know about and go through you know? Plus we're around each other a lot because our schedules are similar but I don't know what to make of her or the situation yet," He expresses, rubbing his thumb across her skin.

"Yes you do and it's ok, I get it," Subria reassures him with a small smile. "You have someone you can better connect on a level that you and I never could,"

Hyunjin quickly shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. She's nice to have as a friend but that's it," He rushes out, instantly regretting telling her anything. "I want you and only you,"

"You know how much easier it'll be if you date another idol instead? A relationship with me will never be approved for obvious reasons and you know this," Pulling her hand away, Subria shook her head as she chastised herself for letting things get this far when she knew better.

However, Hyunjin wasn't having any of it.

"Come here," He instructs, reaching for her hands again, rolling his eyes when she refused. "Please, noona..." He lowly urges, using a tone that caught her attention immediately.

"Come where? We're in my car,"

Smirking at her childish response, he gently pulled her closer. "You know where. Let's not do this. Now come here,"

"I'll squish you," She declines with the shake of her head. Saying anything she could to get out of doing what he wanted. There would only be one outcome if she obliged to his request and he knew it.

"I'm stronger than you think. Don't underestimate me," He warns lightly, although the double meaning behind his words was heard clear as day.

Sighing, Subria carefully crawled over to him with his assistance and soon found herself straddling his waist. Reaching down, Hyunjin adjusted his seat to make their position more comfortable as Subria settled into his lap.

"Why do you say things like that when you know you don't want me to go anywhere?" He asks as he places his hands on her thighs, causing Subria to become stiff. "Was it because you were jealous?" Hyunjin teases, grinning at the look that spread across her face.

"Jealous? Of what and who? Don't try to play me like that," Subria retorted back, feeling offended. "I was only doing what was best for you,"

"Best for me? I'm not a child. I can think for myself and what's best for me is you," He finishes by moving his hands further up her thighs. "Are you saying you don't want me?" He cutely pouts, giving Subria his best puppy dog look.

"I wasn't saying that at all," She mumbles, pushing his hair away from his eyes. "You make this so hard for me,"

If she didn't care about being caught or what the consequences that would come, she'd throw all caution to the wind and fuck him right now but....she just couldn't cross that line...not yet. "Touch me," She encouraged as her eyes roamed over his features before placing kisses along his cheeks and nose.

"I am touching you," He whispers back, unsure of what she meant.

"No, papi, I mean touch me like this," Moving back slightly, Subria took his hands and demonstrated what she meant by placing them underneath her sweater and onto her bra covered chest.

Hyunjin's throat instantly got dry at her request. "Noona..." He croaks, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "I don't know..." He trails off, feeling nervous, simply because he didn't trust himself.

Smacking her lips, Subria pulled up her sweater high enough to reveal a bra that left little to the imagination. "It's ok, I-" She begins, pausing mid-sentence as Hyunjin placed a kiss to her lips, shutting her up completely.

He barely gave her time to adjust, quickly finding his tongue moving against hers. With her hands gripping his shoulders, Subria relaxed in his, allowing Hyunjin to take the lead for once. Only growing stiff for a second when his lips found their way to her neck, where he licked and sucked on her heated skin in a manner she loved a way too much.

Subria found her hips moving at their own accord to create some type of friction to sooth the familiar ache between her thighs.

Biting her neck, Hyunjin managed to pull a sensual moan from Subria that was pure music to his ears. It was a sound he needed to hear again as he pulled her closer, letting his hands tug down the material of her bra to release her breasts. His fingers were quick to tease at her nipples while he continued to work his tongue across her neck, making Subria shiver against his ministrations.

"Wait-" She begins to protest with a shaky voice but Hyunjin didn't care to hear her excuses. She started this and he was determined to end it how he wanted.

"Shut up," He instantly shot back, moving his mouth towards her exposed chest. Even though this wasn't his first time experiencing something like this, Hyunjin wouldn't pretend as if Subria's titties weren't the prettiest ones he's seen because by far they were. Which is why he wasted no time by allowing his tongue to move slowly over her left areola.

All that could be heard besides the music playing in the background, were Subria's low whimpers of need while he worked his muscle in a way that left her a mess in his lap. Her hands soon found their way to his hair, pulling him closer to her chest, needing to feel more.

And once she felt him lift his hips to match her movements she knew....that maybe, just maybe her sweet Hyunjin wasn't as inexperienced as she originally thought.

Because he was too skilled at this. That innocent face of his had deceived her and now she was stuck.

"Don't..." Subria pleads, feeling one of his hands slip between them and to the very place she needed attention. "Hyunjin!"

[nat-roman0ff]

ii. the day after

a series of blurbs // a certain time and place

ii. the day after

the one where the feelings began.

 wc: 3,833

warnings: swearing, poorly written smut, anxiety issues.

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

The night comes back in waves -

It started at the bar, same as it always did. Both had forgotten what celebrational event brought them there. All he knew is when he finally saw her walk in that night, her eyes scrunched up as she let out a laugh at whatever her friend was saying, he knew he had made the right decision in coming out that night.

 It had been Brian’s convincing, of course, that got Shawn out. He’ been holed up in his condo for the last week and a half suffering a terrible case of writers block with a twist of seasonal depression. It was colder than normal this December and he supposed maybe that’s what had to do with the lingering black cloud above his head recently.

Shawn was just, to put it frankly, tired. He wanted to come home and relax, but between catching up with friends and family and parties it’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe, how to stop and enjoy a moment. It’s a constant state of go go go no matter what. No matter if he’s singing in a sold out arena, or watching a hockey game in his parent’s living room. There’s nothing left in his lungs to suck up and he feels his chest tightening the more he thinks about it. He tries desperately to focus on the conversation he’s not paying attention to in hopes it’ll focus him.

 It doesn’t, and he thinks maybe this is just the way he’s always going to be; tired, breathless and running on empty.

 That was, until he saw her walk in the door.

 What happens next in the night comes back to him in a series of drunken flashbacks that have nothing much to do with alcohol, and everything to do with that goddamn girl.

 One: She sings karaoke with him. Truthfully, she’s awful and somewhere halfway through a horrifying rendition of Mr. Brightside he’s pretty sure he finds the moment he started to freefall into her.

Two: Some absolute asshat harasses her at the bar, and proceeds to grab her ass when she tries to leave. Shawn doesn’t even have a second to step in before her fist is colliding with his left cheek bone. Killer right hook, love, he thinks.

 Three: Her cheeks are the most beautiful color pink he thinks he’s ever seen. He’d like to personally thank gin and tonic for creating such a masterpiece.

 Four: They leave alone, together. Somewhere between sober and tipsy. He memorizes the way her body feels pressed into his to stay warm in the cold of Toronto.

 Five: She’s under him, naked, and then he forgets how to breathe again.

 It’s barely 6am when Shawn’s eyes flutter open. She’s still asleep, her back facing him. The white sheet is barely covering her backside, leaving her entire back exposed to him. He contemplates drawing patterns across the freckles on her skin but he retracts his hand just before he makes contact.

 Shawn closes his eyes and replays what happened in this bed; he remembers the flush of pink in her cheeks just before she comes and he can feel himself getting hard over it. They weren’t drunk, at least he didn’t think so. There’s no way. They’d switched to club soda hours before they left and even stopped for a slice of pizza on the way back to his condo.

 She’ll regret it, he thinks. She didn’t seem like the type of girl that went home with random dudes every weekend. But then again, is there really a face for that? Or maybe she is. And then he’s filled with the warmth of guilt that he’d judged her for even half a second.

 She hums then groans, rolling onto her back and looking towards him. Shawn’s eye spring open, her hand is half covering her face and he can see a pert nipple sticking through the sheets.

 “What time is it?” She asks with a sigh.

 “A little after six.”

 He wants to touch her so bad but he won’t. Not until he knows what this is. Not that it needs a label or a name. There’s so much uncertainty, or maybe none at all. Maybe this is exactly what it is. Shawn was never really one to take much at face value; he always searched for the deeper meaning. The cause, the source, the conditioning, the reasons and choices he’s made that brings him to this exact string of moments. His mum always told him that’s the artist in him, his dad always told him it was the neuroticism in him.

 She shoves her face in the pillow, and he pretends not to notice the flash of her breasts as she flips over, “too early,” she groans, “it’s a Sunday.”

 “Actually, it’s Saturday.”

 She turns her head towards him, “fuck, really?”

 Shawn lets out a soft laugh, “yeah, really. Why, do you have somewhere to be?”

 “No,” she sighs and rolls over away from him again, stretching and arching her back out enough to make Shawn shift under the covers, “I never have anywhere to be.”

 This time he decides to touch her. It’s light, a swipe of her shoulder with the back of his finger. She doesn’t move, and he watches the skin beneath his finger prickle under his touch.

 “Is this okay?” He asks.

 She hums, “feels nice, you have very nimble fingers,” she blushes at the memory of where those fingers were last night and the places they explored.

 “Do you want to spend the day together?” He asks, adding another finger to his quest to find more skin to touch.

 He rubs a stripe down her spine and she shakes with a chill, “sorry,” he mumbles.

 “Don’t be,” she says, barely above a whisper. She can feel his breath fanning across her back, “and yes I’d love to spend the day with you. In fact -” she flips quickly to her back, curling a finger below Shawn’s chin, “I can think of exactly one activity I’d love to do today.”

 “Pottery?” He replies.

 She snorts, not expecting his answer, and uses her hands to cover her face at the sound, “you are so fucking weird,” she manages between fits of giggles.

 “Hey,” Shawn states, in all seriousness, “don’t do that.”

 “Do what?” She questions, concerned with his stern look.

 He moves her hand away from her face, “hide yourself like that.”

 It’s like a scene out of a fucking movie, she thinks, and on cue he brushes a strand of hair out of her face. But being her, instead of I don’t know letting out a sigh or moan or anything, she burps.

 Shawn laughs, burying his face in her neck, his body vibrating with laughter on top of hers, “stop it’s not funny! I’m so embarrassed!”

 She pushes on his shoulder and he lifts his head, using his free hand to trace the curve of her cheek, “don’t be. What you should  be embarrassed of is that morning breath, it sucks.”

 “I ate pizza at one in the morning and you didn’t have mouthwash! Who doesn’t have mouthwash in their bathroom?”

 “Me, apparently,” he deadpans.

 She rolls her eyes and he feels his stomach sumersault.

 “So no plans, eh?” He asks in a burst of sudden uncharacteristic confidence.

 Her eyes avoid is, teasing him, “well now that you mention it, I might have some plans.”

 Shawn plants his lips behind her ear, her head turned away from his allowing him the perfect amount of access to all the freckles on her neck, his weakness. All the little spots that sprinkled across her skin in unique patterns that made her, her.

 “You sure about that?” He rasps, his teeth selecting a soft spot of flesh below her ear to bite down on.

 She loses all the air in her lungs when she feels his tongue make a swipe against her skin.

 “This good?” He whispers.

 She nods, “keep going.”

 And that’s really all it takes.

 Shawn peppers kisses down her throat between the valley of her breasts letting the thin sheet that once covered them fall to the side. Her hands immediately fall to her chest. Without the darkness of night to hide under, she feels the heat in her cheeks spread through her. It’s not an embarrassment, but a sense of vulnerability.

 Truthfully, before last night it had been a while since she “got some”. Between work and friends she really just didn’t have the mental capacity to include a man in her life and that was good enough for her at the time. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Shawn thinks its in pleasure but in reality she’s counting backwards in her head.

 An anxiety attack during foreplay? That’s a new one, even for her.

 “Hey-” Shawn stops just above her navel, the sound of her rapidly beating heart catching up to him. He knows that sound anywhere, “are you okay? I can stop if this isn’t what you want.”

 “No, no it’s not you,” she sighs and pulls the sheet up to cover herself the best she can, “I’m just, I don’t know, stupid.”

 “You’re not,” Shawn crawls back up the bed next to her and holds her wrist, bringing her palm to his chest, “I get it, I’m nervous too.” She feels his rapidly beating heart beneath her palm.

 She breathes a sigh of relief, “maybe later?”

 Shawn smiles wide, “absolutely.”

 A few hours, a couple more layers, and several seasons of Friends later they’re still in bed but this time surrounded by Chinese takeout boxes.

 “Okay but hear me out, Ross and Rachel had the greatest love story of modern television,” Shawn pleads.

 She nearly spits out the General Tso in her mouth, “oh no, absolutely not. Get out of this bed. This bedroom. This condo. Now.”

 Shawn snorts, “this is my condo.”

 “I don’t care,” she groans, “don’t you ever say those words to me again. Monica and Chandler were clearly the best sitcom couple ever. Look at them!”

 She gestures to the TV. It’s the engagement episode and it always makes her tear up no matter how many times she’s seen it.

 “Okay, I’ll admit this scene always makes me cry,” he admits, wiping the corner of his eye.

 “Pussy,” she mutters.

 “What!” He throws his arms open, “you’re crying too! Don’t think I can’t see those little tears, missy.”

 Shawn reaches out and wipes a tear away with his thumb, “see, wetness.” He shows her the tiny blob of tear on his fingertip.

 She scrunches her nose, “don’t say it like that, pay attention to the tv.”

 He lets out a breathy laugh, “I’m more interested in paying attention to you.”

 Her eyes roll, “oh are you now?” She questions.

 Shawn moves the leftover boxes to his bedside table and rolls to pin her below him. His lips reach down to ghost hers, they’re sticky with saucy still, but he doesn’t mind. She reaches a shaky hand up to hold his face and she wonders whether her hands are too small or if his face is just too damn big.

 “You’ve got a big head,” she mumbles, his lips still brushing hers.

 He lets out a snort but doesn’t move, “and I’m the weird one.”

 “Just an observation,” she plays with the pendent hanging off his neck. It’s cool to the touch of her warm fingertips.

 She can feel the warmness building up inside of her. It starts in her chest and quickly spreads through her arms and legs and into her toes and fingertips. It’s the nerves, and she reminds herself to breathe. Shawn is so sure in his movements. He begins differently than last time, letting his mouth move slowly against hers, the laugh track from the show plays in the background.

 Slowly, and almost methodically, Shawn’s hands move to her sides and start to nudge up his shirt that she’s wearing. He pulls away for a second to look at her and she nods, raising her hands above her head for him to tug off the fabric.

 “You’re ridiculously beautiful,” Shawn sighs, taking her all in. He can see her cheeks turn pink.

 She reaches out and tugs on the collar of his shirt, “I bet you say that to all the naked girls that’ve been in your bed.”

 Shawn shakes his head and pulls his teeshirt off with one tug to the back of his neck, “never been many. None like you, at least.”

 “Hmm, sure,” she teases. She believes him. She hasn’t spent much time with him, but she’s spent enough to see that he has zero game with women beyond his good looks.

 Now it’s Shawn’s turn to roll his eyes, “shut up.”

 And she does, with a kiss, pulling him back down to her back the back of his neck. He crashes into her and it’s a new sense of ferocity; tongue against tongue, teeth clashing. It’s much messier than before and now that they’re both bare up top, she takes it upon herself to roll them over so she straddles his hips.

 Shawn’s hands immediately cling to her soft sides, letting his hands run up and down the curve of her hips and back. An electricity bolt runs through her and leaves burning embers where he’s touched her. Her skin is on fire and she can feel all the blood rushing through all her veins.

 She grinds down onto him, softly at first, but as their lips start to move in a rhythm, so do her hips. His length hardens below her and she can feel another type of warmness pooling in her lower belly.

 Shawn groans, and it’s not like, a good one. He sounds annoyed and he breaks the kiss, letting her sit up on him, “as much as I would love to keep this going the way it is, we used my one and only condom last night.”

 She chuckles, “one and only. Like - you ran out of them, or -”

 “Do you know if condoms have an expiration date?” He ponders from below her.

 She shrugs, “I think so...why how old was the one we used last night?”

 Shawn purses his lips, “...that’s not important,” she squeaks as he flips them over, “I do have another idea, however.”

 He places a tender kiss to her sternum.

 “And what’s that?” She pokes the scar in his cheek.

 “Can I go down on you?” Shawn asks.

 “Wow,” she pauses for a second, slightly taken aback, “I think you’re the first guy to ever ask if he could go down on me.”

 “Well I don’t like to assume -”

 “I’m not knocking it by any means, I dig consent,” she lets herself settle slightly further down the bed.

 “I know some girls don’t like it-”

 “Correction,” she cuts off, “all girls like it. Most guys just don’t know how to properly do it.”

 “I beg your pardon?”

 She laughs, “just don’t act like you’re drunk at two in the morning and my clit is a plate of leftover spaghetti.”

 “That’s going to be a really hard vision to get out of my head, why would you do that? I love spaghetti.” Shawn half laughs, half whines.

 “Oh just get on with it,” she commands, threading her fingers through Shawn’s already fucked curls.

 Without delay, Shawn bows his head down, his lips making contact with her hot skin. She’s less nervous than this morning. He isn’t quite sure what that was; whether it had something to do with him or something to do with her. He tried not to think about it too much.

 He focuses intently on her, mostly for her sake but also to try and distract from the ache between his legs. Shawn changes between kisses and licks as he makes his way down her body, making sure to really soak in every inch of her. She shivers when he uses his teeth to snap the waistband of her panties and he makes a mental note to do that again sometime.

 Shawn kisses the bare skin above the line and looks up, “okay?”

 She nods and he watches as her eyes roll backwards. His fingers hook around the edges and he tugs the fabric down slowly, making sure to kiss and touch every bit of newly exposed skin. He can smell her, how ready she is for him and it makes him sweat a bit. By the time he’s reached her ankles she’s already trembling and her chest rises and falls in big heaping breaths. He grabs her by the ankles and pushes them up the bed, allowing her to spread open for him and he’s pretty god damn sure he’s wasted on this girl already.

 “Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

 She manages a steady breath, “everything okay down there?”

 “Never. Been. Better.” He replies between kisses to the inside of her thigh.

 Shawn takes his sweet, sweet time. Breathing her in, watching her twitch each time his tongue swipes closer to where she craves him most. He nips at the tender skin on her inner right thigh, marking her for his own.

 She tries to steady herself by using one hand to clutch the sheets below her and the other to pull the curls on his head. He doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, it encourages him.

 But she grows tired of waiting. She’s pretty sure she’s wetter than a water slide and any time he could start would be goddamn great.

 “You are slow as molasses - OH!”

 She’s caught off guard when Shawn’s tongue works itself against her clit.

 “Shiiiit, shit shit shit,” she whispers over and over to herself.

 Shawn looks up at her and she looks so fucking beautiful all blissed out on his bed. He works her more, circling around the bud gracefully with his mouth. He reaches up for her free hand and holds it tightly.

 The show has stopped, the ‘are you still watching?’ message popping up on screen, so now the only sounds that can be heard in Shawn’s condo are her breathless moans as he hits every new spot. He truly doesn’t mind. If he could, he’d record her sounds and replay them over and over. It would be the only thing he’d ever need for the rest of his life, he thinks.

 Shawn lets go of her hand, his tongue parting with her at the same time, “mouth,” he demands.

 She gets it and sits up slightly, wrapping her lips around the tips of his middle and pointer fingers. She slowly brings her head down until her lips have reached his knuckles. Shawn lets out an involuntary groan. She bobs her head a few more times, making sure to soak his fingers. She releases her final bob with a pop.

 “That was just the preview,” she winks, and falls backwards onto the bed.

 Shawn thinks he might just fucking die here on the spot.

 He picks up where he’s left off, his tongue rubbing figure eights against her clit. Slowly, he slides the two wet fingers into her core. She sucks in a sharp breath, “fuck Shawn.”

 He loves how vocal she is, it just eggs him on more. Shawn pumps his fingers in and out of her slowly, letting his long fingers sink deep into her wet folds. She continues to breathlessly whisper curses and declarations to god under her breath.

 Between his mouth and fingers she can barely take it. There’s a swirling heat in every part of her body and she’s wondering if she’ll survive this. Shawn is so calculated yet so not with his movements. He keeps to pace just until she’s grown used to it and then he’ll switch the angle or throw one of her legs over his shoulder.

 He’s been milking her for what seems like hours, time seems to flow by so much slower it’s like she’s watching the world outside in slow motion. The pressure in her stomach is gradually but surely building. He places her other leg over his shoulder and pushes her thighs up higher, giving him even more access to her.

 The new angle is all it takes, and she’s starting to squirm below him. He tries his best to keep her still in place by locking his arms around her thighs. His long, slim fingers slide so effortlessly in and out of her, the evidence of her arousal completely soaking his fingers, and now the sheet underneath her.

 He finally hits the spot he’s been looking for and curls his fingers in a come hither motion to rub against it again, “Shawn fuck you’re gonna make me cum.”

 Shawn smiles against her core, “isn’t that kind of the point?”

 “Oh shut up,” she breathes.

 A few more strong strokes against her spot and she’s unraveling below him. Her back arches off the mattress and he continues through her orgasm, making sure to soak up every last moment he has with her like this. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out and she trembles, still sensitive. He pops his fingers in his mouth, licking her off of him.

 “So how was that for not knowing how to do it?” Shawn asks, crawling up the bed and laying beside her.

 He wraps an arm around her and pulls her in close, “alright, I guess. Less of spaghetti leftovers and more of chugging a Gatorade.”

 Shawn laughs and kisses behind her ear, “I’ll take it, I guess. Didn’t see you complaining.”

 “Mhmm,” she hums, “no complaints here.”

 “Good,” he kisses the top of her head, “let’s keep it that way.”

 They lie like that for a while, not drifting off into sleep but into...bliss? She isn’t sure and can’t honestly remember the last time she came at the hands (and mouth) of a man.

 She sighs, “I should probably get going soon,” she plays with her fingertips and picks out the gunk underneath them.

 Stay, he thinks. But his mind and his mouth say two separate things, “yeah, maybe.”

 Her heart sinks only a little, but she’d already overstayed her welcome as the sun was starting to get low in the sky. Maybe they were both just mutually stupid or stubborn or all of the above. She wiggles out of his grip, picking up her scattered clothes from last night that lay across his floor.

 Say it, please, she begs to him in her mind, ask me to stay another night so I know you feel this too. But he doesn’t say anything, and orders her an Uber from his phone. He watches somberly as she leaves, mentally kicking himself in the balls for letting her walk out.

 He immediately regrets not asking her to stay, to crawl back into bed and cuddle or fuck or anything that allows him just a moment of time with her.

 Maybe if he had asked her to stay, he wouldn’t be where he was now.

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

hello!!!! here is part 2. my blurbs just keep getting longer and longer at this point. let me know if this is something y’all would eventually maybe like to see as a series! i’m up for anything.

[nochanchu]

more than this

pairing: park jimin x reader (unnamed oc) genre: college au | romance, not really drama drama but it’s internal, theme of pining, includes alcohol mention and player!jimin wc: 3,101 description: [based on number seven of this prompt list] Jimin struggles to express his feelings—it’s a given for such a frivalous lifestyle—but she makes it so hard and so easy to crave something else, something more. 

It’s a chance meeting. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jimin knows how this interaction will go. He will talk to her, she will engage him in some witty repertoire, probably flirt back just a teensy bit, then before he can seal the deal, she will shut him out and wrap up her defenses as high as New York’s skyscrapers just to keep herself safe. It’s admirable, endearing actually, that she doesn’t fall into him, that she fires back responses with a curve to her lips and a hand on her hips, because when someone as divine as she gives him the time of day, he can hardly contain himself from returning with a measured grin and hazy eyes filled with interest and a dash of curiosity.

There’s something about her, he has often noted. She doesn’t care about him or his reputation. She doesn’t care for his dyed red hair or his piercings. Hell, she doesn’t comment on any of it, lest he tries to cross the platonic boundary with some teasing suggestions, then she reminds him of his previous flings with a raised brow and a pursed lip. It’s an effective way for him to shut up—something she has prided herself in for the last few months—and it makes him wonder how he has done it. He’s used to Yoongi shutting him up. Sometimes even the jeers of his friend group easily silencing him, but it’s good-natured and sometimes well-deserved. But her? When she shuts him up, he feels like he has done something wrong, like he’s playing with a boundary that can’t be crossed with that method, and yet in all his fucked up experience, he isn’t even sure how he can bridge the gap with just a simple, “Hi, how are you?”

It’s not him. Not anymore. He doesn’t know how to fucking function in normal relationships. What is normal anyway? Is it giving her flowers before a date? Walking up to her doorstep and watching her walk inside? Is he supposed to wait to kiss her or does he just do it because it feels right? When he takes her to the restaurant, is he supposed to open the door for her? How about the car—

He shakes his head at the thought, heaving a long and drawn out sigh along the way. Because he doesn’t fucking know. He has no clue at all. That part of him—the oh-so-romantic side—is long gone, and whatever conception he has left of love is nothing more than phone number exchanges at his frat parties, overnight stays in his bed or theirs and a few dark splotches as a temporary reminder, and the faint recollection of what may have transpired before he is back to step one, if you can even call any of that shit love, that is.

When she sees him, she throws a coy smile in greeting.

Jimin does the same, waiting for her usual jabs.

“This is a first,” she casts an up and down look at him. “No one’s hanging off your arm or sucking on your face.”

There it is, he thinks, feeling a little nauseous at the thought. He hopes he sounds as nonchalant as he thinks he does. “Is that an expectation for me?”

“Isn’t it for all you fuckboys?”

He sighs, a part of him already resigned to the label she has been keen on reminding him of since the two of them first met.

On any normal day, Jimin probably would’ve enjoyed this sort of thing. His own notoriety preceding him well if anyone knew him. Their crowds ran in different circles. Greek life meets org life. Which isn’t much different from one another, if not for the fact that she was the one making shit the Juneteenth happen while he made beer pong, mild hazing, and the frequent stomp performance at Rush Week a thing. It was inevitable for the two of them to meet, and yet it only happened when he found her moving in on his floor as his second year of being an RA.

“I suppose it is,” he replies before a sip of his beer. The bitter taste is without even a hint of the citrus fruits that were promised at the start of the night, though even as the alcohol dissipates into his system, he still feels that bitterness when he realizes that it isn’t the beverage bugging him.

Perhaps he should, instead, say that if this were with anybody else, then he wouldn’t have minded being withered down to a simple fuckboy status. But because this is her—the very active presence in the background of his thoughts with your kind, inquisitive smile and witty quips that get him to flush with laughter—he is bothered at himself than anything else.

She tilts her head at him and asks, “What’s wrong?”

He catches himself before he can ask how she knows something’s up, because he isn’t sure how he would respond. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to admit to the truth that has been bubbling up inside him like Coca-cola fizz, or the result of an extremely bad hangover. The aftermath is far from pretty, jarring even if she hasn’t suspected anything from him.

“Nothin—” Her glare stops him.

“You’re terrible at bullshitting, Jimin. I hope you know that.”

“I’m just tired,” he says, hoping to convince her (and himself), but he would take anyone’s belief right now. He would arguably appreciate one of his idiotic frat brothers coming over to steal him away, so he won’t have to face this reality.

“Let’s go then.”

“What?” he blurts out, unsure if he heard her correctly. 

She grabs onto his arm before he can say another word, already taking a few steps before tripping over herself. He reacts quickly, of course. Her own body now leaning against him as he navigates her both out of the too-warm house and into the cool, crisp air outside. It swarms them both and whisks away the smell of sweat and booze as they both walk down the street toward the dormitories. He almost can’t believe she isn’t pulling away. In fact, he almost goes into shock when she actually gravitates back to him when he tries to create distance between them.

“Stay here. I might trip and die if you keep leaving me,” she says with a small frown.

Jimin swears it’s actually a pout, but her pouting is an image he never thought he would live to see. Because while they both often talked casually, the space she puts between them is intentional. By disallowing him the privy of seeing her in any other aspect but surface, it is to make sure he knows that she has no intentions of falling for his charms and becoming one of his many fling casualties. He has long since accepted this, conditioning himself to the quips and the distance if only to remain in her life. It’s kind of pathetic. He never would’ve thought he would be like this with someone, walking on eggshells and still hoping to have a moment longer with them, but she makes it easy for someone like him.

“Are you sure you want me walking you home? I thought you didn’t trust fuckboys like me.” He doesn’t mean to sound so self-deprecating, but he figures he can pass off his behavior as being tipsy whenever she confronts him about it.

But she surprises him yet again when she doesn’t. Instead she shrugs with a sway as each steps on the blemished gravel makes a steady path harder.

“You’re my RA. Shouldn’t I trust you?” There’s a twinge of sarcasm laced between her words, but he knows the semblance of truth is still there. Even if he has to squint to see it.

“Well, true...” When she stumbles into his bicep, a realization strikes him as quickly as her cheek does and he has to make sure to be extra careful when walking with her. He’s dense as hell, so he has to ask to make sure. “Hey, are you drunk?” 

“No!” She tries to tell him with a straight face, but a peal of laughter escapes past her lips, making his heart beat out of pace and into some sputtering wreck. “Yeah, okay. A little.”

Of course, she’s drunk. 

Considering she has never really let him stand this close to her (something he has respected), it should’ve clicked before, what with her stumbling out of the house and clinging onto him like a lifeline. Normal circumstances would’ve put them at a whole meter distance instead of this millimeter one. Nor would he have an opportunity to walk with her unless it happened by chance. And, he doesn’t mind at all, really walking with her is its own bonus to keeping her safe.

Jimin’s only concern right now is getting her back to her dorm, away from the danger that lurks on dark, empty streets, from the copious amounts of booze offered at every corner of his frat house, and most of all, his brothers either lurking about to spill his dreaded secret or just to flirt to get a response out of him (though it would’ve also been out of their own prerogatives as well). He hates to think that there’s some need to stake claim to her, because he just can’t see that with her, or anyone really. He’s never been that territorial kind of guy, as raunchous as his reputation precedes him, things just happen. Perhaps there’s a game of hard-to-get, but too much hard isn’t his forté, nor is too easy either. He likes the middle ground, where there’s a push-and-pull, an equilibrium of sorts that can subdue and enthrall him all the same; where he’s more himself than just bits and pieces conjured at times that necessitate certain him’s; where as shitty as he feels, he can still somehow feel better, even in situations where he is simply walking back home. He likes, well, her.

It’s such a stupid thought when he reiterates to himself that she isn’t just anybody to him, because no fucking shit she isn’t just anybody. To anyone at all. She’s a godsend, a damn gift, a person that—if he ever had to guts to say—makes him want to connect, to finally bridge a gap with someone that hasn’t been his friend for more than five years, because he loves his friends. They’re the best people in his life. But her? She holds down her own tier, effortlessly.

He realizes they’re both almost back at the dorm, her room, to be very exact. He’s disappointed at not having been able to talk to her, but he blames his mouth’s current inability to open and create sound. He wishes to brave that jump and just let her hear what his heart wants him to finally say. But when he looks at her underneath the bright fluorescent lights, he suddenly finds any and all words caught and jumbled in his throat like a bad traffic jam on a three-day weekend. He just can’t stop looking at her. Like really looking at her. It isn’t her constant rejection that bugs him, or even her at all, it’s what he knows she sees that really gets to him.

“What?” They both seem to say, breaking away the faintest of tension in the air. He laughs and so does she.

The more he urges himself to speak, the less he feels brave enough to do so. Even though a part of him wants to hear the truth so he can finally get over this, another doesn’t want to. That part would rather live in the suspense and hope for reciprocation.

“You look like you want to say something,” she points out. Her gaze flickers over his visage with careful consideration, though it looks more adorable with the small pout adorning her lips. He can’t say this is the first time he’s seen her like this, but that memory is faint and fading in favor of this new one. Whether it’s good or bad makes him even more nervous. “Jimin, spit it out.”

“I—” He pauses. “You’re still drunk right?”

She snorts, giving a nod as she leans against your door. “That can’t fade in a ten-minute walk, J. Why?”

“Okay, good… I wanna ask you something then.”

“Is it another pick-up line? Because, c’mon now, those are getting old. At this point, they’ve become keep away sirens like ‘wee-woo, fuckboy alert! Wee-woo!’” He can’t tell if she’s joking. He wants to say yes, but the joviality in her eyes barely matches the fatigue in her tone, and the reality of rejection seems to sink in more than ever.

“No, not that,” he says in a small whisper.

“What then?” She tilts her head, either out of curiosity or increasing sleepiness.

For obvious reasons, he expects the words to refuse to come. His courage dissipating alongside them. He doesn’t want to face reality with her, he prefers the comfort of the usual, he likes her jabs and their banters, he likes being this close without being too close, and even though he hates the unknown, he likes not knowing whether she likes him back or not.

“I’d been planning on saying this for a while, but…” He shakes his head, instead he says, “It’s nothing. Have a good night, okay?”  

She blinks, unsure of what to make of the sudden change probably. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “I’ll just wait until you get in, and I’ll leave you be for the rest of the night.”

She softly says okay, fumbling with her keys but managing.

Jimin watches as she gets inside, he swears she pauses and it looks like she has more to say but seems to decide against it, and instead an exchange of small waves passes between them before she shuts the door.

He can suddenly breathe properly then.

Maybe next time.

/

Next time finds its way to him the following morning.

She sent him a text just to see if Jimin was awake and she came knocking not too long afterwards. The know is a simple beat, one of which she came up with for the sole purpose of having someone to corroborate a potential alibi with, not that any of the other RAs have ever cared. But it was something Jimin and she shared, and it was something he was grateful for nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, just as she did last night but this time sober.

He opens his mouth before shutting it immediately, falling prey to the hard stare she gives him.

“No bullshitting, Jimin.”

He steps aside to let her in. She takes perch on his desk, while he remains leaning against the now shut door. His nerves are bubbling back up again, but there is no escape this time.

“I know there’s something on your mind. You were so… quiet last night, even brooding you has more to say than you did last night, so as your friend, someone that knows you were running away from something—I have no idea what—please talk to me. You sounded like you had something to say, but you didn’t and I’m both curious and concerned to hear it.”

“Can you be honest about something with me?” he asks softly. He sits on his unmade bed and meets her eyes. Despite how much he would love to read into the fact that she caught on to how odd he was acting, he chalks that up to her being the observant person that she is, not a testament to feelings she probably isn’t harboring for him.

She nods.

“Am I just a fuckboy to you? It sounds ridiculous aloud, but with all the jabs you throw my way, it makes me wonder if that’s the only way you see me. I get it, I definitely deserve it. My reputation and all that precedes me. But it’s hard when I hope you might see me otherwise… I guess, if that makes any sense.”

He says all this with a wandering eye, the bulletin board with photos of his friends and family looking a lot less intimidating to even the awfully patterned carpet. 

“See you otherwise…” she repeats, catching his attention with clearing her throat. “Jimin, do you want to know how I really feel about you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She smiles a little. “I think you’re a great guy. Surprise, surprise right? I mean why else would I hang around you? You’re funny and sweet for the most part, and what you did last night stuck with me well into the night, because if I thought you were just like any other fuckboy on this campus, I would’ve accepted a walk home from any one of my other friends willing to do it. I wouldn’t have asked what was bothering you, in fact I was hoping you’d tell me on the walk, but Jimin, you didn’t try to make a move on me like any other asshole who would’ve when I was drunk, and besides that… I feel very fond of you.”

Jimin is speechless. The shroud of uncertainty lifting like clouds parting to make way for the sun. He can’t help but break out into a large grin.

“Does that clarify a few things?”

“It does. Thank you,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Holy shit.”

“Who knew you were so shy?”

He wants to scoff, but he can’t and they both know it. “I’m sorry, I’m shit at this kind of thing. I don’t know how to do the fairy tale kind of love. I thought I could once upon a time, but you know how that went—poorly—and here I am, struggling and trying. Even if this wasn’t an ideal confession, I want you to know that I feel very fond of you too, by the way.”

“None of this has to be fairy tale perfect, or well, Disney fairytale perfect. It can be Brothers Grimm perfect, sans all the death and gore. I don’t mind that you’re learning. I am too, alright? We can learn to get something right together. That sound good?”

“It sounds Disney fairytale perfect,” he says, and she snorts.

“Good, because I think Disney fairytale perfect entails that we deserve some non-dining commons breakfast food. Me, especially for coming here despite having been drunk last night.”

“How does breakfast at Black Bear Diner sound?”

“It’s a date, you ready?”

“With you, of course.”

He grabs his keys and shucks on a sweatshirt from his closet, her soon following suit, as they have the first of many dates.