#this grave caught my eye two years ago too since it was the only one with an engraving on it but now that I know the story behind it...

[xiyade]

This is the tomb of the Orberlian prince Elikum who died in battle. The engravings in Armenian say "Handsome Elikum, the son of Tarsayich, who like a lion bravely growled at the enemy. I beg you to remember him in prayers. "

I quite like the way he is positioned. His hand is under his head making him look like he is sleeping/resting on his side, but his face is staring at us or maybe at the enemy, as if saying he is still guarding the country even when he is resting.

[oldcoffeeaddict]

It has been five years since you last saw your family. You were thirteen and as the eldest child you were sent to the nearest town for some errands for your parents. You never came back. People of the town were kind ones, but the newcomers were not. A pretty young girl of your age couldn't do much against several adult men.

And that's how you were kidnapped. You tried to escape several times only to be caught again. For months they kept you trying to sell for the highest price.

Strangely enough you were saved by a demon. It killed your captors but spared you. Demon Slayers found you later and brought you to the Butterfly mansion to treat your wounds. Having witnessed the terrors of demons first-hand, you understood how important their job is. Although you were not suited to be a Slayer yourself due to your lack of physical strength, your kindness, patience and desire to learn and help people around you allowed you to stay in the Butterfly mansion as a nurse. You tried to contact your family to let them know you're alive, but it seemed that no letters reached them and you were too young to travel there on foot.

Two years ago you finally managed to get to your house only to find it empty with five graves nearby. The Slayer who accompanied you confirmed that that was most likely the demon attack. Somebody must have found the bodies of your parents and younger siblings and buried them. You cried in front of the graves and then left with the newfound resolve to help the Slayers defeat demons as soon as possible.

During your years in the Butterfly mansion you'd met different people, treated all kinds of wounds and made friends. Even the Wind Hashira was surprisingly nice to you as you won his heart with your kindness and some ohagi. But the one who caught your heart was the shy and aloof Water Hashira. You and Giyuu spoke little to none words to each other but you admired him greatly. Though you never acted on your feelings as you noticed that perhaps there was something between him and the Insect Hashira so you only could love him from afar.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

For the last couple of days you were busy with some errands for Shinobu in the nearby town so you were blissfully unaware of the ruckus caused by the certain trio of Demon Slayers and a demon girl.

When you arrived at the mansion the noises from one of the rooms immediately caught your attention. Entering the room you found an exhausted Aoi and a loud blond who apparently complained about the bitterness of his medicine. You decided to help your friend and approached the blond's bed not noticing two other people in the room.

“What's going on here?” You smiled at the blond boy.

“This is so bitter!! I don't wanna drink it, I'd rather…” the boy paused and looked at you suspiciously. You looked so familiar but he was certain that he had never seen you before.

You sighed and gestered Aoi that you'd handle it. The girl was more than happy to leave everything in your hands and left the room. You turned your attention to the boy and tried to convince him to drink his medicine:

“It's alright. I understand that's bitter, but don't you want to get better?” You smiled at him and Zenitsu almost fainted at the sight: your smile was so bright, he was sure it could cure him without this disgusting drink.

“You're such a nice boy, don't you want to be strong and healthy?” You patted his head. “Can you do it for me?”

Zenitsu could swear he saw an angel that day and that's why he bravely drank his medicine. He was so captivated by your beauty and kindness that he even didn't notice the taste.

“You're such a good boy!” You praised and the boy's face turned bright red. “What's your name?”

“A-agatsuma Zenitsu, ni-nice to meet you..?”

“My name is Kamado (y/n). Nice to meet you, Zenitsu” you smiled and patted his head again.

“Ka-kamado??” Zenitsu turned to his left to look at Tanjiro with wide eyes.

This made you turn as well and then you finally noticed two other Slayers and one of them was staring at you as if he saw a ghost.

Tanjiro woke up at Zenitsu's shouts and tiredly rubbed his eyes. He then noticed a new person enter the room - it was a girl, shorter than him, with bright dark purple eyes and black hair with red tips. For a moment he thought he saw his mother, your gentle attitude reminded him of her. But he knew you couldn't be her. Then he remembered his older sister who had gone missing several years ago. He was ten and couldn't recall your image in detail, he only remembered that you were the carbon copy of your mother, except for your hair - it was just like your father's.

This version of you was older and more mature than he remembered, but undeniably you - his long lost older sister.

You looked at the strangely familiar boy with burgundy-colored hair and eyes and the scar.. the scar, just like your brother's. You vividly remembered how he got it. The boy was looking at you with teary eyes:

“(Y-y/n)? Is that really you?”

You didn't notice the tears that started to roll down your cheeks:

“Ta-tanjiro?” Your little brother was alive. This realization made you cry and you rushed to hug him. The boy started to cry as well and hugged you back tightly. You stayed like this for some time, just enjoying the moment of happiness. Zenitsu almost cried too as he was happy for his friend (and slightly jealous too - he had not one, but two beautiful sisters!)

Tanjiro told you everything: about your family demise, how Nezuko became a demon, how he trained to become a Slayer to turn her back into human and promised to take you to her. He also told you how Giyuu saved him and Nezuko twice and how he was going to commit seppuku if she ever harmed a human. You were listening to his story with tears in your eyes and your admiration for the Water Hashira increased tenfold - you now owned him lives of your younger siblings.

You rushed to find him to express your gratitude as you knew that he'd be on his mission soon and who knows when he'd be back.

You found him on his way to the Water Estate.

“Tomioka-sama!” You called and he turned to look at you.

You fell on your knees and bowed your head to the ground.

“Thank you, Tomioka-sama! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Giyuu was genuinely confused as he couldn't recall doing anything for you.

“Thank you for saving them, thank you for sparing the lives of Tanjiro and Nezuko! How can I repay you for your kindness?”

That was it. That was nagging his mind ever since he heard that Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko were to be brought to the Slayers headquarters - he knew he heard that name somewhere but couldn't remember where. Sure he knew your name but he and everybody around you called you by your first name, not your last name.

His gaze softened: he finally was able to do something to make you happy even if unconsciously. You see, he always wanted to do something for you, but he couldn't think of anything: he didn't know your favorite flowers or if you liked them at all. The same with the sweets. He genuinely liked you but he never knew how to express his feelings and he was sure that you didn't reciprocate them - you two never had a proper conversation. He could have asked Shinobu for advice, but her teasing would have become even more insufferable.

He kneeled in front of you and hesitantly put his hand on your shoulder. You raised your head and looked up at him.

“Tomioka-sama..” You smiled trying not to freak out about how close the two of you were.

“Please stand, you don't need to bow. I did what I thought was right” He sounded as calm as ever but was panicking inside: you were so close, and you smelled so good and your smile was bright. He slightly smiled back at you and you almost fainted: it was so beautiful and it was just for you.

“Tomioka-sama, I..” You didn't know what you were going to say as your gaze shifted from his lips to his eyes and you thought you could drown in them. What you did next surprised even yourself: you kissed him. On his cheek thankfully. Your eyes widened at your action and then you did what every sane person would do: you got up and tried to run. Tried, because Giyuu managed to catch your wrist and stop you.

“I'm..” you were cut off by Giyuu's soft voice:

“Join me for dinner?”

[southernsolarpunk]

Hey check this out

I was making a zine (solarpunk ofc) and decided to use a bunch of old National Geographic magazines to cut up and use in a scrappy diy scrapbook fashion and of course I started reading them. This one in particular:

It caught my eye because it’s from September 1980 & talks about the Middle East. My brain wonders if they mention Palestine and they do! I copied the text for accessibility, but I put pictures at the end of the original pages.

“Jerusalem: reunited or occupied? The question has divided the city's 400,000 Jews and 100,000 Arabs since Israel annexed East Jerusalem in 1967.

BEIRUT, JANUARY 1975. Armed soldiers lead me through labyrinthine back streets, up a dark stairway to a midnight rendez-vous. Only a bare bulb lights the temporary command post; Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, seldom dares spend two days in the same place. “Our argument is not with the Jews” He tells me. "We are both Semites. They have lived with us for centuries. Our enemies are the Zionist colonizers and their backers who insist Palestine belongs to them exclusively.

We Arabs claim deep roots there too."

Two decades ago Palestinians were to be found in United Nations Relief Agency camps at places like Gaza and Jericho, in a forlorn and pitiable state. While Palestinian spokesmen pressed their case in world cap-itals, the loudest voice the world heard was that of terrorists, with whom the word Palestinian came to be associated. Jordan fought a war to curb them. The disintegration of Lebanon was due in part to the thousands of refugees within its borders.

Prospects for peace brightened, however, when President Anwar Sadat of Egypt, most powerful of the Arab countries, made his historic trip to Israel in November 1977. A year later Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed the Camp David accords, a framework for the return of the occupied Sinai Peninsula to Egypt.

The former enemies established diplomatic relations and opened mail, telephone, and airline communications.

The Camp David accords also addressed the all-important Palestinian question but left it vague. Sadat insists that any lasting peace depends on an eventual Palestinian homeland in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and Gaza. Israel agrees to limited autonomy for those regions, but, fearful of a new and hostile Palestinian state suddenly planted on its borders, insists that Israeli troops must maintain security there.

Crowded Rashidiyah refugee camp, set among orange groves south of the ancient Phoenician port of Tyre in Lebanon, lies on the front lines. Frequent pounding by Israeli military jets and warships seeking PLO targets has war-hardened its population, some 13,700 Palestinians.

At the schoolyard I watched a solemn flag raising. Uniformed ashbal, or lion cubs, stood rigid as color guards briskly ran up the green-white-and-black Palestinian flag.

Ranging in age from 8 to 12, they might have been Cub Scouts— except for the loaded rifles they held at present arms. Behind them stood two rows of girls, zaharat, or little flowers. Same age, same weapons.

Over lunch of flat bread, hummus, yo-gurt, and chicken I commented to my hosts, a group of combat-ready fedayeen, that 30 years of bitter war had settled nothing nor gained the Palestinians one inch of their homeland. Was there no peaceful way to press their cause?

"Yes, and we are doing it. Finally, after 30 years, most countries in the United Nations recognize that we too have rights in Palestine. But we feel that until your country stops its unconditional aid to Israel, we have two choices: to fight, or to face an unmarked grave in exile."

AFTER CROSSING the Allenby Bridge from Amman, I drove across the fertile Jordan Valley through Arab Jericho and past some of the controversial new Jewish settlements: Mitzpe Jericho, Tomer, Maale Adumim, Shilat. Then as I climbed through the steep stony hills to Jerusalem, I saw that it too had changed. A ring of high-rise apartments and offices was growing inexorably around the occupied Arab side of the walled town. Within the wall, too, scores of Arab houses had been leveled during extensive reconstruction.

"Already 64 settlements have been built on the West Bank," said a Christian Palestinian agriculturist working for an American church group in Jerusalem. "And another 10 are planned," he said. Unfolding a copy of the master plan prepared in 1978 by the World Zionist Organization, he read: "Real-izing our right to Eretz-Israel... with or without peace, we will have to learn to live with the minorities...

The Israeli Government has reaffirmed the policy. In Prime Minister Menachem Begin's words: "Settlement is an inherent and inalienable right. It is an integral part of our national security."

"Security" is a word deeply etched into the Israeli psyche. The country has lived for 30 years as an armed camp, always on guard against PLO raids and terrorist bombings.

Whenever such incidents occur, the response is quick: even greater retaliation.

In Jerusalem I met with David Eppel, an English-language broadcaster for the Voice of Israel. "We must continue to build this country. Israel is our lawful home, our des-tiny. We have the determination, and an immense pool of talent, to see it through." His cosmopolitan friends a city plan-ner, a psychology professor, an author gathered for coffee and conversation at David's modern apartment on Jerusalem's Leib Yaffe Road.

Amia Lieblich's book, Tin Soldiers on Jerusalem Beach, studies the debilitating effects almost constant war has had on life in the Jewish state, a nation still surrounded by enemies. As she and her husband kindly drove me to my hotel in Arab Jerusalem afterward, some of that national apprehension surfaced in the writer herself.

"We don't often come over to this part of town," she said. "Especially at night."

I DROVE OUT of the Old City in the dark of morning and arrived a few hours later at the nearly finished Israeli frontier post, whence a shuttle bus bounced me through no-man's-land to the Egyptian ter-minal. As a result of the Egyptian-Israeli treaty, it was possible for the first time since 1948 to travel overland from Jerusalem to Cairo. An Egyptian customs man opened my bags on a card table set up in the sand. I took a battered taxi into nearby El Arish, to a sleepy bank that took 45 minutes to convert dollars into Egyptian pounds, Then 1 hired a Mercedes for the

200-mile run across the northern Sinai des-ert, the Suez Canal, and the Nile Delta. By sundown Cairo was mine.

Despite official government optimism, I found many in Cairo worried that President Sadat's bold diplomatic gestures might fail.

The city was noticeably tense as Israel officially opened its new embassy on Mohi el-Din Abu el-Ez Street in Cairo's Dukki quarter. Black-uniformed Egyptian troops guarded the chancery and nearby intersections as the Star of David flew for the first time in an Arab capital. Across town, police with fixed bayonets were posted every ten feet around the American Embassy. Others were posted at the TV station and the larger hotels. Protests were scattered, mostly peaceful. None disturbed the cadence of the city.

Welcoming ever larger delegations of tourists and businessmen from Europe and the U.S., Cairo was busier than ever-and more crowded. Despite a building boom, many Egyptians migrating from the countryside, perhaps 10,000 a month, still find housing only by squatting among tombs at the City of the Dead, the huge old cemetery on the southeast side of the capital.

Even with the new elevated highway and wider bridge across the Nile, half-hour traffic standstills are common. Commuters arrive at Ramses Station riding even the roofs of trains, then cram buses until axles break.

Cairo smog, a corrosive blend of diesel fumes and hot dust from surrounding des-erts, rivals tear gas.

Despite the rampant blessings of prog-ress, Cairo can still charm. In the medieval Khan el-Khalili bazaar near Cairo's thousand-year-old Al-Azhar University, I sought out Ahmad Saadullah's sidewalk café. I found that 30 piasters (45 cents) still brings hot tea, a tall water pipe primed with tobacco and glowing charcoal, and the latest gossip. The turbaned gentleman on the carpeted bench opposite was unusually talk-ative; we dispensed with weather and the high cost of living and got right to politics:

"Of course I am behind President Sadat, but he is taking a great risk. The Israelis have not fully responded. If Sadat fails, no other Arab leader will dare try for peace again for a generation."

Across town at the weekly Akhbar El-Yom newspaper, one of the largest and most widely read in the Middle East, chief editor Abdel-Hamid Abdel-Ghani drove home that same point.

"What worries me most is that President Sadat's agreement with Israel has isolated Egypt from our brother nations," he told me. "When Saudi Arabia broke with us, it was a heavy loss. The Saudis are our close neighbors. Now they have canceled pledges for hundreds of millions in development aid to Egypt. Some 200,000 Egyptians-teach-ers, doctors, engineers live and work in the kingdom.

"And Saudi Arabia, guardian of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, remains for Muslim Egypt a spiritual homeland."

This magazine was published before my mom was born, and yet the sentiments have basically unchanged. An interesting look at the past, and more proof this didn’t start October 7th. (But imagine my followers already knew that)

[startanewdream]

A while ago you wrote older jily telling Sirius about their 2nd and very unexpected pregnancy. As it was on fool day Sirius didn't believe them.

Could you write a sequel with Sirius understanding it's not a joke? (If you think that a caustic remus should be a witness of this all, i wouldn't mind😁😘)

For you, Zin , hope you enjoy this pure *chaos* down here❤️ (first part)

***

With a flick of his wand, James sends all the dishes to the sink. "I'll take care of them in the morning," he promises.

Lily nods lazily; she stands up, moving to the liquor cabinet. James beats her to it, waving her to sit again. She almost laughs; hopefully, in a few days, his overprotective care will subdue.

In front of her, Tonks—well, Lupin, technically, but Lily still sees her as Tonks—winks at her.

"This one was the same," she says, nudging her husband. "Usually made a mess because he didn't want me to do anything."

"You were nine-months long, it didn't seem natural that you could move at all."

"I couldn't be more clumsy than I usually am—I nearly broke your front vase, Lily, sorry."

James chuckles. "It was a gift from Sirius, we wouldn't mind."

The man in question lifts his eyebrows. "You said you had loved it."

"No, what I said is that I could see you loved going for shopping in IKEA."

"I'm man of good taste."

"I find that hard to believe—how is the refurbishment of Grimmauld's Place?"

"That place improved a lot since I took down my dear mother's portrait."

"You mean since we took it down—two hours worthy of charms and I didn't get offered any beverage—"

"Speaking of," Lily begins, deciding that interrupting them is the best course; it's late after all. "Weren't you going to offer our guests a last drink?"

James flushes. "I don't think Sirius can be considered a guest anymore. He's part of the furniture by now."

"The nicest furniture," Sirius agrees, unashamed, accepting the glass with liquor that James offers him. He tastes the drink, then looks at James finishes serving Remus and Tonks, before closing the liquor bottle. "You forgot yours."

"Oh, I'm not drinking. Solidarity and all." He winks at Lily, who blows him a kiss in answer.

"Not drinking? Lily needs her sleeping juice."

"I do not," Lily says dignifiedly. "And I should drink in my current state."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Are you two still keeping that joke?"

"What joke?" Tonks asks, curious.

Lily sighs. "Dear Padfoot is under the impression I'm not really pregnant."

"You cannot be pregnant," declares Sirius, as if it's obvious. Tonks snorts.

"Well, for the things I've unfortunately witnessed between them, I'd say she can be pregnant, no question."

"Yeah." James holds the back of his neck, his cheeks red. "Sorry about that, we thought we had locked the door—"

Remus laughs heartily. "That's how you know you are part of the family," he assures Tonks. "It's a tradition to catch them...ah... making babies, I guess."

"To be fair, it only happened twice," Lily notes.

"People catching you two or the babies?"

Lily nods gravely. "If I had a child for every time someone caught us, we could have our own Quidditch team by now."

"Your own Potter's Playground," sniggers Sirius. Then he throws a reproachful glance at Remus and Tonks. "Since when are you two into this prank?"

Remus smiles innocently. "Since James promised me I would be godfather—mind you, I had to wait twenty years—"

"I am the godfather!"

"You can be Uncle Padfoot now," Remus suggests, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"No one ever called me uncle—James! I'm okay with your fake pregnancy, but fake uncle is too far."

"Sirius," Lily insists. "It's not fake. I'm three months pregnant now."

Sirius blinks; twice. "You cannot be," he says reasonably. "I would have noticed it."

"Is it?"

"I'm an Auror."

"A lousy one," Tonks teases. "Let's see—there's that glowing aura, James hasn't let her hold anything heavier than a fork, Lily didn't drink wine the whole dinner—"

"And," Remus adds, "there's the fact that she told us. To use your Auror terms, she confessed her crime."

"Repeatedly," James whispers; Sirius ignores him. He kneels suddenly as if the weight of his body is too much, and he stares at James and Lily with awe.

"Pregnant—you two are really...?" They nod. "There is another Potter coming?" Another nod. Sirius' eyes widen. "Good Godric, I can't believe, I... I am going to be a godfather again!"

"Er..."

"Not now," Lily whispers to her husband, patting Sirius' head; he is actually crying. "We have six months to get him used to the idea."

[vakarianshepard]

N7 Month Day 1- Poetry

Here's my first contribution to N7 month! I didn't think I was gonna have anything for today, but I was suddenly struck by this idea. Set in ME2, not long after Horizon; Alexa finds a book of poetry and reflects. Under a cut because it got longer than I planned 😅

The Complete Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson. The small paperback seemed ridiculously out of place. Rare enough to see a print book at all, let alone in a random footlocker in the Terminus Systems. Shepard picked it up, turning it over to examine the blurb on the back. 

“Shepard, come look at this,” Jack called from the next room.

She jolted, startled, before replying, “I’ll be there in a sec,” making the snap decision to tuck the book into her pack. 

Later, in her quarters, she flipped through the pages, pausing when she got to "Ulysses".

"I cannot rest from travel; I will drink life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those that loved me, and alone."

Ash's face suddenly appeared in her mind, unbidden.

"My dad loved this poem," she'd said, almost seeming embarrassed. “I still read it to his grave every time I go home.” 

Her breath caught unexpectedly. A pang of grief shot through her. Alexa sat back, lost in thought. What would Ash have made of all this? The Normandy's destruction? Alexa’s death and unexpected resurrection? Horizon? She sighed, pinching her brow. What a mess. Cerberus sure loved selling bullshit with a smile, she thought wryly. Ash wouldn’t have entertained it for a single second. 

She missed Ashley. Her dry wit, unafraid to speak her mind. God, what she wouldn’t give for ten minutes with her. Two years had passed, the rest of the galaxy had moved on, but her grief was still fresh. To her, everything was a few months ago. Tears pricked her eyes and she wiped at them furiously. 

“I cannot rest,” she snorted to herself; “sounds about right. Sure could use your fire right now, Chief.” Everything seemed so off-kilter, so… screwed up since her unexpected return. Her mind went to her friends—the people she loved, and her heart warmed. No matter how bleak things looked, she was lucky to have them.  She read on:

“Life piled on life; were all too little, and of one to me little remains: but every hour is saved from that eternal silence, something more, a bringer of new things and vile it were for some three suns to store and hoard myself…”

Strangely fitting; resurrected, only to set out on a suicide mission. A second chance with an expiration date. It hardly seemed fair, but it was more than most—more than Ashley, or Pressly, or her parents, or, hell, even the merc who’d carried this book. She stopped herself. It was a chance. Maybe they’d survive—she had to believe they would. Things weren’t perfect; some days weren’t even good. But she was recruiting some of the most talented people in the galaxy, and slowly, they were becoming a team. 

Colonists were still going missing. Horizon was not a victory, and every time she thought of the Illusive Man’s smug face, rage flared white hot in her chest. It would be selfish to take the chance denied to so many and squander it, standing idly by while innocent people suffered. Even if it meant working with Cerberus a little longer. Shepard bowed her head, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, nothing had changed—the dim lighting, the glow of her fishtank, the subtle hum of the engines below. But, her resolve strengthened. She could, no, would do this. For the people she loved, for the people she’d lost. Alexa tightened her grip on the book; she would not waste this chance. She would stop the Collectors and survive on her terms—not the Illusive Man’s, not Cerberus’. She scanned the rest of the poem, her eyes lingering on the last lines: 

“We are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts… to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

Things may have changed; two years gone, she was disgraced, shunned by the Alliance, forced to work for the enemy. She thought of her and Kaidan’s argument on Horizon with a twinge of remorse. Hopefully he would understand; hopefully she’d get a chance to apologize. For now though, she had a job to do, and she hadn’t changed. Not really. Alexa closed the book, her hand lingering on the cover as she stood. 

“I’ll make it count,” she said aloud. As she turned to go back downstairs, she glanced back at the book, a small smile playing across her face, “thanks, Ash.” With a deep breath, she stepped into the corridor, ready to move forward. 

[annaphoenix1994]

Borderline

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

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My strides were shorter compared to the men on the tarmac, and I ignored the wandering eyes of the other soldiers when they took notice of me. I had just gotten back from a stealth mission in Al Mazrah, taking point with Commander Phillip Graves to initiate a missile strike against General Ghorbrani, making sure the area was free of enemy activity before the strike was approved. After that, I accompanied Laswell to Amsterdam to rally up with Captain Price and Sergeant Garrick of Task Force 141. That was my second time working with Captain Price, but my first-time meeting Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Both were amazing men, and we seemed to work together well, and eventually, grew closer together enough to make jokes and open up about our personal lives. Price joked that I was his long-lost daughter because he didn't realize how overprotective he was of me, and Garrick joked that I reminded him of one of the comrades of his team because of my morbid jokes and stern attitude. "She's just like Ghost, Cap", he would say, and Price would simply reply, "The only difference is that she's pretty and I've seen Simon's face twice in twenty years."

Who was this Ghost person? Maybe there was a reason he got his name, and if Price himself said that he had only seen Ghost's face twice in twenty years, I assume that there was a certain reason.

I never got comfortable being home after a mission and probably never would. I lived on my father's ranch in Wyoming outside of Cody. It was a ranch that had been in my family for seven generations, and it was a place I could call home for the rest of my life, with or without a spouse to share it with. I've been in the military for going on fifteen years, starting my career in the fall of 2001 in the United States Marine Corps. I climbed through the ranks and eventually landed my spot in the C.I.A, being Kate Laswell's second in command. The job (and benefits) was great, but it all came with a price.

Being a Case Officer in the C.I.A came with excruciating training as it would be something that I had never done before. I specialized in hand-to-hand combat, using the elements of Thai Boxing to my advantage as I was only a woman standing 5'3", using items around me to my advantage to not only conserve ammunition, but nine times out of ten, my stealth missions limited me on the number of weapons I could hold on me.

This time, I was assigned on a special mission – to help track down Hassan Zyani as well as the two additional missiles that followed the one that was already found.

And to find out how they ended up in enemy hands in the first place.

"Ah, Kiera, it's so nice to see you again!" Alejandro smiled at me, opening his arms for an embrace. I didn't resist as it had been a long time since I had seen Alejandro and Rudolfo. We had worked closely about a year ago, helping his team of Mexican Special Forces secure the border when there was a major migrant problem.

"You too, Alejandro!" I laughed. "How've you been? Still in one piece, I see!"

"You should know that by now!" He laughed, his hand resting on the small of my back before releasing his grip on me. I moved to greet Rudolfo with a side-hug, asking him how he was, and I could notice that heat rose in his cheeks. He had always been the quiet, reserved type, and I respected that, but I couldn't help but pry into him a bit after getting to know him because he was hilarious when he would open up, though he was quick to shut down when he told a joke that nobody caught onto.

"You two ready to get after it?"

"Like always, señora. Laswell says that she's suspecting our target to be moving across the southern border."

"That's exactly what they're going to do. We need to get a small team together and head to the river."

"Aye. Rudy, go get the car."

Rudolfo nodded, heading to the hangar that housed the base's transportation.

Within an hour, we made it to the river that separated the United States and Mexico, getting a call midway through that the Border Patrol was stationed at a certain coordinate to catch a group of migrants in the water. Both me and Laswell thought it was suspicious considering how coincidental a massive group of migrants were caught crossing the river around the same time it was estimated for Hassan to make a move across the border. It was nearly four in the morning, and to say I was tired was an understatement, but I forced myself to keep moving as I was sure adrenaline was going to wake me up sooner or later.

"Rudolfo, los inmigrantes son una distraccíon. El objetivo está en movimiento. (Migrants are a diversion. Target's on the move.)"

"They probably crossed the river in a boat. Let's find out." I suggested.

"Good call," Alejandro nodded, patting my shoulder supportively.

"Si supera, no temenos jurisdicción en los Estados Unidos. (If he gets over, we have no jurisdiction in the United States.)" Rudy sighed to Alejandro.

"Pero lo hago. (But I do.)" I replied assuring, seeing the surprise on Rudy's face when he remembered that I spoke and understood Spanish. Alejandro looked at me with a proud smirk, seeming to admire my dedication to my job. "I've got a few blips on my sensor," I whispered, pointing to the north. "There."

"That's got to be their boat," Alejandro nodded. "Rudy, stop here."

Our weapons were drawn as we crouched against the bank after beaching our boat. I folded down my PVS-14's from my helmet, seeing through the complete darkness with a steady green hue that illuminated against my face. I took point, keeping my suppressed M4 aimed ahead of me, holding up my left hand in a balled fist before I stopped and whispered, "Hey, listen. Cartel's moving Hassan fast."

"We can still catch him before he crosses?" Rudy questioned, taking a position next to me.

"Maybe. We need to move fast."

"The wall is just up ahead," Alejandro informed us. "Be ready."

"Las Almas Cartel working with Iran... this is new ground." I scoffed.

"And if Hassan crosses?"

"Tactics change." I replied, an eager scoff lacing my voice.

"¡Llévalo al escondite! (Get him to the stash house!)" A cartel member shouted.

"Get to cover. There's four detected." I whispered, double-checking to make sure my weapon was ready to fire. It always was, but I always made a habit to double, even triple-check my equipment before opening fire.

"¿Está los barqueros enc amino? (Are the ferrymen on their way?)" Another narco questioned.

"Visual on Hassan. On top of the wall!" I whispered, nudging Alejandro's arm.

"La recogida es en Flores y Barajas. (Pickup is at Flores and Barajas.)"

"I'll take a shot at Hassan to disable him," I directed. "You and Rudy take out the rest on the ground."

"Copy that. Take position, Rudy."

"Ready when you are, Colonel."

My shot rang out, hitting Hassan in the shoulder before he fell to the other side with a heavy thud before I started shooting with Alejandro and Rudy to take out the rest of the cartel members on the ground. They barely had a chance to fire back, but I still treated the area as highly dangerous and expected backup cartel members to arrive.

"Clear!" Rudy shouted.

"By yourself? There could be more waiting on the other side of that wall." Alejandro sighed.

"I shot him in the shoulder, and he fell. It's likely he didn't get up and run away. If he did, I can easily track him."

"When you get to the top, take a look around. If it's only him, then I'll stay here, but if he's gone, I'm going to risk my authority to cross with you."

"Okay." I grinned at him, folding up my PVS-14's and gripping the thin steel pillar of the wall. This was going to be hard to climb, but it wasn't anything I haven't done before. I took my time, failing to look down towards the ground as I had a deep fear of heights, only focusing on my destination before swinging my leg over the top of the wall, flipping down my PVS-14's to sweep the area.

"What're you seeing, Dutton?"

"Not a damn thing!" I replied. "He's gone! I see where he fell, though. Bleeding like a stuck hog, allegedly."

Alejandro and Rudy laughed, each putting on a pair of gloves before ascending the wall at a faster pace, quickly meeting me at the top of the wall, "Aye. He won't get far with that much blood loss."

"That's what I'm saying. You two should follow my lead on this one. Tactics have changed."

"We'll follow your lead, señora. Hassan has more friends here than Rudy and I do. We need to stay sharp." He advised me, he and Rudy moving down along the other side of the wall and to the ground, Alejandro standing below to watch me come down, holding his arms up as Rudy provided cover just in case I fell or needed help.

"The cartel will move him to the stash house nearby," I sighed. "We have to find it. I remember hearing them say something about Flores and Barajas."

"Street names."

"Aye. Let's move."

We moved quietly through the brush, working our way towards a trailer park and through a chain link fence into someone's yard before we stopped in our tracks. Someone was yelling.

"Hey! Get the fuck out of my yard!" An angry American shouted, a beam of flashlight flashing towards the north of the man's property. It didn't take us long to realize that this man was not yelling at us, but someone else.

"¿Quieres una bala, gringo? ¡Vete a la mierda! (You want a bullet, gringo? Back the fuck off!)" A man shouted.

"Hassan's moving this way!" I whispered, pointing. Joining Alejandro's lead, our trio moved as we turned off our flashlights and relied on the street lights that lined the road going through the trailer park. "House on the corner!"

"Copy. Visual!" Rudy nodded. We watched the garage door of the house close harshly, indicating that it wasn't a resident purposely doing so.

It was suspicious.

We moved across the street and took a cover position on either side of the eight-foot-wide garage door. "Open it. I'll cover." Alejandro said to Rudy, his partner nodding as his grip on the door tightened.

"Police are on their way!" A resident shouted from inside the house. "Honey! Get the shotgun!"

"Be advised, these are people's homes. We don't belong here. Make every shot count." Alejandro warned to us as Rudy opened the door, taking point as I watched his six while Alejandro stayed behind to close the garage door back behind him to prevent someone from coming up behind us.

Rudy made entrance into the house, the flashlight mounted on the underside of his barrel guiding him through the dark house, "Special Forces! If you live here, we are not here to hurt you!"

Alejandro cleared the first room to his left while I cleared the first room on my right. "Rudy, let me take point, I have my PVS," I whispered, engaging my night vision and moving forward, preparing to clear the room on my left when a man charged at me from around the corner with a metal baseball bat, hitting me in the hip and knocking me off balance.

"You want some, too?!" He shouted at me, aiming his arm back to hit me again when I took the nearby vase from the table and smashing it over his head, pieces of glass littering the tile floor.

"Do you want some?!" I shouted, taking the bat from his hand and throwing it down. "We're Special Forces. We're not after you!"

"O-Okay!" He groaned, showing me his palms, his chest rising and falling.

"Where did they go? The people that were just in here?"

"They-They went that way!" He groaned, pointing towards the door in the living room of the house that led to the patio, the man's wife sitting on the couch with her knees to her chest.

"Vamos!" Alejandro directed us.

"You alright, señora? You took a big hit." Alejandro asked me, a chuckle coaxing from his throat.

"Didn't even feel it. I'm sure he felt that vase across his head, though." I shrugged.

"Bad move on his part."

"If his wife wasn't screaming and crying for us to not shoot him, I probably would've killed him for charging at me."

"I'm sure—They're right there!" Alejandro said abruptly, pointing towards the house on the street names we had been looking for. We were now in a narrow alley, making our way towards another house to take cover in if the need arose.

A beam of truck headlights blinded my vision before we jumped out of the way, taking cover behind a wooden fence before we opened fire at the truck. "Cartel patrols! Get down!"

"Opening fire on the truck!" I shouted as I unleashed the power of my M4, the truck stopping after I had shot the driver, and three cartel members jumped out of the back of the truck. "All clear." I panted.

"Nice work. Here, this way." Alejandro said, taking the lead towards the next house that we presumed was another one Hassan and his gang used to take cover judging by the forced entry. We could hear the sirens from the local police department heading our way.

"Hassan may be alone." Rudy whispered to me.

"I'd be surprised. Anybody see any blood on the ground anywhere?" I asked. "We could really get a P.I.D on him if we could see his trail."

"Negative. Let's clear this house and move," Alejandro sighed, using his foot to open the busted door and moving in to take cover when he noticed two individuals in the open area of the living room. "Special Forces! Get down!"

"Get the fuck out of my house!" A man shouted, holding up his arms in surrender.

"The men who came through here, where are they?" Rudy commanded, moving to where he stood on Alejandro's left, and I took cover behind the kitchen counter. Something didn't feel right, even if these people seemed to be compliant. Unless this man worked third shift, it was still odd that he was in jeans and a plaid shirt with shoes still on his feet.

It didn't take me long to realize that this man was a member of the cartel gang that was escorting Hassan, and the other man was the homeowner.

"Rudy! Get down!" I shouted, watching the man reach behind his back before he began to open fire on him, killing him on the spot. "You! Show your hands!" I ordered, watching the man cry before he laid down on his stomach and laid his arms out to the side. I could never be too sure that he was just a normal guy, even if he complied with my orders. We had to move fast, so I did a final sweep of the area as Alejandro and Rudy moved to the exterior of the house as I disarmed and took apart the pistol the cartel member once owned and left it on the floor before joining my team outside.

"Let's start with the blue two-story." I whispered.

"Why?"

"Their security light just turned off." I huffed, walking towards the two police cars that blocked the street.

"Drop your fucking weapons right now!" The officer shouted; his weapon drawn at us.

"Do as they say boys. I'll clear this up." I advised.

"Step forward at me! I want to see empty hands! I will shoot you if I have to!"

"I'm Case Officer Kiera Dutton. I'm leading a team of Special Forces after a known terrorist. I was sent by Station Chief Kate Laswell." I bargained.

"Gomez, hold up. These are her people," The officer eased. "Heh, hard to tell you guys apart from the cartel with your uniforms and weapons. Where's your suspect?"

"We tracked him to that house behind you—"

Like a flash, the area had been hit with an RPG. I felt like I had been blown back ten feet, landing on Rudy as he was standing behind me. I couldn't think regularly as my vision was in a haze, feeling like I had just come out of salt water. My ears rang to where any outside sound felt like I was underground. I felt around for my M4, cursing when I realized that it wasn't laying close by. I felt blood staining my uniform at my elbows when I moved to stand to my feet. "Alive?!" Rudy groaned.

"Barely." I hissed, having no time to ask Alejandro if he was okay before enemy gunfire erupted from nearby, seeing two cartel members with covered facing eliminating the surviving police officers before they moved to finish us off.

That was, until Alejandro had taken cover next to the police car before he opened fire, killing the two on the spot. He had picked up my M4. "Echo! Here!" Alejandro shouted at me, tossing my M4 back to me. "Two more incoming! Engage when they get close!"

Rudy and Alejandro took out the two cartel members on the ground while I took cover behind the second police car to take out the RPG shooters on the roof of the garage, watching them fall to the driveway before I did a sweep through my scope to ensure that there was no more enemy movement detected. "Clear."

"Copy. You two sweep down the interior. I'll lock down the exits."

"On it."

Rudy and I made our way into the house, eliminating two threats while we cleared the first floor. A few moments passed by before Alejandro announced that all exits were secure, and he had one more point of entry to check. I moved to the front door as Rudy made his way upstairs. I entered the living room, my finger curling around the trigger of my M4 as I looked at the scared woman who reached for a gun laying on the floor next to the corpse of what looked to be her husband. "Don't you dare reach for that gun!"

"I'm not the cartel!" She cried.

"Then why reach for the gun?"

"I'm not cartel!" She repeated, taking the gun and sliding it towards my foot.

"Go and sit in the corner. Now."

Alejandro and I were able to control the situation, holding our ground while Rudy continued to clear the upstairs. "Is that smoke?" I questioned, smelling a strong scent of burning as Alejandro and I looked at each other. "Oh, my God! It's coming from upstairs!"

"Let's go!" I shouted to Alejandro, making my way behind him as we ascended the stairs.

Heavy smoke filled the entire upper floor of the house, the temperature almost unbearable as we searched frantically for Rudy's location as well as having our weapons drawn just in case there were more surprises waiting on us. "I've got him!" Alejandro shouted at me, and I immediately established a perimeter to keep an eye on the surrounding area until Alejandro could rescue him. We could barely see each other, but that didn't stop him from pushing through to save his brother.

"Let's go! Quick!"

Alejandro laid Rudy down onto the driveway of the house between two cars once we got him outside and I continued to sweep the area of threats while Alejandro tended to him, pulling out gauze from his medi-pack. "What happened in there, Hermano?"

Rudy coughed, "I got shot in the shoulder before I could even take another shot. Hassan came out of the bathroom as they poured gas everywhere. I heard them mumble about a shipment coming across the Atlantic."

"Shit." I huffed. 

»»-------¤-------««

Laswell huffed as she closed her laptop, rubbing her face before offering me a cigarette. "Of course, he's going to send Graves." 

"He's a cocky prick, isn't he?" I chuckled, lighting the cigarette with the lighter that sat on the table. Laswell was only on Mexican ground for twenty-four hours to make her report before flying back to the Pentagon for further surveillance. That, and I had something that I wanted to touch base with her on. "Don't you find it odd that Shepherd always sends Graves?"

She shrugged, "I guess I could, but it's no different than Captain Price sending his Lieutenant and Sergeant to get a job done." 

"True. I'm probably putting too much thought into it..." 

"What are your thoughts, Kiera?" 

"While I was on the plane heading to Mexico, I was doing research on the missile that was found in Al Mazrah. The one the Marines and Task Force found. I was able to touch base with Sergeant MacTavish as it was in the report that he was able to see the serial number. He told me the number and said that he was glad he was able to remember it, and I put it into our database. That missile was on a shipment roughly nine months ago along with two other missiles. It took me a while to find any records of it, but when I did, guess whose name was on the recon list." 

"Who?"

"Commander Phillip Graves. Given the order by General Shepherd himself and those missiles were transferred to the Middle East. That was the only thing I could find because nothing else came up. Given the timeline, it wouldn't surprise me that these missiles got stolen by enemy hands and somehow fell into Hassan's." 

Laswell nodded before inhaling her cigarette, "Good work, Kiera. Now I see where you're coming from. You know what you have to do now?" 

"Yes, ma'am. Keep a cool head and find little bits of information about these missiles from Graves himself."

"And see if he gives himself up. Don't say anything directly to him to keep him from going anywhere." 

"I won't. I'm willing to put money on the fact that Shepherd is sending Graves to cover up a Black Bag operation." 

"I'll look into it further when I get back to the Pentagon. You keep here and meet Price's Task Force. Report back to me when you can." 

"I always do." I reassured her with a smile. 

"I know." 

[warnersister]

Chapter 11 - May God have Mercy

The Highwayman Series | Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

“Goodbye, daddy” you kissed your father on the forehead and turned to head to the church, leaving him on strict bed rest while you’d attend Sunday service. “Goodbye, darlin” he replied, not looking at you. You look at him strangely, his behaviour with you odd recently. Then your eyes avert to the window, following his unwavering gaze. All you could see were four equal plots to the left of the saloon, and two tired grave diggers wiping the sweat from their brows as they hopped out from the penultimate plot. “Who’s dead?” You ask, knowing that this town never dug a grave unless having reason too “no one baby, you run on to the church now.” He says and your lips purse, stretching into a straight line.

You head out front, Stetson perched on your head with Jake leant against the fence panels out front, smoking a dying cigarette “since when d’ya go to church?” You ask him, threading your arm through his when he offered it. Jake swallowed despite a dire lack of saliva in his mouth. He just shrugged, eying the plots wearily before walking to you towards the church “feel like I need a final hurrah from the big guy” he tells you, opening the door for you as you try to find an empty seat. “What are y’ talkin’ ‘bout?” You ask but he shakes you off, nodding at the Reverend who was about to begin his sermon.

As usual, the sermon dragged on as you strained to listen, standing to sing, sitting to read, listening to a few of the town’s younger generation read passages from the Bible with a smile on your face, Jake passing an arm over your shoulder as they stuttered over their words. “Thank y’a child” the reverend smiles as the small boy blushes and rushes away from the lectern, and the Reverend just about takes his place when the doors fly open.

There the sheriff stood, four of his inferiors behind him as he smirked smugly, strutting into the church as though he owned the place; the other four falling in tow. “There’s to be a hangin’ today!” He announced and people started muttering to one another, you turn to Jake who looks awfully calm, but still his grip on you tightens. “Cuff ‘em” he says, and the four head towards the pew you and the Daggers were sat on, Bob and Coyote being cuffed first, Rooster put up more of a fight but his resistance was still futile. Your father ripped Jake from his seat himself, ragging him up with such force it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“Daddy what’re y’doing?” You ask, in panic and he looks at you with a look you can only describe as pure deep-rooted evil. “Doin’ what I should’ve done five years ago.” He tells you, pulling Jake away “‘m gonna hang ‘em.” He says “These here!” He announces, drawing full attention form all as the town crowd quietens. “Are fugitives of the United States government!” He shouts, pulling the pills from his pocket and holding them high in the air “these boys are Sacramento drug runners!” He says and many gasp “Bob’s a doctor!” Maverick announces and your father just shakes his head “a doctor practising in California state. Not Texas.” “Why’re you taking the others?” Penny asked “these two” he motioned to Rooster and Bob “harbouring a fugitive” then he looks at Jake with a smug look mixed with delicious spite “and this ‘un; blasphemy!” He says and you gasp “daddy he ain’t gone against God!” You tell him “sleepin' with my daughter unmarried? By God he is.” He spits, starting to drag the men away. “Daddy y’ can’t do this!” You shout and he scoff “sit down, girl.” You look around and eyes just stare back at you, you look to the Reverend for answers and he just shakes his head, saying a quick prayer “May God have mercy on your souls.”

You tried to run out, but Maverick caught you at your waist and you look at him in horror “what am I gonna do, Mav?” You cry, gasping for breath and his chest rises and falls at an instead rhythm “y’don’t wanna watch ‘em be hung, baby” he says in a small voice and you nearly scream “no! They aint gonna be hung! They ain’t” you tell him, hitting against his chest as you prematurely mourn your fiancée.

As you begin to calm slightly, an idea formulates in your head, Maverick and Penny caressing your back as you try to deepen your shallow breaths. “Can you guys get their horses ready?” You ask, quietly and Penny creases her brows “why, darlin?” She asks “cause they ain’t being hung today. Either five die or none.” You say and as Mav begins to question who the identity of the fifth belongs to, you rush out the church, past the growing crowd formulating outside the Sheriff’s office, and straight up into your house and into your daddy’s room; eyes scowering it as you doubt your own sanity. Questioning if there was any reason behind your actions you do the only thing you can think to do, you lurch for it.

The shotgun.

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @911onabc, @buddiearemydads, and @ebdaydreamer

So i've actually got two for ya'll today. First is from my a/b/o kidnapped mpreg Buck and the second is brand new, like just started writing it 30 minutes ago and its teen! Buck who comes to live with Maddie and Chimney, who is trying to find the balance of parenting (sort of) and friend, with the added trouble of fighter! Eddie who is two years older than Buck.

The car bounced under her as Buck threw in the last of their luggage.  Neither of them knew how long they would be gone, so they essentially packed every item of clothing they owned, which really wasn’t a lot.

Maddie hadn’t been in L.A. for too long and acquired very little in that time. Buck had been living out of his suitcase and a duffle, but that was nothing new to him.  Before coming to L.A., the omega was always ready to leave at a moment’s notice and since he still had yet to find his own place after leaving Abby’s, all Buck owned was now in the trunk.

Maddie’s eye roamed around the jeep, her jeep, the very same car that she gave to Evan to escape their parents.  Stored away last year after purchasing his newer jeep, that he then sold alongside her car just yesterday.  “Just to add to our nest egg.” Buck had explained after cashing the check and before she could even ask what vehicle they’re supposed to use now, the younger omega took her to a storage lot and revealed, the blue jeep.

Their freedom.

It was still in great shape, well taken care of. Well loved.  “I wasn’t going to sell it, but I felt I had to move on from the kid that drove this jeep all over trying to find himself. Storing it away let me keep the last part of you I had and allowed to me to grow up.” Buck explained.

It was sentimental and smart. The jeep was the last car Doug would even think to look for, since he’d only seen the cars that were now going to a used car lot.

And here we have Chimney catching Buck (and Eddie) at the illegal fight club.

This was not hurt being covered by angry cries. This was a 16 old kid who had lied his ass off about a movie with friends, and instead was at an illegal fight club with a gravely injured fighter being attended to by Hen and Bobby. This was Buck putting his entire new life in L.A. in jepardy.

Buck’s mouth opened and close, and Chimney could see the half ass lie forming, “The truth Buck!”

The teens jaw clicked shut, hardening as his blue eyes flickered over to the scattered crowd of fighters, onlookers, and betters intermingled with police officers. He was looking for someone, Chim realized, and he followed the young man’s gaze, trying to find who he assumed was Buck’s partner in crime.   Most of the people left were sleezy older men, scantily dressed women, and a mix of battered fighters. Then Chimney spotted him.

Hidden further back by a beat up two-door truck was a shirtless young man, late teens if Chimney had to guess, with large brown eyes darting around in worry and concern. He was slim, but in good shape, based on the lean muscles of his arms and defined abs. The guy was sporting a few bruises on his chest and his lip was busted open and swollen. Mix in the sweat and messy chestnut locks of hair, Chimney clocked him as one of the fighters. And when the young man’s eyes landed on him and Buck they narrowed in on Chimney with underlying threat and anger. This was who Buck was looking for.

In the corner of his vision, Chimney caught Buck shaking his head, and Chimney gave his attention back to girlfriend’s brother, “Did he bring you here?” he asked.

Tagging: @bekkachaos @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @thekristen999

[nehswritesstuffs]

banish every gaslight; let clarity shine - Part 4

I’ve been waiting to get to this stuff for a while you have no idea. It’s a little longer than the prior chapters, but it’s worth it.

Part 1 [FFN/AO3] - Part 2 [FFN/AO3] - Part 3 [FFN/AO3]

A pair of children, sick and alone, stumble into Spider Miles with hate in their hearts and their lives on a timer. Then, a surprising thing happens: they acquire a sister. [3136 words; AU where there is a Third Corazón, whose existence makes Law’s life hell]

Sixteen years earlier, in an entirely different ocean…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Lami squeaked quietly as she tried to not cry. Her entire body hurt as she hid in the cart, feeling every bump in the cobblestone road shift the bodies above her. Law pressed two fingers to her lips—they had to be quiet. The little bit of light that filtered through to them was enough to hit his eyes and show how large and terrified they were; he was just as scared as she was, and they both needed to hold on a while longer. As they traveled, they could feel the ground beneath them shift to something softer before the cart finally came to a stop.

“Ah, shit, we’ve got to dig too?” came an irritated voice. It must have been one of the soldiers. “Breathing’s tough enough in these fucking masks.”

“We wanted to wear surgical masks, but no… it had to be rubber gas masks,” another soldier griped.

“Yeah, fuck this,” a third chimed in. “Let’s just ditch the cart and say we thought we didn’t need to dig—all in?” A small chorus of voices agreed and their heavy boots began to walk away into the distance.

Silence.

“A-are they g-gone…?” Lami whispered.

“I think so,” Law replied. He wiggled his way out of Lami’s sight and carefully—quietly—removed himself from the cart. After a quick look to make sure none of the soldiers were there, he found his sister’s ankles amongst the limbs in differing stages of Amber Lead and rigormortis and pulled her out, her shirt getting caught on someone’s hand that had long-ago calcified. She began to panic, but he deftly unhooked the fabric from the stiff fingers. “See? We’re good.”

“Law…? Where are we…?”

“It looks like the campgrounds,” he said, taking a better look around. There was a pile of shovels near one tree, along with a container that looked like fuel accelerant. The clearing across the way had several mounds of dirt that were too neat and orderly and large to be anything but fresh graves. He remembered how it looked in the cemetery when their neighbor passed away before the Amber Lead began to take its toll—that was supposed to be their fate next, burned and buried in a pit with everyone else from the cart. “We need to get out of here, and quickly.”

“…but where will we go?!” Lami asked, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She watched as her brother climbed back onto the cart and began tugging clothes off corpses. “Law?!”

“It’s only going to get colder, and they won’t miss them,” he claimed. He tossed down two thick cloaks, a coat, and a thick sweater before hopping back down to the ground, a pair of boots in-hand. They were not the correct size for Lami’s feet, but they would work, since she hadn’t put on shoes in months. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Where…?”

“Somewhere we can get them back,” he said darkly, taking her hand in his. “We need to first survive, but then… they’ll be sorry.”

The two children ran into the woods and did not look back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Bloody fucking hell… look at them,” Diamante smirked. He and Trebol towered over the pair of brats in the trash heap, having stumbled onto them eating moldy bread. The boy was a bit older than the girl and was holding a knife as though it would protect them. “…and what do you plan on doing with that, lad?”

“Don’t touch my sister,” the kid growled. “All we want is to die taking out as many people as possible, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us be.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere like this,” Trebol snorted. He sucked some phlegm back up into his sinuses and chuckled. “You’re Flevench—how much time you got, kid?”

“Thirty-eight months,” the boy said. “My sister has thirty-six.”

“A doctor told you that?”

“Our parents did,” the girl said, trembling. “They were really, really great doctors! They were murdered by soldiers!”

“You two are little kids,” Diamante scoffed. “How do you plan on taking out all these people?”

“We’re going to join the Doflamingo Pirates,” the boy stated. Diamante and Trebol both laughed. “You’ll see! We’ll join them so we can help cause as much destruction as possible!”

“Why do you think that the Young Master should waste his time on you, hm?” Trebol wondered. The boy swallowed hard and adjusted his grip on the knife. “We only take serious applicants.”

“We are serious,” the girl chirped.

“Yeah,” her brother agreed. “We won’t have peace during the three years that we have left, so why should anyone else get that luxury?”

The children waited with bated breath as the adults in front of them grew quiet. Diamante and Trebol both looked at one another and nodded before turning around and walking away.

“If you’re really that serious, then follow us,” Trebol chuckled. “If not, then have fun eating garbage for the rest of your lives.”

Law and Lami looked at one another and nodded—this was it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Flying through the air, Law grabbed onto Lami and did his best to land on his back, cushioning her fall. He glared at the man staring out the window at them, feeling just slightly vindicated when he caught himself on fire.

“Jackass,” he mumbled. He looked Lami over, seeing that she was shivering. “Hey… you alright…?”

“Yeah,” she whimpered, nodding into his shirt. “Law… I want Mom and Dad…”

“We’ll see them soon enough,” he said as he hugged her.

“Wow! You survived!” Lami and Law looked to see the two kids from the Donquixote Pirates—a large boy and a girl in a maid outfit—scurrying over to them. The girl helped them stand as Buffalo watched over his shoulder for the adults. “We thought you were dead for sure!”

“Law makes sure we don’t die,” Lami told the other girl. “He’s really smart and good at taking care of me.”

“If you’re so smart, then why do you need the Family’s help?” she deadpanned, turning her attention to Law. “They say smart kids are the ones who leave.”

“We need their help because we are not going down quietly,” Law hissed. “What’s it say about you that you’re still around?”

“I’m clever—that’s different,” the girl retorted. She then looked at Lami, her face brightening. “Finally, another girl! If you convince the Young Master to let you stay, then we are going to have the best time. Better than we got now at least.”

“I thought we already had another girl,” the boy mentioned. The girl punched him in the arm.

“Dellinger is a boy, you dummy,” she scolded. “He’s part Fish-man, so his junk hides like theirs, but he’s definitely a boy! You’d know that if you changed his diaper!”

“Then why’s Giolla acting like he’s a girl?”

“…because Giolla is also stupid and thinks she can just make him a girl because she wants to,” the girl sighed. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Law and Lami. “So, how about it? You gonna see if you have what it takes?”

“We know we do,” Law said. Seas, this girl wasn’t getting it. “Can you get us back in?”

“Mmm… I might be able to pull a few strings,” she said with a grin. She then stuck out her hand. “Name’s Baby 5.”

“Law.”

“Lami.”

“I’m Buffalo!”

“Those are weird names,” Lami noted quietly.

“That’s because they’re codenames,” Baby 5 scoffed. “Almost everyone in the group has them.”

“We’ll be dead soon from acute Amber Lead poisoning, so I don’t see the point,” Law shrugged. Baby 5 scowled at his answer, which made Lami giggle. Instead of chastising them, Law held out his hand, which Baby 5 looked at warily, then shook. “To all the chaos we’ll cause in the meantime.”

“To the chaos.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was somewhat easy to adjust to living on Spider Miles within the construct of the Donquixote Pirates. Law and Lami were able to eat good food every day as they tried to stay healthy enough to contribute. While Law studied and trained with the adult members of the Pirates, Lami was often laid up in bed and unable to do much of anything.

“This sucks,” she pouted. Baby 5 was setting a tray down on the bed next to her as the younger girl was very tempted to throw her book across the room. It was just the two of them that evening, as most of the crew had gone out on an assignment and would not be back for a couple days and baby 5 was assigned to watch over the younger, bedridden girl. “Why does my Amber Lead have to be so debilitating?!”

“Do you even know what that word means?” Baby 5 asked.

“Well, yeah; it means it makes it so I can’t do anything,” Lami replied. She tried to sit up against her pillows and the other girl jumped in to help. “Ow…! I hate this so much!”

“Law-nii’s working on trying to find a cure,” Baby 5 reminded her. She then handed her a hot chocolate, only to get a stare. “What…?”

“Why’d you call him that…?”

“Well, I’m two years older than you, and he’s two years older than me, so I decided we can be siblings,” Baby 5 reasoned.

“What about Buffalo and Dellinger?”

“Weird cousins…? I don’t know.” She sat down next to Lami with her own hot chocolate and the girls cuddled in close for warmth. Baby 5 looked at the book that was sitting on the blankets and tilted her head. “What are you reading?”

“Noland the Liar,” the younger girl replied. “I know it’s a little babyish, but I like it.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah… but it’s weird.” Lami opened the book and flipped to a page towards the back. “The book we had when I was a baby showed him crying.”

“Crying…?” Baby 5 scrunched her nose. “Everyone knows Noland laughed at his death, like the Pirate King did.”

“Our book was our opa’s when he was little, and he got it from his opa, and all I know is that it was old and that old is also sometimes different.” She touched the illustration and frowned, seeing the large white patch on the back of her hand. “Bee…?”

“Yeah…?”

“If Law-nii doesn’t find a cure for us, you’ll remember us, right?”

“I’ll always remember you,” she promised. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I guess I’m just scared.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate, avoiding eye contact. “I guess that’s kind of babyish of me too, isn’t it?”

“No… I think it’s brave,” Baby 5 admitted. She put an arm around Lami’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’d be scared too if I were in your situation. Law-nii better find a cure for you both soon… I… I don’t want to be alone again.”

“…but you have Buffalo and Dellinger!”

“Yeah, but they’re not like you two. They’re not…” She sighed. “I dunno… it just seems right being with you and Law-nii… almost like… we can be a family… like I belong with someone… like I’m needed.”

“That’s silly—everyone’s needed by someone,” Lami decided. “That’s silly to think otherwise.”

“…really?”

“Really.” The girls sat there with their hot chocolate, staring at the book illustration, before Lami nodded her head decidedly. “Can I need you to be my big sister if you need me to be your little sister so you’re not alone?”

“Yeah. We can need each other to be sisters.”

…and that was the end of that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a few days before the rest of the crew came back from their mission, the Numancia Flamingo overflowing with money and treasure. Instead of helping to unload the ship, Law went directly to the balcony where Lami liked to read, hugging his baby sister tightly upon seeing her.

“It’s been so long!” Lami squeaked. She put down her book and pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders to ward off the autumn chill. “You were gone for ages!”

“It wasn’t even a week, you silly thing,” he scoffed. “You make it sound like I can control how long we’re gone.”

“You could’ve stayed,” she pouted.

“I’ll stay when I’m not feeling good, so I got to make sure I get as much done when I can.” He exhaled heavily as she simply leaned against his chest and shoulder, forcing him to hug her. “Come on… it’s not that bad…”

“I still missed you.”

Figuring it was a good a time as any, Law dug into his pocket and hid something in his hand as they sat down together. “Here, hold still.” He took the clasp off Lami’s cloak and replaced it with a new one, which glittered in the evening sun. “Prefect.”

“What is it?” she wondered, looking at the clasp. It was an ornate brooch, with many intricate swirls and designs. “It looks familiar…”

“It was Oma’s,” he replied. She looked at him, confused, and his heart broke just a little. “I was looking for a souvenir for you after I looked at the coins and…” He brushed his fingers over the metal, the stars and large tree of the city’s old crest mocking him in its silence. “I remember this was one of her favorites—made before Amber Lead became a common addition to everything. Opa had gotten it for cheap because of it—they were just married and struggling. I remember her telling me—that’s how I recognized it. The soldiers must have cleaned out Flevance of all its non-contaminated valuables.”

“…and you know it’s hers for sure…?”

“It still has the inscription on the back from when Opa gave it to her.” He saw as she curled up and put his arm around her protectively. “I’m sure the lady running the shop didn’t know.”

“It’s still wrong.”

“It is, but it’s ours now, and it would have been ours before, so it’s with the right people again.” He tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed heavily. “One day the world will know.”

“We’ll make them pay,” she agreed, sniffling.

Except, what hope did they really have? They were just a pair of siblings, quite possibly the last known descendants of the White City, and the clock was ticking.

“Ah! There you are Law-nii!” The siblings looked and saw that Baby 5 was standing in the doorway looking very put-out. “Gladius said that you had brought something back!”

“Yeah, for my sister, not for you,” he fired back. Baby 5 went close to them and looked directly at the brooch that was now holding Lami’s cloak in place. “It was plundered from our grandparents’ house—it’s safe.”

“Oh, wow…” Baby 5 tilted her head curiously at the item, taking note of the design she knew she’d seen before, but only once or twice if that. “That’s so pretty! Lami, you’re so lucky!”

“I don’t have anything else from Oma, so yeah, I am!” She then pondered for a moment. “Except… her hair…? But hers was gray and mine isn’t…”

“Opa meant when Oma was younger her hair was your color… the brown parts, anyhow.” Law patted Lami’s head as she buried her face in his shoulder. He glared at Baby 5, a chill running down the girl’s spine, before she gathered herself up and scowled right back.

“Well…?” she asked accusingly. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s my present?”

“You’re not my sister,” he replied.

“Uh, yeah I am.” She watched as Lami sat upright and wiped tears from her eyes. “Tell him, Lami.”

“Bee and I decided we’re sisters while you were gone,” Lami said. “So she’s your sister now too.”

“You can’t just be sisters because you said so,” Law frowned, wrinkling his nose. “You never even met our parents.”

“So…? Young Master calls us all his family all the time, and we never met his mom and dad, and he never met ours!” Baby 5 folded her arms and made sure that her brother and sister were concentrating on her and not on being sad. “I’m your sister now whether you like it or not!”

“Why you gotta act so stupid?!”

“I’m clever, and clever people sometimes do smart things, like find family!”

“She’s right, Law-nii! She’s our sister now!”

“I can’t take care of two of you!” the lad protested. At that, Baby 5 lunged forward and threw her arms around him in a hug, which he tried to break out of before Lami joined in, the two girls trapping him against his will.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“RISE AND SHINE, LAW-NII!”

Groaning, Law turned over in bed and pulled his blanket up over his head. When the fabric was stolen from him in a chorus of giggles, he tried hiding under his pillow instead.

“Leave me alone!” he grumbled.

“…but Law-nii!” Lami whined. “It’s your birthday!”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, you should!” Baby 5 insisted. “We prepared a party and everything for you!”

The tween poked his nose out from the safety the pillow. “You did not.”

“We did too!” Lami said. “I told Bee-nee when your birthday is! You can’t hide in here all day!”

“I can and I will!” Law grabbed the blanket back from Baby 5 and wrapped it tightly around himself in and effort to create a cocoon to shield from his sister and… his sister…? Things were a little vague in that regard. Was Baby 5 his sister just because she and Lami decided so? He was too grumpy and emotionally-spent to even begin considering the idea… that they might have family outside of themselves… family after their parents…

“You’re mean!”

“Baby 5, go away.”

“Cora-san, can you help us?”

Before Law could react, he was being picked up and thrown out the window by a familiar set of hands. Thankful he at least had his pillow to help land on, he glared back up at the bedroom window once he was on the ground, Lami and Baby 5 giggling in the open pane while Corazón was walking away. He trudged back inside only to be assaulted by the two girls and pulled into a room where everyone from the Family was waiting for the party to begin. The decorations looked like Lami and Baby 5 made them, though they reminded him of how his classroom would get decorated when someone in school had a birthday. Tears stung his eyes and he had to swallow hard to prevent himself from breaking down in tears.

Only two more birthdays were coming his way, and shit did he hate it, but this…? This he almost liked. Not that he’d admit it, of course.

[g0sti3]

SPN one-shot request

Hello, I thought I would use this first post to introduce myself and my latest series over on AO3. I have fallen out of writing but I thought writing little one-shots might help get me back into the grove with my writing. When I post a smut one-shot I will post a non-smut one for anyone either underage or uninterested in this series. I will be posting it here and AO3 with my account Gh0sti3__Penname | https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gh0sti3__Penname/works

Rules 

Request any pairing whether it’s GxG/BxB/GxB Femdom or not. Romance, angst, or pure smut. Throw whatever at me (IT HAS TO BE LEGAL SHIPS example no Claire x Dean, or Dean x Sam) 

 ~ I still have minors listed only for Fluff/Angst requests but they will never be in a smut. 

I will write any characters except for Chuck (I just can’t stand him) though I will have a list of those I write best from the series. 

I will not be adding any characters from The Winchesters (I loved it but I don’t know the characters well enough to do them justice) 

For Smut RPS I will not do anything with age regression, or anything on the extreme side like abuse, diapers, piss/shit/vomit, or vore. I’m pretty open until it gets freaky-deeky. You’re always welcome to ask about a kink; the worst I would say is sorry I’m not comfortable writing that 😁

I will always put tags/trigger warnings in the notes so no worries about that. 

The characters I am best at writing 

(These are in no particular order) 

Dean Winchester 

Sam Winchester 

Castiel 

Claire Novak 

Jack Kline 

Ruby 

Charlie Bradbury 

Meg

John Winchester 

Mary Winchester 

Crowley 

I can write other characters these are just the ones I will be the most in character while writing. 

Thanks for reading! I’m pretty open to most things, so don’t be shy. I hope you enjoy this little series of mine. For now, my first one-shot will be Destiel (Sub!Dean). This will probably be posted in a while because I will write a smut and non-smut version of this story. But here's a little draft of the one-shot. There is #closested!Dean and #abuse in this just as a small warning. Nothing too big just him being scared of coming out because his dad was abusive

Dean and Castiel had been sitting on the hood of the Impala watching the stars as they enjoyed some drinks. They had grabbed a couple of whiskey bottles for Castiel since his angel-ness kept him from getting drunk easily. As the night went on the two rambled on about nothing and everything. Dean had always felt close to the angel; maybe it was because he was a good friend – maybe it was because Castiel was the one who had saved him from Hell all those years ago. Either way, he knew Castiel would always be there to back him up. He lo– He really cared about the angel a lot. He was practically family after all these years; after everything they had been through together. He hadn’t even caught himself staring at the side profile of Castiel’s face until Castiel turned and their eyes locked onto each other. Moments of silence pass only adding to the tension in the room. Only the sounds of nature surrounding them could be heard. Dean kept a lot of his feelings to himself, he knew his father would never approve of it. Hell, if his dad could read his mind - wherever he is now; he knew he would be rolling in his grave.

[yeojaa]

( HOLIDATING. )

In life, there are certain things that go together, two parts that make up a whole.  The sun in the sky, grandmothers and cheek kisses, chocolate when you’re sad—and you and Jeon Jungkook.  Best friends since childhood, there’s never been one without the other.  You’ve always existed this way, caught in each other’s orbit.  Parallel lines that run side by side.

But what happens when those lines finally collide?

(or:  how to lose a best friend in ten days.)

pairing.   best friend!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  it’s a full course meal, baby! fluff, smut, baby angst, a bit of crack.  the smut is pretty minor but it is explicit when it comes up.

tags / warnings.  idiots to lovers, dumb ideas, jungkook is bad at feelings, slow burn, pining, oral (f receiving), this jungkook because he lives in my mind rent-free, and in vino veritas (which was my trope).

wc.  ... 12.8k.  laughs in thinking this would be 5k. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ because there’s no me without her and @coepiteamare​​ because vi is too, too good to me.

author note.  this is wiiiiildly late (lol) but is part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with the most wonderful group of women @underthejoon​​ @ladyartemesia​​ @ppersonna​​ @untaemedqueen​​ @xjoonchildx​​ and @snackhobi​​.  i hope you will check out their incredible works because they deserve all the support in the world and i am so very lucky to have been involved in this.  if you enjoy it, feedback goes a long way.  tysm!  💖💖

Jeon Jungkook is four bites into his meal when he almost chokes, the half-chewed bite of meat getting caught somewhere in the back of his throat, threatening to send him to a far too early grave.  He’s three delirious gulps of water deep when he asks you to repeat what you’ve just said, staring at you with the biggest roundest eyes anyone’s ever seen, shining like a beacon in the night, a solar flare that eclipses everything else around it.  He’s silent for a total of five seconds - or so he thinks - before he’s laughing, scoffing so loudly it disrupts Eevee, your lazy Maine Coon, and sends her bolting from her spot by his feet.  

“You’re kidding me.”  Because he can’t even begin to fathom what you’ve just said, make sense of the ludicrous suggestion you’ve made.  

This, coming from the guy who has been your best friend for the last seventeen years.  Who has known you for almost two decades and who, by sheer idiot osmosis, has been privy to every harebrained scheme you’ve ever dreamt up.  Who has, often against his will, suffered through all your crazy 4 a.m. suggestions, nodded along half-asleep as you’d prattled on and on about things that hardly made sense in the light of day but fared even worse beneath a blanket of dazed sleepiness.

(And you’d had a lot of bad ideas.  From your absurd fried chicken restaurant - where you’d use vacuum tubes to send food to people’s tables - to your non-whiteboard whiteboard desk - made for the everyday office person - he’s seen it all.  Talked you off ledges and rebuked your half-hearted requests for him to be your angel investor.

“Isn’t this what friends do?”  You’d said, implored, just two weeks ago over another dinner, with that same absurd stare of yours, the one that Jungkook’s known for most of his life, that makes everything just a little harder to say no to.

“Invest in shitty ideas?”  So maybe some of your ideas aren’t that bad.  Maybe, just maybe, they’re actually sort of inventive.  Out there, certainly, but innovative, plucked from the mind of you and only you.  

Still, he liked giving you a hard time.  It was sort of his thing.

“Definitely not.”

You’d kicked him under the table, pouted at him and then continued your rambling, completely unfazed by the fact that he was not, in fact, going to shell out a part of his trust fund to bring your whacky idea to life.)

Because you know him so well - can read him like a book, recognise his voice in a crowd of thousands, find his smile like a star in the night sky - you take his disbelief in stride.  Treat it like it’s nothing you’re not used to which, well, you aren’t.  Continue to stack French fries onto the tines of your fork, twirling the utensil before depositing the too-big bite into your mouth.

“What’s to kid about?  It’s a good idea.”

Whether it is or isn’t is up for Jungkook to decide - not you - and he can’t entertain it at all, just the mere thought of it existing too far out of the realm of possibility.  “We’re not— What’d you call it?”

“Holidating,”  you state, so matter of fact he wants to roll his eyes.  Actually does when you set your fork down, lay it neatly beside your plate and level him with that stare.  The one that reads like a big red warning sign, that might as well have neon lighting it up by how he shrinks away.  He knows that look.  He knows you’re not backing down, somehow fired up and ready to go in the minute that’s passed.

Still, he’ll try.  Play off your suggestion and scoff just that much harder.  “We’re not holidating, ____.”  

“Why not?”  You’re exasperated, two hands landing on the countertop aggressively.  It’s as endearing as it is childish, making him laugh again, roll his eyes until the sclera is all you can see.  (You’d told him once that his eyes would get stuck like that if he did it too much.  Cue the prank when he’d worn white contacts and nearly given you a heart attack at the tender age of thirteen.)

“Because I don’t have time for dating, let alone—”  Jungkook feels idiotic when he says the words, wrapping them in airquotes that have you glowering.  “‘Holidating’ or whatever.”

“That’s the point!”  You’re waving those same two hands - you’ve always talked with them, emotive and dramatic like a soap opera star - as if that might lend some validity to your statement.  “You don’t have time to date.  I just got out of a relationship.”  Sure, they’re facts but they mean nothing to him as you continue to ramble on.  “Neither of us can or even want to put in the effort for a relationship but like, who wants to spend the holidays alone?”

(You have a point.  There’s nothing quite like attending his extended family’s annual Christmas dinner by himself.  It garners too many of the same questions, offered by distant relatives that mean well but otherwise drive him insane.)

(He’s not about to tell you that, though.  Hard time, and all that.  What’s a best friend if you don’t bicker like idiots?)

“It’s not that bad,”  he says, lying through those slightly too-big, slightly buck-toothed teeth of his.  Why he bothers, he isn’t sure.  You catch him immediately, a loud a-ha! snapping past your lips when he glances to the side, completely unconsciously.

(You’ve known his tell since he was in high school.  Since that first time you’d caught on when he’d borrowed - and subsequently broken - your beloved film camera, you’ve known.  You call him out on it too.  Every. single. time.)

“You’re telling me you want to have your grandma ask you when you’re going to give her grandkids for the umpteenth time?  Seriously?”  

“It’s not that bad,”  he repeats, a broken record that can’t be fixed, whose cat-scratched eeeeeee gives him away.

He’s bluffing.  He knows it.  You know it.

Looks like you’re holidating. 

After dinner, you’re the most serious he’s seen you in, well, a very long time.  You’ve got your notebook out - a heavily worn thing, dogeared in the corners and scratched across the cover with a flimsy spine - and you’re staring him down across the couch like you’re some sort of shrink and he’s your patient.  

(You’re not and he isn’t, but it wouldn’t be much of a stretch.  After all, he’s told you everything, just as you have him.  There’s seldom a secret between the two of you and not just because you somehow call him on every untruth.)

(Call it a byproduct of being best friends for so long.  A blessing most often, but a curse on occasion.)

(Now, Jungkook might call it the latter.)

“We’ve got to set some ground rules,”  you state, unbearably serious, with that little furrow between your brows.  The one that makes you look so much like your mother, aged years by concentration and a single-mindedness that should frankly get you in more trouble than it does.

“Ground rules?”  He echoes the sentiment with a quirked brow, a little lift of his mouth.  (You’d once said it made him look more like his father, lending an air of careful disapproval that the man carried in his daily business dealings.)  “You’re taking this too seriously—”

But you’re not listening to him, already scribbling in your notebook, chewing your bottom lip with abandon.  A hand reaches out, thumb and middle finger meeting to flick you on the knee.

The pen strays across paper and you look up in alarm.  “What!”  

“Stop biting,”  he chides, gesturing to his own mouth.  It’s always been a bad habit of yours and paired with your deplorably poor lip balm usage, it left your lips swollen and irritated.  (Not even the lip masks he’d bought you for Christmas last year - a suggestion from his mother, a stocking stuffer you’d claimed to love - were waging a lost war.)

“Sorry.”  You don’t stop doing it, though.  He wishes he could be surprised.  “Anyway, rules.”

“I don’t think—”

“No couple things.”  

That throws him for a loop - though he doesn’t really know why.  The two of you were best friends.  Quite literally joined at the hip from the moment you’d met all those years ago, just two idiots lumped together by nannies who were sisters.  (His parents’ idea because as great as they were, they simply didn’t have the time themselves.)

(Time.  What a strange concept.  Something that’d dictated the flow of his life since he was a kid.  His parents had never had time, so he’d found other things to fill those gaps - recreational sports and art classes and playing tag with you.  He’d had too much time in school, so he’d thrown himself into his studies, cementing himself as a top student who was just a little too cold, a little too cavalier.  But not with you.  No, never with you.  You always had time for him - kept him grounded whenever he thought he might fly away.  And now, time - or the lack thereof, yet again - had led him here.)

(No time for dating?  Just date your best friend!  Foolproof plan.) 

“What do you mean ‘couple’ things?”  

It’s not that Jungkook’s never dated.  He has - and a fair share, too.  But that was before, in his first few years of college when he’d had more time, more of a desire to cultivate something other than success.  He just doesn’t understand what you mean in this context, brow furrowing.

“Like, no holding hands.  No kissing under the mistletoe.  No—”

His laugh comes loud and teasing, disbelief throwing his words into the air, tossing them like juggling balls.  “You know no one actually hangs mistletoe, right?  And who says I’d want to kiss you?” 

That earns him a kick to the shin, paired with a look of reproach.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook really hadn’t meant anything by it.  He just, well—

“I’m your best friend.  I’m not daydreaming about kissing you, ____.”

“You never know,”  you sniff as if offended, though you’re back to scribbling across your paper so you can’t be that mad.  (Anger’s not something you tend to hold onto, red hot fury sparking through you before fizzling out in the next second.  He’s grateful for that.)

Still, he chooses to move on, ease the dent that’s formed between your brows and has your mouth pouting.  “What else?”

“Uh,”  you pause, staring down at your paper.  “I’m not sure.”

“What’re you writing then?”

The way you blink is slow, owlish, more guilty than confused.  When you flip your notebook to face him, he can’t help but snort.  You’d been doodling, filling the margins with holiday-themed nonsense in the shape of snowflakes and squiggly bows.

“Nothing?”  

“I guess?”  

“Seems easy enough.”

After all, there was no way he was going to fall for you.  Best friends were best friends for a reason, right?

He’s wrong.  Not about not falling for you, but for saying you were friends for a reason.

Right now, he has no idea why or how.

You’ve been in the department store for over an hour, drifting between displays of kitschy trinkets and racks of clothing, seemingly unable to make up your mind.  You’ve asked him five times whether or not you think you’ve made the right choice.  (Yes to the cookie cutter set in the shape of cats for your sister and no to the super soft throw blanket in that hideous shade of blue-green.  Cerulean, as you’d said, rubbing it all over his hands when he’d zoned out staring at his phone.)

You’d promised him lunch two whole hours ago and now he’s getting hangry, his stomach growling with each step he takes.  (A bit of an exaggeration, but he really does fear his stomach’s about to eat itself.  Routine is a standard part of Jungkook’s life.  He has coffee while he’s getting ready, another shortly before lunch, and his last no later than 4 p.m.  Meals come in twos, within the allocated eight hour window he allows himself.)

(Suffice to say, he doesn’t know what to do without his routine, and you’ve all but tossed it out the window, kicked it from its home as if it weren’t paying rent in his mind, keeping everything spick and span.)

“These are cute, right?”  It’s a set of - okay, honestly, he’s not sure what.  Handmade knit toys?  They look like mixes between an otter and a rabbit and sure they’re cute, but so is everything else at the table.  Did that mean he was going to buy any of it?  No.  Did it mean he cared if you did?  Also no.

(Which probably isn’t the right approach, given how gung-ho you go for the holidays.  Its own personal cheerleader, as if it didn’t already have all the support in the form of a jolly fat man and Buddy the Elf.)

“Sure.”  He’s too tired - too hungry, too irritable - to offer anything with more care, his usual polite demeanour coloured red by the starving beast that rumbles about in his stomach.  It groans loudly, coiling his fists as he follows you around the display, a zombie on its last legs.

“You’re not even looking.”

Though you’re huffing, spectacularly unimpressed, you don’t seem terribly bothered.  You can likely read all his unhappiness with just one glance, as one often did with the title of best friend.

Jungkook doesn’t mean to snipe back but he does anyway, patience worse for wear.  “We’ve been in here forever.”

“Five more minutes.”

It ends up being another twenty-five but he doesn’t begrudge you that because he’s finally - finally! - got something in his hands.  Something warm and carb-loaded and so tasty he’s probably going to choke because he’s trying to inhale his meal. 

“Do you have anything else to buy?”  You’re only picking at your food, carefully nibbling the edge of a kale leaf as he scarfs down the entirety of his burger in record time.

At least he has the decency to chew until his mouth is clear, a sesame seed stuck to his lip.  “I didn’t leave mine until the last minute.”  He never does, preferring to start in November so everything is ready to go by early December.  It’s far less stress-inducing than what you do, running around the malls the week before, fighting the throngs and complaining loudly when items are delayed in the mail.

(Organised as you could be - he’s seen it in your colour-coded journals, the long hours you work - your personal life was spectacularly chaotic.  Honestly, Jungkook has no idea how you survive.)

“No, everything’s back at my apartment.  Just have to wrap.”  

And then he’s levelling you with that puppy dog stare - the one he knows you can’t deny.  So glossy it should be illegal, twinkling bright behind a frame of dark lashes.  

You beat him to the punch, stealing the words right from his mouth.  “We can go back and I’ll wrap them.”

It’s an understanding you’ve always had.  He accompanies you on your absurd last minute shopping trips and you wrap all of his packages, dressing them in adorable animal-printed wrapping and topping them with big colourful ribbons.  (He’s not quite sure how your agreement was fair but hey, he’s not going to complain.  You seemed to love the repetition of it all, measuring perfectly-sized strips of tape and affixing neat name tags.)

“Thanks, ____.”

“You’re welcome,”  you say as you steal a fry from his plate, popping it into your mouth with a brilliant smile.  “Can we stop and get coffee, though?”

"You did this?"  As always, Yoongi's voice is riddled with disbelief, single brow quirked so high Jungkook thinks it might leap off his face and join the pile of presents beneath the tree.

"Well, no—"  But he should already know that, because Jeon Jungkook never wraps his own presents.  Hasn't since you got into arts and crafts and decided gift wrapping was the cool new way to show off your talents without having to invest all of your money into things like bullet journaling or scrapbooking.

(It's probably going to shaft him one day when you're not available and he has to tape the edges and write the cards but that's a problem for future Jungkook.)

"____ again?"

A hand scrubs across the back of his neck, sheepish smile forming fully.  "How'd you guess?"

The elder only laughs - a quick puff of air through his lips - before he sips at the amber liquid in his glass.  "You should really share her services.  Some of us need them."  And by that, he almost certainly means Namjoon, who is simultaneously one of the most well-put together and yet disastrously disorganised people in their friend group. (So bad were his wrapping skills that he'd stopped trying entirely, simply opting for kitschy bags and lots and lots of tissue paper.)

"I mean, if you guys wanna be dragged around the mall too, then that's your prerogative."  Despite how he says it though, Jungkook doesn't really mind.  It's simply a part of your holiday tradition, something that happens whether he likes it or not. (And honestly, he does like it.  Loves it, actually, except for when he's hangry or, on the seldom occasion, hungover.)

Yoongi offers another chuckle, draining the last of his whisky.  He doesn't need to say much else because he has actually seen you in action - experienced your indecision and dawdling nature firsthand.  It'd been once a couple years ago, when he'd been stumped for a gift for his partner and you'd insisted you'd know exactly what she'd want.

(You hadn't.  The three of you had wandered the mall for five hours and you couldn't make up your mind.  It'd been absolute hell.)

"What're you two talking about?"

As if on cue, you've appeared, peering over Jungkook's shoulder like an elf, decked out in your usual red felt hat and flushed to match. (Out of all of your friends, you had the worst time with drinking.  Even if you were almost sober, your face would turn the colour of a tomato.)

Jungkook's too busy stabilising you - you're also awfully clumsy, as if the darker you got, the worse your balance became - to answer but Yoongi doesn't miss a beat, that trademark gummy smile spreading like honey.  "Just saying you should start charging for your gift wrapping services.  You're making the rest of us look bad."

It's not necessarily untrue.  Everyone's presents look fine.  Cute, if not a little sloppy.  But yours and Jungkook's stand out, topped with intricate bows and twine and big flourishing calligraphy on the tags.

"I could give you lessons," you tease, hanging across your best friend's shoulders, breath smelling strongly of homemade eggnog. (Nutmeg assaults him first, followed by cinnamon.  The liquor sneaks up, coating your tongue and his senses when you chirp your words against his cheek.)

"But that means work for me."

You're sighing dramatically, waving your hands in the same manner.  "That's the point, Yoongles.  Teach a man to fish—"

"You've got the saying wrong."  Both your friends are reprimanding you, amusement sliding over syllables as you pause, mouth rounding into a pout.  It's quite a funny sight, watching the cogs work in your brain, the way the realisation doesn't dawn quickly enough.

You try again, with great gusto.  "If you..."

As funny as it is watching you struggle, Jungkook's need-to-be-right nature kicks into gear.  "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day."  There's a pregnant pause, doe eyes wide, imploring.  You can do it, he thinks.

You don't, gaping up at him, the picture of that one meme you're so inclined to share regularly.  The one with the blonde surrounded by equations.

He finishes with a sigh, "teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

"Yeah, that."

Yoongi isn't quite as good a sport, expression turning sly.  "I don't want to be fed for a lifetime.  I want to be fed for just a day.  Just Christmas day, actually."

You must be drunk, or at least a little tipsy.  You take his retort with a heavy roll of your eyes, detaching yourself from Jungkook's shoulders to launch yourself at the third party.  At least, you try to, narrowly missing when Yoongi side steps, nearly leaving you to run headlong into the immaculately decorated Christmas tree in the corner of your best friend's apartment.

Luckily - or maybe because Jungkook knows you so well, can read your movements before you've even thought them through yourself - you're caught by the turn of your wrist, ink-strewn fingers coiling neatly around the delicate bone.

You collide against Jungkook's chest with a quiet oof!, met with a stare of consternation.

"Take care of your girlfriend" is all Yoongi offers before disappearing back toward the kitchen, snickering not-so-quietly to himself.

At least the two of you are in tandem then: "We're holidating!"

What was so hard to get about that?

"You're what?"  Your sister's staring at you like you've grown a second head or maybe sprouted another eye, right smack dab in the centre of your forehead.  Jungkook's really trying not to eavesdrop - he's polite like that, carefully disinterested in the conversation as he picks at his food. (If your sister didn't speak so loudly, it'd probably be easier but, well, the two of you had that in common.  Charismatic and endearing at your best, boisterous and distracting at your worst.)

"Holidating."  It comes in the exact same way you'd said it to him originally and he has to admit, he's vindicated when your sister repeats the word right back.  At least someone's just as incredulous.

"What the hell is that?"  Eunha demands, brow furrowing, looking very much like your older counterpart, the same features delicately aged by motherhood (and likely having to play big sister to you).  "Is that a made up word?"

"It's dating for the holidays.  But not like, dating dating.  Just being each other's dates."

Whatever she's thinking, she manages to cage it behind her teeth, carefully mulling over her next words.  It's actually quite a feat, considering the blood that runs through both of your veins. (He remembers the first time he'd met your mother and it'd been the Spanish Inquisition.) "So, you're dating."

"No!"  The rebuff explodes off your tongue, full of exasperation.  Jungkook nearly snorts into his own bowl, glad he'd been chewing bulgogi rather than drinking water.

"I'm lost."

(Join the club, he thinks.  It's still the dumbest thing he's heard in the last week.)

"We're each other's dates.  It sucks being alone for the holidays."

You speak as if from experience but your sister calls you on it immediately, without remorse.  (It reminds him so much of how you’d rebuked him that he’s just a liiiittle gleeful, vindicated by the scowl that paints itself in broad strokes.)

"You're not alone.  Our family is huge."

"I mean without a date!"

"You've always had a date."  Because you were a serial monogamist, the complete opposite of Jungkook who hasn't dated since university, opting to throw himself into his work.

"Okay, but—"

It's hard to argue with someone who knows you so well.  If Jungkook could read you like a book, Eunha had you memorised like flashcards for a test.  Between the two of them, you could barely win an argument (and there were lots to be had, though almost always childish and not at all serious.)

"So, you're not dating."

"No."

"But you're dating."

"Holidating."  Why you correct her, Jungkook's not sure.  It's such a stupid thing - silly semantics - but you'd already talked him into it so he's not about to butt in.  He's got kimchi to focus on and Christmas cake to devour.

"Okay, seriously."

He knows what those words mean.  Essentially that he's in for it and there's nowhere to go, no escape in sight.  Once Eunha set her sights on something, that was it.  Job, husband, precocious daughter with a reading comprehension level beyond her years - if she wanted it, she got it.

So Jungkook's just a little wary, peering at your sister over the rim of his mug, expression deliberately blank.

"What's going on with you guys?"

He hates people who answer questions with questions.  It's a waste of his time and yet here he is, glibly deflecting as if she won't give him shit like the older sister he's never had. (It's an apt description, considering your parents were as good as his.) "What do you mean?"

"What the hell is holidating?"

"Beats me."  At least he’s being honest.  He really, really doesn't know.  Even after you'd set your rules (or rule, rather), it still hadn't made sense to him.  It was doing everything you always did together - buying presents, having matching gift wrap, attending your friend group’s annual holiday parties - but with a label on it.

(If Jungkook were being honest, he'd say you'd just mucked things up by pointing it out.  If you'd asked him to come to your family's Christmas dinner, he would've done so without an ounce of hesitation.  Telling him he was and expressly saying don't make it weird had decidedly made it weird.)

"Do you like her?"  Leave it to Eunha to completely eviscerate any possibility of a normal conversation.

He doesn't even need to consider the question, his answer coming before she's even finished speaking.  "She's my best friend."

"Okay, but do you like her?"

"She's my best friend," he retorts, just as emphatically. (The two of them really were like siblings, bickering just as often as the two of you did.)

"That's not really an answer."  Still, she won't let it go, stare hard, mouth set in that same forceful line.  It's so reminiscent of your own stern glare, though infinitely more effective.  Perks of being a mother, he supposes.

Put on the spot, it feels odd.  Jungkook doesn't like the attention, naturally straying from the spotlight. (He works hard in his professional life to always be above reproach and easily deflects questions when it comes to his personal life.)  Your sister isn't a force to be reckoned with, though, and he withers beneath her, discomfort stealing up his spine, knuckles blowing white around the ceramic handle of his cup.  "I don't."

"Hm."  It's evident she doesn't believe him, but he's not that bothered.  Most people have asked the same question at least once.  He's learnt not to care, focusing on the nearly two decades of friendship rather than any passing fancies.

(Because he can’t lie - he has liked you maybe once or twice.  It'd been unavoidable, a simple consequence of being best friends.  When you spent all your time with someone - someone who knew you inside out, who loved you unconditionally - it was easy to mistake platonic affection for something else.  Jungkook just didn't have the time, though, and he certainly wasn't about to lose your friendship over something as silly as a fleeting crush.)

(Not that anyone knew that.  Not you, not your cousin, not even Yoongi.)

"What?"  Why he keeps the dialogue open, he's not sure.  He should let it run its course, wave as it passes him by.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"You heard me, Jeon."

He lets it go then, falling into silence.  It's only broken when you appear again, cream cake in hand.  You settle beside him - your rightful spot - and hand him a fork, glee as bright as Christmas lights.

He doesn't miss the look your sister shoots the two of you.

It's not the first time he's seen you in a dress.  You wear them regularly enough, practically living in them in the summer months.

Still, you look good.  Incredible, in fact.  The colour pops against your skin, a lovely blue that seems to be alive, dancing under the lights as you go for your third cream puff because no one can stand between you and your love of desserts.  It complements the hue of his own suit, the textured fabric that gathers over his shoulders and stands in stark contrast to the white of his Oxford.

"You said that's your best friend?"

It's his manager, a lovely woman he's worked with for the past year and a half.  She’s kind with a round face and softly lined eyes, someone who treats him more like a son than an underling. (Jungkook appreciates that about her, even if it's at odds with the culture of their workplace.  She was just warm, endlessly friendly even when deals fell through and she was forced to pick up the pieces.)

"Yeah."

"She's very pretty," she hums, peering across the table at Jungkook with a peculiar expression.  It reminds him of that same look Eunha had shot him just two days ago, a thousand unspoken words wrapped up in the dark of her stare.  "How long have you two been friends?"

"Forever."  At least, that's how it feels.

(If he thinks hard about it, he could probably pinpoint the age, the year, even the day.  It wouldn't be hard, given you'd rolled into his life like a thunderstorm, upending everything in your path.  But that's how you'd always been - simply who you were.  People met you and they were better for it, whether they realised it or not.)

"That's very sweet."

He shrugs, swivelling his stare from your approaching figure to offer a small smile.  "She means a lot to me."  Even if she drives me insane, even if she gets cracker crumbs all over my couch.

There's that look again - Jungkook hates how easily it pins him to the spot, locking him in his seat as you take your own, setting your plate down.  It's piled high with said cream puffs and an assortment of other goodies, fresh fruit and tarts and some chocolate bonbons that make his teeth buzz by just staring at them.

"Here."  You've got one raised, held aloft in an offer he doesn't really want but accepts nonetheless.  As predicted, the cocoa is too much, heavy on his tongue, burning through his gums and making his jaw clench uncomfortably.  Still, he chews and swallows diligently, offering a quiet thank you as you pop one into your own mouth.

Someone speaks as he's sipping at his Manhattan and you're going for the finishing bite of your cream puff, soft white sugar tinting your lipstick.  "You're a lovely couple."

Unlike that time a few days ago, seated in your kitchen, this time he does choke, liquid rushing down the wrong pipe.  Chest heaving, he fights to steady his breath, vaguely aware of the way you rub soothing circles over his back.  (It probably doesn’t help the situation - makes the two of you seem even more together than before - but he appreciates the gesture because holy hell, does whisky burn.) 

“We’re not dating,”  you state, somewhere close to his head, voice soft near his ear.  You’re still touching him, calming the hacking coughs he hasn’t quite gotten control of. 

“Really?”  It comes from more than one person, joined by a nosy third.  

Of course it’s Yugyeom - perhaps one of the people he’s closest to at his company, and yet someone who he very much wants to shut up at that precise moment.  “We thought Jungkook had finally gotten a girlfriend.” 

“Nope, not me.”  You’re nonplussed, rebuffing the teasing with ease.  “Just best friends.  He didn’t want me sitting at home alone and thought free booze might help.”  It’s not true at all; if anything, you’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to be alone for the holidays, but it doesn’t seem necessary to correct you right now. 

Sometimes, it was just easier to go with the flow.  Let you lead, as you so loved to do. 

“What a nice guy.”  Yugyeom’s a good friend and better team member but right now, he’s got the stupidest grin on his face, meeting Jungkook’s stare with mischief dancing in his own.  It strikes discomfort like an ivory key, ringing loudly in his ears. 

“He is.”

It’s probably more defensive than it needs to be - you were a woman of extremes, whether that meant sleeping all day or not at all, eating a salad or three plates of pasta - and he immediately moves to soothe you.  (Oh, how the tables had turned.) 

A hand falls to your knee, decorated digits squeezing reassuringly over the bare bone, touch featherlight.  With his head bowed still, it’s easy to catch your eyes, an unspoken conversation playing out between you.  Don’t, he cautions, with all the gratitude in the world. 

Fine, he imagines you think, pout rounding into something softer, a semblance of a smile as you both straighten out. 

“No one’s quite as nice as Jungkookie.” 

Not your usual nickname for him but he appreciates the effort, the return to calm.  It means more to him than you, because you understand just how important his image is, how much hard work he’s put into getting where he is.  You might not have understood his job - software engineering?  what? - but you understood him and that’s what mattered. 

“Jeon, preheat the oven?”  

Your sister’s bumbling around the kitchen with baking sheets in her hands, too large swaths of parchment paper lining each. 

“Oh, sure.”  He’d lost you almost as soon as the two of you had arrived, pulled off to the kitchen to start prep for your family’s annual baking night.  He thinks he catches a glimpse of your big lopsided bun in the archway to the living room but he can’t be sure.  It’s too chaotic, like being around a dozen of you. 

Because your family was women-dominated, the only other men being your father, your uncle, and—

“Hyung!”  It sounds more like thank god when he sees your cousin swan in, grocery bags full of ingredients hung in the crook of his elbows and clutched in his fists. 

(It’s not that he doesn’t get along with your family.  It’s just, again, a lot and he feels as if he might be the calm in the eye of the storm.  It’s disconcerting.)

“Oh—”  Surprise flits across the oldest Kim’s expression, windshield wipers swinging into action as he makes his way to Jungkook.  Somehow, each of the bags are taken off his hands and he pulls the younger into a loose hug, ruffling his hair roughly.  “Didn’t know you’d be here too.”

“____ dragged me along.”  Or rather, their agreement had, but Jungkook’s not about to get into that.  After the strong reaction from your sister, he’s not in the mood to explain himself for the nth time. 

“She does that, huh?”

It’s rhetorical, because yes, you did.  You had for most of your life, involving Jungkook in everything you could.  From high school bake sales to college softball, anything you’d done, so had he.  (The only exception to this was when you had a partner because for whatever reason, said partner would complain about how much time you spent with Jungkook.)

(Luckily, most of them learnt their place, learnt to share.)

“—might as well be dating.”

Surely there’s more to what Jin’s said than just that but he’s somehow missed it, attention swivelling back to the other in alarm.  “What?”

“You guys might as well be dating.”  There’s very little shame in the way your cousin repeats himself, switching the oven on, utterly unbothered.  (Jungkook is reminded, not for the first time, how strong the Kim genes are - how you all just seem to be variations of the same person, headstrong and hilarious.)  “Would probably save our relatives from losing their minds.”

True as that might be, Jungkook’s pretty sure he’d lose his instead.

Or maybe he already has.  It feels like that, at least. 

Nothing’s making sense the way it normally does, too much running through his head, alcohol dulling his senses.  Liquor lingers on his tongue and he can smell it every time he speaks, every time he laughs.  (Which he’s doing often and loudly, your usual corny jokes hitting their mark when he’s eight cocktails in and sleep-deprived.  Such were the holidays.)

There’s just something about how you look right now, dressed all pretty in a slip that holds you like a lover.  He’s not used to it, all of his attention drawn to things he’d never usually focus on.

How your mouth moves - gloss-slick and pouted, so enticing he nearly stops listening when you speak - or how you swat at his arm when you’re trying to drive your point home.  (It hurts a little;  you’re rough normally but drunk, you’re ten times more flippant, edge of nails digging crescents into flesh.)  Your touch burns through his shirt, sinks all the way past cotton and skin into bone that turns to ash. 

He’s gone crazy.  He must have.

Why else would he want to kiss you so badly now, framed beneath the dimmed lights?  Someone’s come and snatched up his body and he’s just along for the ride - simply an observer with no say of his own. 

(Jungkook’s not sure what the feeling in his stomach is - whether it’s butterflies or nausea.)

All he knows is you’ve seen this movie a dozen, hundred, thousand times.  Watched it with him, in fact.  (The slow pan out, the close up, the kiss that follows.  The rising crescendo as the two leads fall in love, profess their love and apology as if all it takes is five minutes together to create a happy ending.)

And yet, he takes you completely off-guard.  You’re staring at him in that way you do - no, not that way, but the one that screams what’re you doing? - locked where you are, caught in the doorway as if you can’t make up your mind whether to go or stay.  

Your lips are softer than he could’ve imagined, since he knows your lacklustre use of lip balm - has had to carry tubes of it in his own pockets because you were notorious for leaving them everywhere and otherwise losing them.  

They’re warm and supple, not dry at all.  A little tacky, in fact, with a strong cherry flavour.  It cuts through the peppermint and chocolate, coalescing into something distinctly you.  (Even drunk as he is, vision blurred at the edges and a funny feeling tingling through his limbs, he knows it’s his favourite thing he’s ever tasted.)

If only you weren’t staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights, equal parts alarm and an emotion he can’t quite read. 

If only you hadn’t slammed your apartment door shut right in his face.

If only.

“I thought you were bringing ____?”

Of course it’s his mother who calls him out, drawing attention to the empty seat beside him.  Your name’s etched into the placecard, neatly set atop the china that’s only brought out during the holidays.  

“She was busy.”  It’s a lie - straight through his teeth and paired with a quick glance to the side.  No one notices, though.  No one’s you, after all.

The truth is, Jungkook hasn’t spoken to you since that night.  Sure, he’s stared at your name on his phone, watched your status go from offline to online, but he hasn’t said a single thing.  Hasn’t found the courage he needs to start a conversation he’s definitely not ready to have.

(What was he supposed to say anyway?  Hey, sorry for kissing you.  Not sure why I did it but we’re good, right?)

(More than that, would it even be the truth?  Did he really not know why he’d stopped you short, pressed his lips to yours and then stared down at you like you might’ve been the best Christmas gift in the world?  Had it been nothing but alcohol-fueled idiocy?)

(He’s considered acting like it never happened, pretending as if everything’s the same as it’s always been.  But that somehow feels worse, like lying to himself and he just doesn’t do that.)

“I asked you three days ago.”  The morning of your Christmas party, in fact.  Hours before he’d made the Big Mistake.  What a great reminder.

Jungkook’s grateful for this poker face, expression devoid of emotion, tone clipped yet polite.  “Something came up, eomma.”  It’s an indication the conversation’s over, the question stopped dead in its tracks.  He’d never outright tell his mother off - he’d die before doing so - but this is enough, has her nodding solemnly, topic changed almost seamlessly.

Someone asks about the latest acquisition by his father’s company, his cousin mentions he and his girlfriend are looking for a place, and everything feels normal.  

Until it isn’t and his brother is bringing it up again, tone soft, coaxing, but insistent.  Question poised in a way that only he could get away with as his older sibling.  “What really happened?”  At least Jung Hyun has the decency to keep his voice down, practically whispering the words to the younger Jeon.

“Nothing,”  Jungkook grits out in between bites of his prime rib, spearing a piece of meat more aggressively than he needs to.  (He doesn’t miss his mother’s glance from the edge of his periphery, the subtle thinning of her mouth.  The concern is palpable, cutting through the white noise even after she’s refocused her attention, leaning back into whatever conversation she’d been having before.)

It’s brotherly love that compels Jung Hyun to push the envelope, force his little brother’s hand.  He’s clearly worried as he reaches out, tapping the tines of his fork over decorated skin.  “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”  

“Can we not talk about this right now?”  Despite patience wearing thin, discomfort turning him petulant and frustrated, Jungkook appreciates the effort his sibling is making.  It’s not what he wants right now, but who was to say it wasn’t what he needed?

(There were just people who knew him better.  His brother, his mother, you.)

“Then let’s get a drink.”  

Ice clinks in his glass and he tries to ignore the way Jung Hyun’s stare feels like it’s melting him, eyes never straying from his little brother’s furrowed brow and hunched shoulders.  

“So?”  

“Nothing happened,”  Jungkook says, exasperated, draining liquid in one fell swoop.  He knows he’s thisclose to giving in, to laying everything out.  It’s equal parts demoralising and relieving, knowing there’s finally someone he can talk to.  

(He just doesn’t, well, talk usually.  Emotions don’t get the best of him.  It’s why he excels in his field, working to meet stressful deadlines, barely batting an eye when everything goes to shit the day before launch.  Good as he was at most things, internalising was his thing.)

“C’mon, Kook.”  

It’s the nickname that has him relenting, cage of his teeth groaning beneath the weight of his tribulations.  One beat, two, a third and then a forth.  He knows Jung Hyun’s about to try again.

“We kissed.”

“Holy shit.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, breaches the quiet and then echoes loudly.  It’s derisive, not at all the gleeful witch’s cackle Jungkook normally offers.  It’s dressed in thorns and regret and cuts his throat on its way up, leaving his breath to fall into a sad little sigh.  “Yeah.”

“She wasn’t into it?”

That’s the thing, isn’t it?  Jungkook has no idea and now days have passed and he feels like more of an idiot than he ever has.  He’s sat with it for so long (in reality, not that long but tell that to someone who’s never out of control, whose entire life follows a set pattern) that it’s all just become a jumbled mess, taking up too much space in his thoughts and leaving him confused.  

“I don’t think so.”  If your abrupt closing of the door was any indication, you likely hated it - but he also didn’t want to assume.  He needed an answer, a decisive yes or no.  

(Though, he doesn’t think he’ll survive if you turn him down.  If he’s just ruined nearly two decades of friendship, it’s more likely he’ll hole up in his apartment and only come out after using up all of his vacation time to wallow in self-pity.)

(Which is in and of itself not a very Jungkook-like thing to do, so he already knows he’s screwed.  Knows that no matter what, he’s out of mind and out of sorts and will likely shoot himself in his own foot before he makes any progress.)

(See his problem?  He’s already gone crazy.)

Jung Hyun’s patient though, doing for him what he’s always done for you.  Talking him off that ledge, holding his hand while he nearly spirals into oblivion.  “You don’t think so?”  

“Well, she slammed the door in my face.” 

“Oh.”  

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches, pulls on and on above their heads, and Jungkook wishes he hadn’t finished his drink so quickly.  The burn would help right about now, distract him from the way he’s picking at a hangnail.  Maybe it’d give him the liquid courage he needs to just do something.  Anything.

“You should talk to her.”  

“Did you not just hear what I said?  She slammed—”

“But did she say anything?” 

“I think that’s a pretty loud and clear answer, hyung.”

“You never know.  Maybe she was just surprised.”  

“And maybe she hates me.”

“I mean, probably, but—”

“Thanks, hyung.”  Still, Jungkook laughs - can’t help it when his brother shoots him a grin that mirrors his own.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“For once, can you just listen to your big brother?”  

As it turns out, Jungkook can’t.  Outright refuses and suffers through another three days of radio silence.  Sees you, again, crop up on social media, beaming up at him from the small of his screen.  Watches as you make a mess of Jin’s kitchen and end up with a face covered in red icing, as you sit your niece on your shoulders and run around your apartment while belting awful Christmas carols.

Maybe it’s his fault for checking Instagram so much, for clicking on every single story your friends and family post.  

He misses you.  God, how he misses you.

(Since the day you’d cemented yourself as his best friend, he doesn’t think he’s gone more than a day without talking to you, more than a week without seeing you.  This is fraying his nerves, leaving him needy and wrought with anxiety.)

(This is why best friends don’t date, why he’d have preferred to take his feelings to the grave.)

You’re so far away that he half expects not to see you at the annual New Year’s Eve party, the one he’s responsible for hosting this year.  

When you appear in his doorway, three wine bottles clutched in your arms, he’s not sure who’s more surprised.  (You, somehow, wrangle your expression into something else - a brilliant smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes - and he simply stares, speechless.  He catches it though, that twinkle of uncertainty before it’s eclipsed.) 

“Hi.”  Of course you sound the same as you always have.  Bright, sunny, with a million rays of light streaming past your teeth.  “Happy new year!”

It takes Jungkook far too long to find his voice, lost to the warmth of your smile that doesn’t feel quite right.  Too forced, burning through his skin until he’s uncomfortable and itchy under the collar.  “Hi.”

You’d normally peck his cheek, give him a hug, something.  You blame it on the bottles you’re carrying, shuffling past him without making contact, held in your own personal bubble.  “I’ve got to set these down but we’ll catch up later, yeah?”  It’s not a promise and not what he wants.  You’re going to disappear for the rest of the night and he’s going to be left soothing this sunburn.

He doesn’t say that, though.  Only nods mechanically and watches as you dance off.  “Sure.”

You deserve a medal, a gold star for how well you avoid him throughout the night, peeking in and out of rooms.  Any time Jungkook catches a glimpse of you, you’re gone in the next instant, disappearing behind one of your friend’s backs, suddenly in need of a refill.

The one time it’s just the two of you in the hallway - him coming from the washroom, you presumably heading there - you spin on your heel and turn tail, gone so quickly he wonders if it was his imagination.  

Were you really that mad?  Had he fucked things up that badly?

“____,”  he calls the next time he finds you - hours later, much to his chagrin - alone in the kitchen with champagne in one hand and your head ducked into his fridge.  It’s less than a minute to midnight and everyone’s gathered outside, crowded along his balcony and cheering loudly in anticipation of the Coex fireworks.  (He’d purposely come back in, awkwardly trailed after you when you’d offered to grab another bottle.)

You don’t immediately turn and he worries you haven’t heard.  How stupid would he look if he tried again?  (Were you just ignoring him?)

But then you’re facing him, that same mask from earlier fitted unnecessarily across your face.  Your eyes are tight, unblinking, even as you smile, cock your head adorably.  “What’s up?”

“Can we talk?”  It’s not something he asks of you often.  (In fact, he could probably count the amount of times he’s made the request on one hand.)  He holds his ground though, mouth slipping into a characteristic pout that he thinks - hopes, really - might crumble your resolve.

(You may have known all of his weaknesses but he knew yours too.  Knew how cute you found his puppy dog eyes, the round of his cheeks when he’d puff them out with air.)

There’s momentary clarity, your stare softening, the line of your jaw growing slack.  Then you’re glancing past him, out to the gaggle of people beyond his shoulder and he feels his heart stutter uncomfortably, stomach dropping all thirty-six stories past his feet.  “Can it wait?”  You’re not cruel, offering the question softly. 

It can’t.  He can’t.

“No.” 

You huff and he swears he mirrors the motion, same annoyed exhale slipping out.  

(If he’d hated the silence, he thinks he might hate this more.  The two of you don’t fight.  Bicker, certainly.  Drive each other crazy for fun, definitely.  But this antagonism that makes him feel like a stranger in his own home?  This is new and awful.)

“What do you want to talk about?”  You’re guarded, arms crossed.  All Jungkook wants to do is unfold them and bring you into his arms, tickle your sides until you’re whining and laughing and giving him the affection he suddenly craves.  

(He’s never wanted it more in his life and maybe that’s why it’s so strong now - need leaping five octaves in a single breath.  It’s as if he’d been deprived all his life and now he’s had a taste and can’t help himself.)

“I’m sorry,”  he mumbles, quiet, so much emotion threaded into the words.  It turns them heavy, makes them hard to hold, but he needs to get them out, make you understand how apologetic he really is.

“For what?”  

He hadn’t expected that.  “What?”

“What’re you sorry for?”  You’re repeating yourself with a scowl but you’re also doing that thing you do, nibbling at your bottom lip as you try not to meet his eyes, bouncing your gaze around the room.  

(Were you nervous?  He could’ve sworn you were.)

The question still doesn’t have an answer, all his thoughts swirling in a tumultuous wave.  They sweep him out to sea, away from the safety of the shore, and he worries he might drown as he looks at you and sees all the things he might lose.  

“Kook?”  

Say something.

Seconds tick by and you’re biting harder now.  The crowd outside is louder, chanting the countdown.  He can barely hear himself think, has trouble articulating the onslaught of emotion that swells and swallows him whole.  Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed this.  Maybe things would’ve gone back to normal if he’d left well enough alone.

A million what if’s play in his head - and then he hears a chorus of happy new year!

He crosses to you in three long steps, catches your face in his hands, and kisses you again, just like last time. 

It’s not an answer in the traditional sense but he doesn’t care.  

His apology comes once more, muffled against your lips, lost to a breath he inhales shakily, entire body rattling with uncertainty.  At least you haven’t pushed him away, though he swears you’re ready to, palms warm over his chest, fingers curled into the collar of his sweater.  

“Stop saying that.” 

He thinks he’s imagined that, pulling back just enough to see the entirety of your expression, the dazed look in your eyes.  So different from last time, endlessly softer, tender.  “What?”

“If you’re going to kiss me,”  you’re speaking into his chest but he can hear you crystal clear,  “just commit to it.”

He will.  He does.

He kisses you again, sweet and chaste, one hand threaded into the silk of your hair, the other cradling your jaw.  He kisses you for a third time, different yet the same, riddled with nerves and reminiscent of childhood crushes.  He kisses you once more, nearly groans when he steals the prettiest sound from your lips.  

Jeon Jungkook is on cloud nine - lit up like the night sky because he can still hear the fireworks going off.  

“Is this okay?”  How he manages to ask when every fibre of his being is screaming at him to keep going is a feat and he’d be patting himself on the back if you weren’t so lovely, holding all of his attention in the frame of your smile.

“Can you just stop thinking for one second?”

He wants to say yes - prove himself as he always does - but he knows that’s exactly the opposite of what you want.  Reads it in your movements, how you step closer and bat those long lashes at him.  How’s he supposed to function when you’ve short-circuited his insides? 

But that’s the point, isn’t it?  To let himself feel?

Maybe you were right, just this once.

Jungkook has simply watched too many rom-coms, sat through too many Hallmark specials you’d insisted on.  (You loved them, even when the plots were awful and the acting was worse, the leads misunderstanding even the most basic of things.  “It’s cute,”  you’d cry, glaring at him from behind a glaze of tears, sniffling into your popcorn when everything went to hell right before the perfectly wrapped up climax.)

Because this doesn’t feel anything like he expects it to.  It’s still too awkward and stilted, framed by fluttering, nervous laughter and a tremor in his hands he’s never dealt with before.

(If he thinks hard about it, he knows exactly why it’s like this.  Why he’s so uncertain as he guides your shirt over your head, the same soft thing he’s seen you wear a thousand times.  How the fabric bunches in his fists and spills like silk between his knuckles.  The way his heart does a strange two-tap against his rib cage, as if tapping out and giving up.)

(He’s been waiting for this for longer than he could’ve ever imagined, than he ever thought possible.)

“What?”  You ask, chirp in that lilting voice of yours, so sugar spun sweet and cocoa-dusted.  A mug of hot chocolate that warms him from the inside out, makes his head spin with how nice it sounds, settling against his eardrums like cotton balls.  There’s hesitation in your eyes - a sparkle of his same restlessness that calms his own just a little.

“What?”  He repeats back at you, maybe a little dumbly.  

(It probably is dumb.  He’s got your shirt halfway off your body, your arm still hooked through one arm hole, the rest of your body in fuzzy focus as he stares down at you.)

“You’re staring like I’ve got something on my face.”  

“You don’t.”

“Then why are you staring?”

He asks himself that same question, turns it over and over in his head.  It’d make sense for him to consider his words carefully, weigh them before they come tumbling out of his mouth.  (He doesn’t.)  “You’re really pretty.”

The laugh that elicits should be illegal, chiming bells that scrunch up your nose and have your lashes casting dark shadows across your cheeks.

“You think so?”  

Of course he does.  He always has - he just hadn’t realised it.  “Yeah.”

It’s not plucked straight from a movie scene, nor is it likely the things dreams are made of.  It still feels just as good when you smile at him - offer the thing he’s found home in for the last decade and a half - and reach a hand to his face, cradling his jaw in the small of your palm.  It’s so warm he wonders whether you’ve got stardust lined beneath your skin, whether you’re working those little fragments of wonder into his own being where you touch him.

“I want this.”  It’s music to his ears.  He’d like to hear you say it again, which you do, with a tenderness he doesn’t expect.  Not the teasing tone you normally take, riddled with half-formed thorns and platonic affection, but something more.  Something that burns bright in his bones and illuminates him from the inside.  “I want you.  You don’t have to be so shy.”

So you’d been able to tell, because of course you had.  Just as you knew when he was lying, you knew every other tell too.  (The way he’d touch his ears when he was excited, how he’d sit on his hands when he was shy, the three octaves his voice would skip when he was nervous.  You knew them all and wanted him despite them - because of them.)

He supposes he’s grateful for it, even as it only adds to the bashfulness swelling in his chest, blooming colour over his cheeks. 

“Yeah?”  God, Jungkook, get it together.

“Yeah,”  you parrot, laughing as you tug your arm from its vice and proceed to loop both around his neck, bringing him closer.  

It’s a position you’ve been in a dozen times - arms around his neck, going for a hug - but this stirs something else.  Shoots a dizzying bolt of desire straight from his toes to the tips of his fingers.  It branches out from his chest, weaving into every limb, guiding him closer until he’s chest to chest, the warmth of you filling all the spaces between.  

“Don’t forget you asked for it,”  he rumbles, tries to sound like someone he isn’t by the way he offers the words, tries to come across cool and suave and not so into his best friend that it could send him straight to a padded white room.  

You call him on it immediately, rolling your eyes and patting his cheek affectionately.  “Do your worst, Jeon.”  

Whether it’s a challenge or not, he takes it as such, one arm caging you in by your head, the other falling to his side.  Your side.  Where fingers graze, inked digits drifting up the velvet that spans your ribs, that traces delicate over the lace that holds you together.  Bright red with scallop trimming - something he never imagined you’d wear but that he adores all the same.  It looks so good on you, a cardinal that demands his attention even as he tries to focus on the emotions that dance in your stare, forming your mouth into a smile that gives him heart palpitations.

“You mean best,”  he mumbles, meeting your eyes one last time before lids are sliding shut, movements guided by the familiarity that only comes with years and years together.

When your lips meet - for only the fifth time in his twenty-five years - it’s nothing like the first and yet strangely similar.  It’s just as soft as that initial peck, tentative and sweet.  Filled with things he can’t say, that he’s not sure how to articulate but that he hopes you understand. 

It’s nice, he thinks.  

And then you’re kissing him back.  Really kissing him, taking the lead when he doesn’t expect it.  Slanting your mouth over his, nibbling at his bottom lip in the same way he’s watched you do to your own. 

Holy shit.

As much as he doesn’t want it to end - can’t get enough of the taste of you, how faded cherry Chapstick and champagne and that god awful spearmint gum you love melds together - he has to stop.  Needs to reel himself back before you’ve pulled him beneath your spell, left him stranded with nowhere to go.

“What?”  You ask again, feigned innocence stamped across your face.  A mask that looks so pretty he can’t help but glare down at you.  

He’s not sure how he means his next words but they come freely, tumbling past his teeth with more grit than he expects.  “Don’t be a bad girl.”

Something changes then.  Snaps into place like every little part of the universe has aligned.  A realisation that hits him straight in the gut and has your fingers curling into the downy strands at the nape of his neck. 

When your lips meet again - sixth time, because Jungkook’s got to keep count - it’s not soft.  It isn’t sweet.  It’s years of something he’d never been able to place, the greatest Christmas gift he could’ve ever asked for.  It’s your tongue against his, your teeth sharp and searing and it’s him, hugging you so close he wonders whether it’s his kiss that’s making you breathless or how tightly he’s holding you.

“What if I want to be?”  

God, he could laugh at that.  He almost does, the sound spilling past in a shaky exhale.  

(Part of him knows how utterly cheesy he’s being.  How utterly cheesy you’re being.  He doesn’t mind.  He’s not lactose intolerant, after all.)

“You wanna be on the naughty list?”  Even it sounds silly to his ears, torn straight from the books of some weirdo pickup artist.  You’re laughing though, giggling because you’ve never found him anything but endearing (okay, probably not true, but whatever) and that’s enough.

“Maybe.”

“You’re crazy.”  He means it as kindly as possible, in the best way imaginable.

“Crazy for you,”  you correct, smug.  

Jeon Jungkook is composed.  He’s smart and responsible and looks at the big picture.  He doesn’t let things get to him and he certainly doesn’t gape like a fish.  His poker face is immaculate (which is probably why he’s no longer invited to his friend’s games).  

Except he is - gaping, that is - staring down at you with wonder.  “Really?”

There’s another roll of your eyes, prominent and exaggerated.  He knows there’s nothing bad meant by it so he lets it slide, doesn’t pull away even as he repeats himself.  

“How many times do I have to tell you, Jeon?”  

“Preferably a lot more.”  He’s shameless.  Figures he’s allowed to be, after waiting all this time.  (After kissing you in a drunken stupor, after wallowing in his own self-imposed exile for too many days.  This is what he deserves - to take and take if you’re so ready to give.)

“Then earn it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There were different kinds of satisfaction, different ways to swell pride in his chest.  A multitude of methods he could excel at, to receive all the praise he’s always been so eager for.  Pleasure from a job well done, for going above and beyond, doing things better than anyone else could’ve.  Delight from being right, from a smug I told you so.  Triumph from conquering the hardest of tasks, overcoming something mighty and terrible.

And then there was this - the warmth that unfurls in his chest, stringing his heart up in pretty pink ribbon, holding his head aloft like a marionette doll.  

It’s something else entirely, fizzling delight in his stomach, feeding the beast that demands more more more.  

“Good girl,”  he praises, offering his adoration without hesitation, dressing you in the glory of his affection.  Gone is the careful reluctance, the removed politesse.  It’s replaced now, dripping in sweetness so thick it might as well be molasses, trickling over your skin as his tongue does the same.  He traces your hip, your thigh, your hands - pulls a digit past his lips and savours in the reaction it elicits.  “Pretty girl.”

He repeats the motions over and over, gliding figure eights with the wet of his tongue, gently grazing the edge of his teeth when you’ve calmed, too close to composure for his liking.  

“You’re so good for me.”  One hand hooks possessive around your knee, pushes it wide as he admires you laid out beneath him.  Skin flushed, he can feel your warmth radiating through every inch.  It begs him to come closer, to sit by the fire a little while longer.  

With a tender kiss to the velvet of your inner thigh, he drops, seals his mouth over your clit and sucks.  You buck beneath him, might take out an eye with the way your arms flail, fingers seeking stability over his shoulders, digging into the firm muscle that pads his back.  He can’t help but laugh, sound vibrating through to your core, tongue punishing against the delicate pearl sealed between his lips.

“Another?”  He begs, pleads, asks so sweetly, and you can’t deny him, glazed over in the eyes, chest heaving, hands shaking.  He knows you can’t but he asks anyway, because it’s important you want this just as much as him.  (Jungkook refuses to be in the dark ever again, far too comfortable in the light of your laughter, your love.)

“Please,”  you return, though it’s the strangest he’s ever heard you.  Out of breath and reedy, stilted in a way that makes his cock twitch, head spinning with desire.

(It doesn’t matter you’ve gone two rounds and he can’t possibly survive another.  You do something to him.)

A quiet sound comes and he sinks further, licks a fat stripe from your slick entrance all the way to your quivering clit.  Dips his tongue past clenching muscle and moans, drunk on the taste of you.  It’s a messy affair and he can’t be blamed, saliva pooling in his mouth when you whine his name and pull his hair just right.  (You’ve always been loud but he’d never imagined this.  It’s a soundtrack he’d like on repeat.)

“Let go for me, pretty girl.”  The pet name comes easily, made for you.  (Even before all this, Jungkook would’ve been lying if he’d said you weren’t pretty.  You were gorgeous, beautiful, captivating.)  “Tell me what you need.”

You sob, yank at his roots, and he chuckles, gliding his tongue up your slit.  

“Use your words, ____.”

“M-more.”

“More?”  He repeats, deceptively sweet, eyes glossy and warm and filled to the brim with emotion.  Round like Bambi’s as he presses a finger into your heat, sinks straight to the third knuckle and nearly loses his mind from the way you gasp.  You’re honey-dipped and yielding, supple and slick beneath his hands, his tongue, his mouth.  

It’s like a drug - the sound of your voice so drastically different.  Higher, breathless, sinful as it sinks against Jungkook’s eardrums and encourages him to bring you to a spectacular finish.  He wants to hear more of it, needs it like he needs air.

You’re a beautiful mess, so close to the edge he can feel your walls constrict around him when he adds another two fingers, fucks into you with purposeful twists of his wrist.  He’s certain the oversensitivity must hurt but you’re so good for him, taking all he has to offer and begging for more.  

His name is a staccato cry, a symphony of sound that breaks when he curls his fingers and assaults the bundle of nerves against your front wall.  

It’s only fitting you usher in the new year with a bang.

The next morning comes in fragmented bits and pieces, paired with a headache that sits right behind his eyes and aches his limbs.  As much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, he’s not the spry spring chicken he used to be.  The shots of tequila don’t go down the way they did before, the all-night parties forcing him to sleep for a good twelve hours to recover.

Last night was worth it though.  Six hundred million percent worth it.

You’re still in his arms, curled against his chest, cheek smooshed to his arm which has all but gone numb.  He won’t move it, though.  Couldn’t even dream of it when you’re strangely peaceful, features arranged so pretty.  You’re usually the biggest ball of energy - sometimes too much - and this is nice.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how nice.

Jungkook can’t stop touching you, needs to be near you, revolving around you like some sort of poor lost planet.  Circles you when you drift into the kitchen, shower-warm and adorable.  

(Has he always been like this?  It doesn’t feel wrong - just more of the same.  But again.  More more more.)

“Can we get coffee?”  You don’t seem to mind the way he drapes himself across your back, indulging in the way you smell like him but not.  How the clean scent of his body wash seems about a dozen times better when it’s laid over your skin.  “If we’re going to make it to my cousin’s, I need caffeine.”

He doesn’t doubt that.  He’s seen the way you drain three cups before noon on your bad days, so jittery by 2 p.m. that he worries for your heart. 

“We have to go grab ingredients anyways, right?” 

“Yeah - Jin will murder me if we show up empty-handed.”

That, Jungkook doubts.  The two of you were inseparable - two sides of the same weird Kim-coin.  If anything, he’d pat your cheek, give you a faux reprimand, and that’d be it.  (Jin always made too much food anyways, or so you said.  It’s why you always brought your best friend leftovers, so much food shoved into ceramic containers that he wouldn’t have to cook for at least a week.)

“What’re we making again?”  If he stops to consider it, he’d probably remember.  He’s got a good memory - great, in fact - but right now he’s too occupied, distracted by the way your hair tickles his chin, the warmth radiating off you as he traps you between himself and the kitchen counter.

“Banana brulee hotteok!”

Right.  He’s had them before, when he was your guinea pig the first year you started making them.  They’d been terrible then, though he really had no idea how you’d managed to mess them up.  He’d powered through it, though.  Devoured the sickly sweet pancakes until he’d felt as if he’d explode.

Just best friend things or something.

Friend things.

Friend.

He realises, standing there in his kitchen, that he has no idea what the two of you are now.  The realisation startles him, leaves him terribly still even as you extract yourself from his arms, halfway out of the kitchen before you turn around.

“Kook?”  You’ve got his keys in one hand and his favourite hoodie in the other.  It’s, again, so familiar and yet not.  Tinged with something he’s not quite sure how to approach, that keeps him staring at you without really seeing. 

You repeat yourself, a little louder this time.

“What are we?”  Was it too soon to ask?  Was he pushing for something?  (More importantly, was that bad?  Would you turn him down even after last night?)

By the expression on your face - a blend of amused and surprised - he thinks not.  You’re smiling too big, mouth stretched wide and your cheeks so doughy they might as well be bread.  It’s how you look when you’re at your happiest.  (Like that time you saw those two dogs riding with that guy on his bike or when you perfected your hotteok recipe and your grandmother had showered you in praise.  It’s the thing that outshines the sun, dazzling to look at it, blinding in its intensity.)

There’s a chorus of laughter in your voice when you step back, retrace your path back to him.  He wonders how he keeps his eyes on you, how his sight hasn’t been stolen by those glittering golden rays.  “What do you think we are?”  

He answers honestly, because that’s the kind of guy Jungkook is.  Practical, reasonable, forward.  (Sometimes, at least.)  “I don’t know.”

Your laughter sweeps his concerns up in its hands, folds them into neat paper cranes.  It coaxes them from their hiding spots and dispels them like summer dragging over the horizon.  When your hand finds his, fingers twining together - familiar, different, familiar, different - you squeeze and he swears he feels it all the way in the centre of his chest, in perfect rhythm with the erratic beat of his heart.

“We can be anything you want to be.”  

Would that really be okay?  He’s used to asking for the things he wants - comes with the territory of being a workaholic type A personality, always eager for more, to impress and wow and simply do well.  Still, he hesitates, just a bit, coherence seemingly stolen.

“Well?”  You squeeze again, knuckles knocking together, and he finds his confidence between the bones, threaded into the skin that spans over his. 

“We’re together.”  He says it unsure but so hopeful.  Not even his stutter can deter him.

Your repetition is an affirmation and a promise, sealed with a kiss that tastes like forever.  “We’re together.”

So you’re late.  Just a half an hour.  It can’t be that big of a deal.  You were always late for things, dragging Jungkook to your level of irresponsibility with just one bat of your lashes, one sing-song breath.

(For once, he doesn’t mind.  It’d been his fault, after all.  Who was he to deny you when you’d had sugar coating your fingers and your lips, a treat that begged to be indulged in?  He was only a man and he was so into you.  He couldn’t have possibly said no when you’d kissed him once, praised him for his help torching the bananas atop the hotteok.  He couldn’t have said no when you’d fed him a still-warm piece, slipping a digit past his lips, pad of your finger brushing over his tongue.)

(He’d spent most of his life saying no to you but he wanted to say yes now.)

“Jin—”  You’ve taken five steps forward, five steps into the home that’s bustling with noise, when he rounds on you, windshield wiper laugh coming to a screeching halt.

“Finally!”  

Jungkook thinks you must blush in tandem by how Jin’s stare bounces between the two of you.  (The silly voice in his head insists that he knows, that your cousin knows exactly why you’re both late.  But he can’t, because that’d be crazy, right?)

(You’d brushed your hair and washed your face;  he’d fixed his clothes and pulled a thick sweater on to hide the tiny bruise you’d left despite his protests.  The two of you were perfectly acceptable, picturesque when you’d strode through that door.)

(And yet Jin keeps staring at him, at you, full mouth drawn into a thin line.)

(What?)

“What?”  The question doesn’t mean to come, tripping off Jungkook’s tongue of its own accord.

When Jin turns his full attention to him, the younger feels like he might just leap out of his skin.  He’s never been uncomfortable around your family but there’s just something—

“You did it.”  

“Did what?”  His cousin?  Well, he’s not wrong but surely—

“You freaking did it!”

“Did what?”  This time it’s you, exasperated and awkward, shoving the plate of hotteok toward Jin even while you refuse to meet his stare.  It’s painfully obvious you’re hiding something.  You’ve never really had a great poker face.

“You owe me dinner.”  

Now that throws Jungkook for a loop, tears all of his focus from you to your cousin.  

“What?”  It seems to be a popular word tonight, uttered at every available interval.  

“____ didn’t tell you?”  Jin looks as if he’s on the brink of losing it, shoulders shaking, restrained laughter spilling past his lips.  “I bet her you guys would end up together at some point.  She said I was crazy.”  There’s pride in his eyes, glittering when he slaps his hand out, palm face up.  “Pay up.”

You won’t even look at Jungkook, smacking your cousin’s hand away as you push past.

“We’re holidating,”  you say, just like you said that first night when you’d brought your best friend along and your family members - at least, the ones he’d never met before - had all but pounced on the appearance of a newcomer. 

A smile splits Jungkook’s mouth as you stomp away, disappearing into the kitchen.  He’s not even bothered when he pulls his wallet out, offering Jin his winnings like a gracious loser.  “We’re actually dating.”

Your cousin doesn’t bat an eye, pocketing the neatly folded bills.  “About time.”

Jungkook thinks so too. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @codeinebelle​​ @jeonmisha​​ @devilion14​​ @bobbyboops​​ @yxnxxli​​ 

[solarwonux]

41.  “Dance with me.”

59.  “I’m still sore from last night.”

ceo!yoongi x reader

w.c: 1.6k

warnings: a little suggestive if you like squint, sweet teeth numbing fluff

note: please please let me know your thoughts, it helps me out a lot. Also send in a drabble request hehehe.

masterlist || drabble game

Yoongi loved mornings. 

Yoongi loved mornings more, now that the two of you had finally moved in together after years of dancing around the subject. He loved waking up next to you, with your face buried into the side of his body and your tiny snores escaping your dry chapped lips, echoing against the eggshell walls of the room. He loved the way the thin rays of the morning sun peek through the slits of the blackout curtains. The light dancing against your body, illuminating all his favorite features. Which was all of you. He loved the way you would stir, and he would race against time to shut his eyes before you could catch him starring at you. 

You always did. 

You will never let him know that you knew he always woke up first to love you silently without you or anyone in the world there to interrupt him. It was his most valuable and cherished secret, the only one he kept from you. So, you vowed to take the fact that you knew about it to the grave. 

Today though, you had beat him at his own game. You had woken up first, silently watching as his breath was calm and concentrated. The minuscule stress lines that had appeared throughout his face over the years of overwork, nowhere to be seen. He looked peaceful, younger; like he didn’t carry the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Despite cherishing his sleep more than anything in the world, you understood now, why he always woke up first. He looked so beautiful, so raw, so intimate, so vulnerable, like a work of art. And you could hope that he felt the same way.

You found yourself never wanting to take your eyes away from his sleeping form, afraid you would miscount the intervals between his inhales and his exhales. Afraid you would miss the way his lips parted in inaudible snores or the way he would pout whenever he moved. Yet, the clock on his bedside table thought otherwise. 

8:30am

Last night, you had made a promise to yourself before falling asleep, that you would wake up early to make him breakfast. It was his day off, the office didn’t need their big bad CEO that never once seemed to crack a smile, even if he was impressed or excited. You never understood why he kept such a fake front for his employees when they knew that he was the biggest softy on the planet, especially when it came to his loved ones. He would turn heaven and hell over  if it meant he could protect everyone he loved. He would even sacrifice himself to ensure that nothing ever happened to his friends, family, and you. But you supposed that his fleeting image was all part of his job, so you let him be. 

You took one last look at your sleeping boyfriend, biting your lower lip, contemplating on whether you should just stay in bed until he woke up. Or get up to prepare him a whole breakfast feast just like he deserved. You almost picked the first option until your stomach grumbled lowly, indicating that the second option was the better option, unfortunately. So, you got up silently, and carefully, afraid that any wrong move would wake him up and ruin your surprise.

The air in your lungs got caught in the back of your throat as you saw him stir slightly. Sleepy incoherent mumbles fell out of his lips. You froze in fear, your robe midway on, watching as he tugged the sheets up to his chin and sunk further into the bed. When you realized he wasn’t getting up anytime soon you finished putting on your robe and quickly made your way into the kitchen. 

“You know it’s my day off right?” Yoongi mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips, his messy hair sticking up in all different directions. A slight blush appeared on your cheeks when you remembered how your fingers had been tangled up in it, as you screamed out his name like a mantra, while he made love to you until the late morning hours. 

“And you don’t have to be at work for another three hours.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and gave your temple a sweet kiss, “good morning honey, how’d you sleep?” He rested his head against your shoulder, clinging onto you like he was afraid you would vanish.

“I slept like a baby.” You smiled cutting the last stem of the strawberry you had diligently been working on before he walked in. “Morning to you too sleepy head.” You turned your face, leaving a delicate kiss against his bed head. Yoongi smiled, he loved waking up next to you, admiring you silently as you slept. But he also loved being wrapped up in your warmth as you went around doing your daily morning routine. You always complained about how he never let you get things done. That the extra weight clinging onto you like a koala was only slowing you down. He knew you secretly loved it and would not be able to go about your day peacefully if he just stopped. 

In fact, he had tested it out once after the two of you had gotten into a petty fight. You had called him that day at lunch time in tears, claiming that everything had gone wrong because he had ignored you all morning. Truth be told he had felt the same way. That was the day he truly realized that he could never live without you.

“I was hoping you would wake up after I finished making breakfast.” You pouted putting your knife down and gathering all the strawberries you had tentatively cut up putting them into a bowl. 

“And I was hoping we could spend the entire morning in bed, but we can’t always get what we want in life can we?” He mumbled against your clothed shoulder. His fingers cheekily playing with the knot of your robe.

You turned in his arms, “all morning? Doing what?” Your arms made their way around his neck pulling him closer. 

Yoongi smirked, his fingers itching to untie your robe praying you weren’t wearing anything underneath. “I have a few ideas, some good, some bad. But I mostly just wanted to keep sleeping with you in my arms.” He shrugged, running his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting it before closing the distance and planting a soft, intimate kiss against your lips. 

It was savory, enough to keep you on your toes, wanting for more when he pulled away. “Good because I’m still sore from last night.” You said pointedly. Yoongi threw his head back laughing, his chest swelling up with pride as he remembered how you didn’t want to stop after three rounds. Even begging him, getting down on your knees for him in the shower. The two of you still hadn’t christened your newly shared apartment but he was positive that last night would’ve been the night if you hadn’t fallen asleep. 

“That’s on you my little minx, you didn’t want to stop, I just fulfilled your desires.” He winked, kissing your cheek and moved aside, an arm still around your waist as he reached over for the Bluetooth speaker he kept in the kitchen. 

“Hey!” You scoffed, hitting his chest lightly, “this isn’t completely on me, you came home and didn’t even let me greet you properly before you were carrying me off to our room.” 

“Honestly babe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smirked as he scrolled through his phone. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he looked through his music selection. 

“We’re going to have to work on that memory of yours. It's starting to worry me.” You said in fake concern and circled your arms around his waist pulling him close, “I can help.” You whispered before planting a small kiss on the blooming flowers you had left on his chest last night. You could never get enough of him. 

“Mhm, I’ll take you up on your offer later.” He set his phone down on the kitchen counter, the soft melody of an unfamiliar song sounding through his Bluetooth speaker. “Right now, dance with me?” He tilted his head to the side. He didn’t give you enough time to answer when he was already leading you to the middle of the kitchen, his arms finding their perspective place around your waist as he started swaying the two of you in place. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, giving his nose a tiny peck, earning a boyish smile from Yoongi. “What is this?” 

“A song Namjoon and I are working on...for our wedding.” The afterthought falling out his lips before he had time to stop it. It wasn’t until he felt your body go rigid in his arms that he realized what he had said. “Um, forget I said that.” 

“We just moved in together and you’re already planning our wedding playlist, I didn’t think you would be the type. What’s next you’re going to show me the Pinterest board you created?” You joked ignoring the way your heart was racing, hoping he couldn’t feel it through the thinness of your silk robe. 

He groaned, annoyed. So what? Maybe he did have a Pinterest board with ideas for your wedding. He had been adding pictures to it since he met you five years ago at Junkook’s grand opening for his art gallery. The second he spotted you laughing along with his best friend, hard enough for champagne to come out of your nose. The ice around his heart melted and he knew he would be spending the rest of his life with you. He’s been writing songs about it ever since.

“Maybe another time, we have enough time for that, right now we have two hours before you have to go to work and I plan on milking every second of it.”

[coexiising]

Midnight Love - Anakin Skywalker

REQUEST ◆ can i request a little something where anakin comes back from a long mission after there were rumors that he was dead, so the reader is super relieved and impatiently waiting to be alone with him? basically fluff where she could take care of his wounds and maybe some passionate sex

WARNING(S) ◆ smut, piv sex, mentions of death, cursing

WORDS ◆ 3.1k

NOTE ◆ im sick but i got the sudden urge to finish this request so!! thank you for requesting!!

If someone was to ask you what love was a year ago, you would insist that you had no idea and tell them to ask someone else. But in the coming months, even in the throws of Civil War raging throughout the entire Galaxy left and right — You had found love. And maybe it wasn’t perfect and not like the fairytales that you used to read when you were a young child but it was yours, and that was all that mattered in the long run. You were in love and so happy.

But right now, all you were was nervous. You had been for almost a week since hearing the news that a rather intense battle had broken out in the Outer Rim, where Anakin Skywalker, the man you were in love with, had been stationed for almost a month now. You were scared and wracked with anxiety of the possibility of something happening to him. You stayed up late at night and tried to calm yourself down, but it was to no use. There was no way of contacting him during the middle of a mission and the only thing you could slightly rely on was the news, which sometimes wasn’t entirely factual.

And then the rumors started.

You weren’t one to rely on the news of gossip or others, though this talk had been spoken about within a rather influential group of politicians, about how The Hero With No Fear was dead. You didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be true. Anakin, your Anakin, couldn’t be dead. So you vowed from that day forward that you would only think of him as alive, not going to engage in any conversation until you were sure of his true outcome.

And another rumor spread that the 501st was coming back to Coruscant and again, you tried to ignore it, trying not to get your hopes up on false promises. Still though, you checked your comms where Anakin always contacted you when he was within range, and checked, and checked, and checked until it was becoming somewhat of an addiction. There was no call.

It is now marked two months since you’ve seen Anakin, the days dragging long and boring and the nights cold and lonely. You missed him so much that it was hard to breathe, feeling as though another half of you had been thrown into the wind never to be seen again. He had a job in the Republic and you understood that completely, but it didn’t stop you from wishing that things were different, that you could be together with him without anything pulling you away from one another or that you could just be with him in public in a romantic way rather than platonic.

Your feet took you across the Jedi Temple building, tasked with giving some papers to Senator Padmé Amidala who was briefing with the Council about security in the Senate. The sun shined through the tall windows as you walked, illuminating the pathway and red carpets. You made your way up the steps and that’s when you stopped dead in your tracks.

You weren’t sure if you were making things up in your mind, if you missed Anakin so much that your mind was playing tricks on you. But at the end of the hall you could swear that was Anakin, walking with . . . That was Ahsoka. So that had to be —

“Anakin,” You spoke out loud, low like a whisper to yourself. It was Anakin, standing at the other end of the hall. You felt your balance go out for a moment and you were almost sent toppling down the stairs until you caught yourself. Your heart rate picked up and it took everything in you not to run up into his arms, knowing that you were all being watched in the Temple and there was no way to have alone time with him no matter how much you wanted to.

You walked at a faster pace now, coming within range of his eyesight and Anakin’s features immediately softened upon looking at you, a small smile making its way onto his face that you reciprocated, hoping to not gain the attention from his Padawan learner. When finally, finally you were only a foot in front of him, you felt at ease again. Anakin was alright, he didn’t die or get gravely injured like the news always made things out to be. He was here and although you could see cuts and bruises on his face that have seemingly gotten uncared for yet, you were more relieved than you had ever felt in your life. It had been too long without him, you supposed, too long without his touch or his love.

Ahsoka was the first to speak up. “Hi, Y/N, what’re you doing here?” Her tone was happy, which led you to believe that whatever they did in the Outer Rim turned out successful. You loved Ahsoka, but right now you wished that it was just you and Anakin.

“Just getting Senator Amidala some papers, Ahsoka, how was your mission?” You asked, eyes darting from her to Anakin, who looked at you with soft, longing eyes.

“It was . . . Stressful. But Master Skywalker led the whole 501st by himself!” Ahsoka exclaimed, giving her Master a grin. You couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the fearless leader and how passionate he was about helping the Republic. How he was yours, all yours and he loved you just as much, if not more, than you did him.

A few more words were exchanged before Anakin said, “Why don’t you go get some rest, Ahsoka. You deserve it.” It seemed as though Ahsoka didn’t need to be told twice, the girl saying a quick goodbye and walking off in the other direction. Now it was you and Anakin in the hallway, looking into each other's eyes as if you were both having a silent conversation between one another without any movement. You weren’t sure what to say, actions spoke louder than words anyways and all you wanted was to be near him, be in his arms so that the fist of anxiety clenching your heart was finally gone.

He had a small smile on his face that made your heart warm, one that you reciprocated and looked around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. In the Temple you were never really sure how far your talking would go, if others could hear the whispers spoken between you two from other hallways. There was no one there, thankfully.

“I’m sorry I-”

“When will-”

You two spoke at the same time, making a laugh erupt from the both of you. You took a moment to admire him, thinking about how much you missed the little things about him like his laugh. “You go first,” You told him.

Anakin nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming back. I wanted to make it somewhat of a surprise but then you were here and . . .” He trailed off. You shook your head and flashed a smile, signalling that all was fine. You found it endearing that he was planning on surprising you, it seemed as though you were on his mind the whole time as much as he was on yours.

“It’s okay,” You said. “When will you be able to stop by my apartment?” That is where you usually stayed when he was on Coruscant and he could get away, since it was way easier having Anakin sneak out of the Temple there instead of him sneaking you into the Temple. You had to admit that now that you knew he was here, your anxiousness got worse, wanting him all to yourself as quickly as possible.

“I still have to report to the Council. Then I’m all yours. An hour?”

“It’s a date.”

~

The waiting was excruciating even though it was only an hour. It was almost as if waiting for an extra sixty minutes was worse than the extended time you had just been away from him. Perhaps it was because you knew that he was here, alive and well, and wanted to see you just as badly as you wanted to see him. You tried passing the time looking through the holonet, and then deciding to take a quick shower to wash off anything from today.

Opening your drawer and putting on the last of your outfit, some black lounge sweatpants, you heard a knock on the front door of your apartment and your heart practically leapt out of your chest. You needed to remember to give Anakin a key sometime soon, knowing that this wasn’t going to be the last time he came over and he almost practically lived here whenever he was on Coruscant. You walked and opened the door, being met with Anakin’s smiling face and big, strong arms wrapping around your frame, walking both of you backwards as his foot kicked the door behind him closed.

You leaned into his touch, memorizing all that you could from this moment for later. His soft, plush curly hair brushing against your cheek, the smell of fresh breeze and some type of floral scent that was most likely his body wash. It was so inherently Anakin and you were surrounded by it, you loved it. You loved him.

“I missed you so much,” He spoke first, pulling away to make eye contact. His blue eyes looked down at you and you couldn’t help but lean up and press a small kiss to his lips, the smile on your face growing wider as you pulled away. Your eyes scanned his face, taking note of a few cuts and bruises that littered it, almost causing you to frown.

Your hand came up and brushed against one, it seemed freshly afflicted. You weren’t exactly sure what the mission he had gone through was about, he would most likely tell you later when both of you got settled. “I missed you too, Ani,” You said. “Do you want me to look at this cut?” It wasn’t as though you were a medic by any means, but basic first aid wasn’t that hard and all you really needed to do was clean it and any others he let you look at.

He didn’t respond with words, only nodding and allowing you to grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Your kit was in the bathroom connected to it, quickly grabbing the small white box and sitting down on the bed next to him, getting to work.

“What happened while you were away?” You asked, making conversation as you got the materials out of the box. “These cuts look recent.”

Anakin shrugged his large shoulders, a usual response when you asked about his injuries whenever he came home. This wasn’t new behavior, he always seemed like he was as tough as nails, but it didn’t take much to see that he was tired and glad to be home. The home that was your arms.

As usual, the two of you exchanged some small talk while you tended to his wounds, rubbing the cloth with the antiseptic and covering up the ones along his arms that needed bandages. Bacta worked best for the bruises, covering them up with the oil that would have them healed in as fast as a day or two. Once everything had been looked at, you put the materials back into the box and placed it on the nightstand next to your bed, reaching over to Anakin to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He came to lay down and pulled you close to him, both of you sitting in the silence for a moment.

“There were so many rumors that you had gotten into too much trouble on your mission. Some people were even saying that you were dead,” You muttered, a small, tiny bit of concern lacing your words. Anakin could feel your worry through the Force and in response, held you even tighter against him. “I didn’t want to believe them, but then you were gone longer than normal and I don’t know. . . I just get so scared sometimes with your line of work.”

Anakin sighed. “There was a setback in the mission and we needed to take caution so that we wouldn’t lose many people. But it’s alright, I’m here with you now. You know that I’ll always come back to you.”

“I know, Ani.”

You turned to face him, the covers shifting comfortably under you. You pressed your lips against his again, relishing in the feeling of having him back all to yourself. You wished that you could keep him here forever, in your large apartment away from the judgement of society: The Senate that expected you to stay away from scandal, and the Jedi Order that prevented Anakin from having any attachment whatsoever. It was a hard world out there, but you were grateful that you were with Anakin through it, you couldn’t imagine being with another person.

Sensing a bit of urgency in your kisses to get as much of him as you possibly could, Anakin responded with the same passion, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek and the gloved one coming to push himself on top of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and trapped him against you while the two of you kissed. Your hands reached for his hair and tugged, spurring him forward and biting your bottom lip with a groan.

He detached his lips from your own and instead began kissing along your jawline, stopping for a second to inhale the scent of yours that he missed more than anything. And then he started again, kissing all the way down your neck and deciding to leave a tiny mark on a part of your collarbone that would be somewhat easier to conceal. It was rare that he did leave the marks this high up, but in this urgency he couldn’t seem to control himself all that much. You wined out, pushing your hips forward and meeting his own.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” He muttered in between kisses against your neck, hand moving down and coming to the edge of your work blouse, working to get it off of you as fast as he could but stopping for a moment to make sure that you wanted to go farther. You fervently nodded, helping him in taking your shirt off and throwing it down onto the ground near your bed. Quickly, you did the same thing with his shirt, untucking it from his pants and the moment it was off you ran your hands along his torso, marveling in the fine edges of his body. “All I could think was coming back to you and now that I’m finally here I’m blown away by how beautiful you are.” His words made you blush, as well as send a shock downward towards your core.

You needed him, you simply couldn’t wait anymore. You had waited for too long and you weren’t in the business of stopping any time soon and it was clear that he felt the same way. While you were waiting for him to come home, it wasn’t too apparent how much you truly missed him because after a while you found some other ways to occupy yourself. But now that he was here, all those feelings of want were coming back to you and you couldn’t help but start to speed up the process.

“Anakin, please, I need you now. I can’t wait anymore,” You whispered to him, loving the way that his lips felt while they kissed every single inch of your chest. You wanted to slow down and at the same time wanted to speed up, it was an odd feeling. But there would be more moments for the both of you to take it slow, now you just wanted to satiate the feeling that was growing rapidly in your core. He laughed at this, coming to meet your eyes with his own as they had a hint of teasing behind them. You gave him a small smile, but your eyes were glossed over with a type of lust and wanting that you were sure he could tell that you were serious.

In a matter of mere seconds, both of your pants and undergarments were off and he was getting into a more comfortable position on top of you, and you were spreading your legs open and just waiting for him. Anakin took one look down between your legs and muttered some type of curse in Huttese that you couldn’t understand and before you spoke to ask, he was pushing into you.

It felt like bliss.

The moment you adjusted to him and your walls relaxed, he began moving, slowly out and then plunging back into you with intensity. He continued that motion a few times, each making you moan out his name and flying your hands back into his hair, tugging on the golden, curled locks. You moaned out and it was louder than you were expecting, but it seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear because he started going faster. You could hear the wet sloshing between the two of you and it only made you closer to that peak and the fire within you was almost raging.

Anakin kept kissing your neck until he went up and started kissing your lips. It was a sloppy kiss, all of his concentration was bent on making you feel good but you appreciated it, since you could feel all the love that he was giving you. You matched his pace, lifting up your hips to meet his when they came down and he hit at an even more deeper angle, both of you gasping into one another's mouths.

“Anakin, I’m going to-”

“Me too.”

Your orgasm snuck up on you and placed itself right onto your core, and with one more thrust you felt yourself release and your eyes rolled back into your head. For a moment it felt like you weren’t on Coruscant and you had flown up into the sky, that was how good it felt to be with him again. When you came back to reality, with a roll of your hips, Anakin was right behind you, releasing inside of you. Both of you stirred and he laid down on top of you, breathing heavily to try and catch his breath. Your hands rubbed up and down his back, fingers tracing inconsistent patterns along his skin.

A few more moments passed by and Anakin rose his head up, pressing a small kiss to your nose that made you smile. He also smiled, nuzzling into your neck.

“The second I catch my breath, we should go again.”

It was good to be back.

[midnightwinterhawk]

I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom​ for the inspiration. 

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

-

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

--

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter​

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After  years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos,  it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a  suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles  would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

//

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

[donutloverxo]

Princess

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

Based on a request. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - Your pussy is sore so Curtis uses your mouth.

Warnings - explicit sexual content (m/f) , age gap (reader is in her early twenties, Curtis is 34), innocent/naive reader, dub con, oral (m receiving), soft dark!Curtis, au, porn without plot.

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 2k

You were jerked away when you heard the knob to your room on the snowpiercer rattling, and then being closed as his footsteps followed.

You didn't remember a lot before the train, you were just a kid when the old world came to an end. 

You saw glimpses of grass and sunlight in your dreams, you weren't sure if they were dreams or just fragments of your imagination. 

But even in your wildest dreams, you didn't imagine a bed this soft and a room this big. Big enough to fit the bed and two dressers and a large mirror. It was decadent and all you could wish for and more. 

So it should make you happy to be here. In a comfortable bed like a princess. Shouldn't it? 

It didn't. You wanted to enjoy this time while it lasted, but your gut told you that you were temporary. Just here to warm the leaders bed. 

"Curtis…" your face heating up as he studied you, his powder blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, getting rid of his coat and cap. Goosbumps erupted all over your body as you held your soft comforter upto your chest,to give you some sense of modesty and dignity even if Curtis had taken it all from you and made you a woman just weeks ago. 

You used fantasy to escape your grim reality quite often. It's easier to dream of a Prince Charming riding on a white horse to save you then to accept reality for what it is that you would've been stuck working in the greenhouse for the rest of your life… all alone. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, tearing the comforter away from you, holding onto your wrists to reveal your beautiful breasts to him. "You're mine now. You can't hide from me."

"I'm sorry…" you hung your head in shame, and so you wouldn't be caught peeking a glance at Curtis pulling his shirt over his head, followed by him unbuckling his belt. 

He was… beautiful. You never knew anyone could be so handsome. His shoulders wide, a light scattering of hair all over his torso, multiple scars on his body. But they only, strangely, made him more appealing to you. 

He climbed on top of the mattress, nudging your knees apart and situating himself between them. He growled as he looked at your bare sex, using two of his fingers to part your lips as you hissed in pain. 

"It's… I'm… sore," you explained when he looked up at you. 

He nodded back to you, pushing barely an inch of his forefinger inside you, he didn't want to hurt you. Your pussy was clearly swollen and overworked. If he gave into his urges he would be sure to cause you pain, and even worse, lose what little trust you have in him. 

He had suffered enough to last him seven lifetimes. He already knew he was going to hell for all that he had done. It wasn't like he could doom himself anymore by forcing you to be with him. And he deserved you. After all that he had gone through. You were his light at the end of one long and shitty tunnel. 

He pulled his hand away when he looked at your face, pinched in pain. Instead settling on fondling your breast as he thought about how to take care of his erection. 

He had taken your body four times the previous night, which was why you slept the day away. How he managed to go out and get stuff done, and be the leader was beyond you. 

"You like what you see, princess?" He taunted you when he caught you staring at his hard cock. 

The little pet name was initially what he used to mock you and how shy and delicate and innocent you were, but now he had come to cherish you. He wanted to protect you as if you were his sweet little scared princess and he was your brave knight. 

You immediately averted your eyes and started sputtering nonsense, your brain froze and you literally didn't know how to answer him. And Curtis had made it very clear that when he asked you a question you were to give him a proper, clear and honest answer. Or face grave consequences. 

"Um, yes?" Which was the truth. You had seen a few male genitals in your life, they were all… not very appealing. But it was different with Curtis. His was beautiful and intimidating at the same time. 

"Then how about," putting his leg over yours, he crawled to the top of the bed, kneeling before you with his hard, pulsating length was right in front of your face. "You make me happy."

"Oh…" you simply stared. Your friend had told you that you were 'one lucky bitch' to have a man like Curtis who spends hours pleasuring you with his mouth, his fingers, and his manhood, but never forced you to return the favor. You didn't even know how you would go about doing that. 

You had explored your own body before. Partly because of your curiosity and partly for some relief. But Curtis touched you in a way no one else could, he made you climax harder than you ever had before, you were pretty sure you passed out once from the sheer intensity of it. 

But… how does one go about doing the same with a man's special place? 

"Hm," you looked at his slit, it looked somewhat similar to your bud, you held onto his length, putting your thumb over his tip where the pearly liquid oozed out of--with which he often loved painting your whole body with, or pump you full of it and just watch it seep out of you. 

You realised how bold you were, that you should seek his permission before touching him there, you looked up to see him pleased with your actions so you decided to keep going.

You lightly pressed your thumb on his slit, making him hiss, you whipped your head up and pulled your hand away. 

"Sorry…" you sniffed, your vision becoming blurry as your eyes teared up, "I've never.. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry…" you sobbed. 

"Stop," he said softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You really were such a scared little lamb. Years of pent up frustration, where he had to make do with just his hand, didn't help making you feel safe with him either. But what the hell was he supposed to do when he had such a beautiful woman next to him as he slept? 

"Just listen to me. Can you do that?" he asked, cupping your jaw as you meekly nodded. "Open your mouth as wide as you can," he told you, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb. 

Oh. It made sense. He puts his mouth on you so you should be able to do so on him as well. You opened your mouth with an 'ah', panicking just a bit when he put his hand around your throat, but he hushed you and asked you to relax. Since your body, mind and soul really did belong to him now, you immediately calmed down, knowing that he won't hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

He pushed his length in your mouth. The taste wasn't at all what you expected. Not that you were sure what it would be like anyway. It tasted creamy and salty at the same time. You coughed and sputtered around him, your spit trailing down your chin. You thought that the mess would make him angry but then you recalled how much he enjoys the mess he makes of you. 

He stopped when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat on his palm, "Good girl," he cooed, stroking your need. "Look up here," he ordered as you looked at him through your big doe eyes, "Keep looking at me okay?"

You didn't know if you were expected to give a verbal answer, because you couldn't… Not with a mouthful of Curtis. So you nodded the best you could. 

"Hands on your thighs," he said as you put your hands on your bare thighs with the palms up. "Right now just sit there… just like that," he rasped as he pulled his hips back before bucking them forward, "And look pretty. Fuck… that mouth of yours… and it's all mine to do whatever I want with…"

He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You did as you were told, sitting and taking his assault on your mouth and throat. His ejaculate, your tears and your saliva drooling all over your lap. He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You could feel slick running down the side of your leg, not wanting to ruin the pristine white sheets and to create some much needed friction you closed your legs together. 

He stopped his hips, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as he saw you squirming. "Touch yourself." He said. 

Your eyes widened as you realised what he meant. You couldn't risk pulling him out of your mouth to protest. You were too embarrassed to do that in front of him as well. 

"That's an order," he growled as he fucked in to your warm mouth, making you choke around him, pushing him closer to his release. 

A shaky hand made its way to your core, past your pubic hair and between your thighs. You tried to emulate how Curtis touched you. 

First he touched your thighs and kissed them all over. Then your ass and then he'd tease around your lips, torturing you for what would feel like forever before touching you where you most needed him. 

You gathered your intimate juices, spreading them around your vulva before rolling your pearl between your fingers, moaning around his length. 

"That's it, princess… come on, come with me," he groaned, slowly fucking into your mouth, holding off his release so he could watch you fall apart as he came in your mouth, one hand tangled up in your hair and another pinching and twisting your nipples. 

Soon you were whimpering, you tried to tell him that you were close. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he picked up the pace. Fucking into your mouth till you could feel streaks of his release on the back of your throat. 

You held onto his thigh so you could sit upright as your orgasm washed over you. Your nails digging into his skin as you screamed around his length. 

"Swallow it all," he commanded as you gulped down all that you could. 

You took in some much needed oxygen as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, your chest heaving as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his body.

He thought you'd want to sleep after. Since you were so swollen and tired. He'd have to take it easy on you from now on. Maybe use your mouth every now and then to give your pussy a rest. 

But then… 

Were you grinding against his cock? 

He propped your chin up so he could look at your face, the most innocent look on it. 

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um… are you done?" you asked, tracing a scar on his chest. 

"You want something, princess?" he asked, pinching your buttock as you yelped. 

"I was thinking… we could make love? It doesn't feel right not to. You know?"

"Right, of course, princess. Since you asked so nicely." He smirked as he climbed on top of you. 

Taglist -

Permanent: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @thehumanistsdiary @navybrat817 @la-cey @captainsdolly @bluemusickid @zaddychris @the-wayward-robot @aikeia @kidney9-9 @notyourtypicalrose @selfcarecap @miraclesoflove @saiyanprincessswanie @gotnofucks @efferuse @americasass91 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @sweeterthanthis @cloudystevie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @tenaciousperfectionunknown @labella420 @golden-ariess @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @starbooty

Chris Evans characters: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @angrythingstarlight @goldenfightergir @dangerouslovefanfic @melchills-j @xserenax-13

[nanaminokanojo]

BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 3/3 [COMPLETED]

CHARACTERS: Sukuna X You | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Maki | Fushiguro Toji | Baby Megumi | Megumi's Mom (OC) CHAPTER COUNT: 3/3 WORD COUNT: 10,900+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | smut | ooc sukuna | female reader | modern au CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity/strong language | alcohol use | age gap | smut/sexual intercourse SPOILERS: N/A

collection masterlist

one two three | Bloom Masterlist

“You up for it?”

You were sitting at your usual spot at Maki’s. It was still quite early so the pub wasn’t as crowded as it usually is, and it was a weekday. You were there to meet Sukuna but the owner suddenly started chatting you up like she usually does, beating around the bush for a bit before she finally asked you a favor. Apparently, they’re under-staffed and is in need of another waitress but hiring a new one was out of the question since it was a temporary post, just until the person who really works for her recovers from a broken ankle.

“It’s just from four in the afternoon to eight on weekdays, and since you’re usually hanging around here during those times, I thought of asking you. We’re just really short of hands for the next week,” she said, flashing you a rueful smile. “I asked Ieiri but she’s in the middle of her internship.”

Maki had been there for you before, talking to you when you had issues you couldn’t share with your friends and always giving you free non-alcoholic drinks during your exams, and you didn’t see anything wrong with helping her out for once. You’ll earn from it, too. “Sure. When do I begin?”

She clapped her hands excitedly which took you aback. She’s always so tough, barking orders here and there or putting rowdy customers in their proper places, that you didn’t really expect her to be all giggly and excited all of a sudden. “You’ll do it?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She hugged you then. “Oh my god, Y/N. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You waved her aside, chuckling. “It’s fine. It’s for a week anyway. No big deal.”

She sighed in relief. “You don’t know how much weight you’ve taken off my shoulders, so it is a big deal. Okay for you to start on Monday?”

You nodded.

“I’m giving you all the cherry blossom tea smoothie you want.” She grinned cheekily at you then. “And speaking of cherry blossoms, I noticed you and Sukuna coming here together. Are you together now?”

You felt your face heating up at the mention of the man's name but you shook your head. "Not yet."

"Yet?"

You chuckled awkwardly. "We're working it out, I guess. We're not exclusively dating though and he isn't my boyfriend..." You felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. It's the first time you're saying it out loud, what Sukuna isn't to you, and you had to admit the notion was kinda disappointing. But the problem was with you. "Yeah...just that."

"He likes you though. I see the way he looks at you." Maki smiled knowingly at you. "Does this have something to do with your no dating policy? It's ridiculous if you ask me. Sukuna is a good man."

Ah, straightforward as always. "I know that. That's why I'm letting him have a go at changing my mind."

"And is he successful so far?"

"He's almost there." You frowned then, catching her comment about him. "You seem to know him well."

"We go way back," Maki explained. "My old man still owns the pub when he was a student and he came here all the time listening to me and that old geezer fight."

"Oh. That must have been a sight."

"Plus he's friends with my cousin, Toji."

You tilted your head in question. Sukuna never really talked about his friends, and he has never introduced you to any of them. It’s the first time you’re hearing about that side of him. “Really? What was he like back then?”

Maki snorted. “He was an idiot who had too much time in his hands. He’s smart, but had a penchant for mischief. I mean, I guess you already figured that out just looking at him. Nobody really thought he would end up to be this big-shot architect.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“Toji’s influence, I guess. That one’s a bigger idiot.” She looked deep in thought for a moment then said, “Why his wife chose him instead of Sukuna is a puzzle.”

You were confused. You did not know what she was talking exactly, and why her cousin’s wife should have chosen Sukuna was beyond you. For some reason, you didn’t have a good feeling about it, then you remembered what he told you before about dating just one person.

Could it be… “No…” You didn’t even realize you said that out loud until Maki held onto your hand, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry. I said too much.”

“Well, don’t stop now,” you found yourself saying, unable to help it. “Is the situation what I think it is? Your cousin’s wife…He told me before that he only ever steadily dated one girl. Is it…?”

Maki nodded, grimacing. “They cheated on him six years ago.”

“So, he lost his girlfriend and best friend?” You felt your heart break at the thought. You might not have known him back then, but you couldn’t help but feel bad on his behalf.

“Yes. I’m not saying it’s his fault, but he’s hardly ever there since he was busy.”

“It’s not enough grounds for them to do that!” you stated loudly, feeling genuinely hurt for him. Damn, if he dated just one woman ever and never had a relationship again before you – for six years – then that spoke volumes of how much it affected him afterwards. You caught yourself and flashed Maki an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Understandable.” She sighed. “He went overseas and didn’t come back until just two years ago. Guess why he came back.”

“Why?”

“To attend their wedding.”

You didn’t know what was more messed up, but you also know Sukuna to be a genuinely good person. If he disappeared for that long only to come back to attend his best friend and ex’s wedding, then it only meant he totally forgave them. If he was giving another relationship a chance, particularly with you, then it also meant he has healed. How he could be so caring and affectionate towards you despite what he went through astonished you, but maybe that’s just how he really was as a person.

“Are they okay now?”

“Yes.” She laughed slightly then. “You should see how he dotes on Toji’s son.”

Maki ruffled your hair, seeing how you’ve reacted. “Just one piece of unsolicited advice, Y/N. If you decide to be with him, be certain about it and don’t ever hurt him.”

You only nodded, taking her words to heart. She was right. Just as you were afraid to be left alone, nobody deserves to be hurt like that. You wanted to be angry at the fact that his own best friend did that to him but at the same time, you were proud of him for coming out of it while maintaining a good view about the whole concept of relationships and perhaps love. It radiated in the way he treated you, and all the effort he is putting into making things work despite your hesitations.

He arrived a few moments later, showing you that crooked smile of his. You both had one beer, and over that, he asked about your day and he told you about yours. When you were finished with your drinks, he said, “Mind going out for a drive? I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t meet his eyes after what Maki told you, and several times, he asked if you were okay to which you responded affirmatively, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

Sukuna took you to the cliffs just around the city limits, parking his car a few yards from the edge enough to have a good view of the sea of lights below. When he killed the engine, you disembarked from his Jeep, walking closer to the edge when you felt his hand on your arm.

“Not too close to the edge,” he said, looking at you with concern written all over his face, but before he could ask what was bothering you, you said, “You were going to tell me something.”

At that, he sighed as if in long-suffering. “Yes, that.” He looked at you seriously as if he was going to tell you something grave only to end up saying, “I’m going to be away for two weeks starting Monday. I’m going to London.”

Momentarily forgetting about your conversation with Maki, you blinked, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Why did you have to look like you’re about to tell me you’re going to be executed or something? Jesus, Sukuna.” You laughed despite yourself.

“Don’t laugh. I’m annoyed.” He pouted. “Aren’t you sad? Two weeks is a long time. I won’t get to see you, and I have to check for time zones if I want to talk to you over the phone.”

You held his hand, twining your fingers with his before raising it to plant a kiss on his knuckles. “I will miss you, but you don’t have to be so upset about it. I’ll be right here when you come back. Stop being all dramatic.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re funny.”

He rolled his eyes, but then said, “So, before that, I was planning to take you to meet my best friend and his wife on Saturday. I’ve been telling them about you…”

The rest of his words faded, the only thought registering in your head was how he mentioned his best friend and his wife. You were going to meet them. You couldn’t say no to that given that they seem to play integral parts in his life despite what happened. “Okay.”

“You’re gonna love their little boy,” he said excitedly.

“Sure…”

“But really, Y/N? You won’t have a whirlwind romance with some college brat while I’m away?”

You let go of his hand, stepping back. You didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. Not when he was speaking from experience. “What do you take me for?!” The words came out a little harsher than you intended, the resentment you felt for his previous relationship resurfacing.

He arched a brow at you, puzzled at your outburst. “Y/N, I was kidding.”

Not able to hold back anymore, you turned away from him as tears started flooding your vision. You didn’t even know why you were crying over the whole thing, and you just felt like an idiot as you faced him again, frantically drying your tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He looked alarmed as he held onto both of your hands, stopping you from wiping harshly at your face. “Why are you crying? Is it because of what I said?”

You shook your head. “No…no. Can I hug you though?” you asked and he almost laughed as he himself drew you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “You never have to ask.”

You did the same, holding onto him tightly, hoping it was enough for you to get rid of any feeling of hurt left in him if there was any to begin with; that it was enough for him to be at ease where you were concerned when he goes away. Still, you wanted to make sure. You stayed like that until you’ve calmed down, thinking you were doing it more for yourself than for him.

“What brought this on?”

“You won’t get mad?” you asked between hiccups, looking up at him.

“Why would I?”

“Promise me first. I just don’t want to hide anything from you and it’s been bothering me.”

“Okay. I promise.” As if to emphasize his words, he pecked you on the tip of your nose. “Now what is bothering you?”

“Since you mentioned your best friend,” you began, “Toji, right?”

He eyed you, nonplussed. “How did you know?”

“Maki told me…” You started tearing up again. “She-she told me w-what happened. Everything…so I know…Please don’t get mad.”

He clucked his tongue. “That woman. Seriously.”

“I’m glad she told me and I’m sorry if I pried, but I can’t…”

“Is that why you’re crying?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt you.”

His expressions softened. “Silly.”

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s not silly. Nobody deserves that, least of all you. You’re always so good to me, and I can’t imagine anybody doing that to you, least of all your best friend.”

Sukuna’s hug tightened a tad, placing his chin on top of your head. “No sense crying about it anymore, Y/N. I’ve forgiven and forgotten. It wasn’t their fault if they felt that way when I went away. They found common ground, I guess. Toji thought he was losing his best friend and she felt the same way.”

“Okay.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask, I want you to get to know them, too, just like I want to be close to Satoru, Suguru and Ieiri. They’re important to me.”

“Okay.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes.” You met his gaze. “If they’re important to you, then I will do that for you and meet them.”

He wiped away your tears then. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you mumbled, breathing in deeply. “Sorry you had to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He shrugged then, snickering. “Maki’s timing sure is impeccable.”

And so, Saturday came and you held onto Sukuna’s hand as he helped you out of the Jeep after parking in front of a two-story house with pale yellow walls and white shutters. Before it was a small, well-tended yard surrounded with white picket fences, very much like the house you grew up in under the care of your grandfather. A small, plastic slide and swing set was placed on the grass along with a tiny bike and some toys in the sandbox.

“You okay?” he asked, interrupting your reverie. When you nodded, he said, “You’re not gonna cry, are you?” making you smack him on the arm. “Ow?”

“Serves you right.”

Just then, the door opened revealing this couple you assumed to be the Fushiguros. They looked good together, both with raven hair with their equally dark-haired little boy who looked about eighteen months old, all chubby cheeks and pudgy cuteness.

Toji was this big, hulking man with a vertical scar on the right side of his mouth which oddly added to his charm instead of marring his handsome face. He was carrying his little boy in his muscular arms, taking the edge off his tough looks. He was the first one to approach.

"Hi. Y/N, right?"

"Yes, hi." You shook his hand, smiling genuinely despite your previous notions regarding him and his wife who also stepped forward, taking your hands in hers. She was beautiful, too, and she gave you this feeling of coming home with her bright eyes and kind smile. You couldn’t blame Toji for falling for her, then again, Sukuna used to be in love with her, too.

"You're so pretty!" she said as a way of greeting. "I'm Mirai. It's nice to meet you."

Toji glanced at Sukuna, the gesture injected with meaning. "It's nice to finally meet you. Typically, he's quiet, but he won't shut up about you."

"Shut up," Sukuna muttered.

"It's nice to meet you both." You chuckled. "He isn't quiet around me either." Then your eyes shifted to their kid. You weren't exactly enamored with the idea of children, but you understood what Sukuna meant. "Hi, little angel," you couldn't help but say to the boy who was looking at you with wide, sparkly eyes framed with long lashes. "Your son is lovely."

"Thank you," Mirai returned happily, watching her son reaching for you. "Aww, Megumi likes you."

"Megumi," you repeated. "Blessing?"

"Yes," Toji said proudly and you gathered from his statement that he named the baby.

You looked towards Sukuna as if for assurance as you reached out. "May I hold him?"

"Sure." Toji handed Megumi to you and you followed after them as they led you and Sukuna into their home, marveling at how well-behaved he was, just leaning against your chest and sucking on his thumb, all warm and smelling like baby powder and everything that reminded you of happiness.

The two men went to the living room to catch up while you went to the kitchen with Mirai who was curiously asking you one thing after the other.

"Sukuna told us you're a student. What are you studying?" she asked as she stirred something in a pot.

"Comprehensive literature," you answered, untangling Megumi's hand from your hair.

"Are you sure you're okay carrying Megumi?" Mirai threw you a rueful smile.

You nodded, beaming warmly at the child. "I don't mind. He's so adorable."

Mirai smiled lovingly at her son. "Isn't he? I was so happy when I first had him and saw how much he looked like his dad."

"Yeah, he's like a mini version of Toji. He has your eyes though."

“Thank you.” She grinned. "So, how long have you known Sukuna?"

"Just almost half a year. Around that."

"Guy's whipped for you, Y/N."

"I heard that!" Sukuna called out from the living room. He suddenly entered the kitchen, plucking Megumi off your arms saying, "My turn. How's my favorite boy?"

You just snickered, your thoughts elsewhere. It got you wondering if you would even have met Sukuna if things didn't turn out the way they have. You were picturing Sukuna standing beside Mirai instead of Toji but you just couldn't and it got you contemplating that maybe things ended up the way they did because that's what's meant to be.

As opposed to your resentment to what they did to him, you were now glad, perhaps even thankful and more understanding of Sukuna's reasons for letting things go and remaining friends with them. Because if those things didn't happen, you won't have him. Because if they didn't turn out that way, you wouldn't be watching him being all silly and adorable with Megumi, giving you a picture of what kind of father he would be when he did have kids. Because then, you wouldn't be considering the possibility of a future with anyone…with him.

Then you froze as your feelings for him became clearer. Because why else would you be spending all your time with him, being close to him and getting to know him? Why were you so keen on making sure he was happy? Why were you hurting on his behalf? Why was the world suddenly a better place despite the fact that you're supposedly alone?

It was simple. You're in love with him.

"Y/N?" you heard his deep voice resonating from inside your head then louder as your vision began to focus. He was standing in front of you with Megumi in his arms.

"Huh?"

"You okay? You were spacing out."

"Just thinking." You bit your lower lip, looking apologetic.

"Getting lost in your own world again, I see?" he teased.

"Getting lost in yours is more like it."

He and Miriai looked at you at the same time, the latter giggling pretty much like Ieiri whenever you told her about Sukuna. "You two are so cute."

You brushed the comment off, approaching her. "How can I help?"

You set the table with Toji's help, listening to him talk about Megumi and Mirai with such profound fondness and pride. Just like Sukuna, his appearance was an irony to his funny and soft personality it was disconcerting.

"It's great to have guests over. We rarely do this but Sukuna comes here every Saturday, and well, he isn't a guest anymore," Mirai said as she fed Megumi.

"Thanks for having me then," you replied, still fixated on their kid who was babbling about with his mouth full while he repeatedly knocked a plastic spoon on his high chair.

The conversation was light, circling on their old days, but you knew they were trying to skirt around the ugly things. Mirai regaled you of how Toji got the scar on his mouth. Turns out he and Sukuna were street racers at some point. "Easy cash," as the former had put it. "I mean who wants a part time job if you earn thousands a night?"

"So, what do you plan to become after you graduate?" she asked you again.

"A writer, maybe?"

At that, Sukuna started telling them about your date at the fancy restaurant and how you pretty much nailed the story of the lone old woman who gave you wine. "She's amazing like that," he said fondly, absently patting you on your thigh.

"I'm sure Y/N here finds you impressive, too," Toji teased. "Right, Y/N?"

"Yeah, he smells awfully great it's making my thoughts incoherent," you sallied, "But jokes aside..." You let your voice trail off on purpose, gauging his reaction.

"What?" he prompted.

"That's for me to know," you finally stated, making the couple laugh.

"No fair!"

After lunch, you helped Mirai clean up. Megumi was asleep in his crib after his meal and the guys stood by the backdoor, enjoying some beer. You dried the plates quietly while she washed and told you about Toji.

"It's like raising two kids, really," she told you. "He doesn't pick up after himself and our Megumi is more considerate than he is."

"But you love him," you teased.

"With all that I am." Her eyes strayed to Sukuna then. "Cherish him. Don't let that one get away."

At her words, you felt the same hurt you did when you first learned what the real deal was with them from Maki. You blood boiled out of the blue as thoughts started racing in your head a hundred miles per second. How dare she say that to you when she herself let him go? How dare she hurt him like that and yet keep him as a friend?

The sound of something breaking brought you out of your trance, and you realized the plate you were wiping had fallen onto the floor. But your attention was on her, your steely eyes hard and intense as you said, "You're the last person I expect to be telling me such things."

"I..."

You stepped away from her only to be met by Sukuna's disappointed expression, but you ignored that as well as you turned away. "Excuse me,” you said, bowing slightly as you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, grabbing your bag before walking out of the house.

The crisp autumn air blew coldly against you, ruffling your hair and your dress as you stood there, not really knowing where to go or what to do. Suddenly, you felt stupid for saying something like that to Mirai when she had been nothing but nice towards you, her and Toji. You also liked their son. And judging by how Sukuna looked at you, you had this niggling feeling that you've ruined it all, eating at you from the inside out.

Just then, the door opened and closed behind you. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Sukuna who followed you out. You've grown so accustomed to his presence that at times, he only had to look at you and you already understand what he wants to convey.

"Y/N, sweetheart, what's going on?" he asked, trying hard to keep the edge off his tone.

You didn't turn to face him, afraid of what you will see. "You heard what I said. Do I really have to explain?"

He walked around you, grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you slightly. "I thought we're over this. I thought I already explained this to you."

That doesn't cut it, you thought but opted not to say it. He might have told you that he has forgiven and forgotten, and although you weren't involved in it, you still felt displeasure whenever you remembered it. It wasn't as if Mirai and Toji did you wrong, and it wasn't as if you had the right to say shit but she didn't have the right to tell you anything either knowing to herself what she had done. You didn't want to hear anything from her about what you ought to do and decide where Sukuna was concerned. It just didn't sit right with you.

"I know. I'm wrong. I get it," you snapped, shrugging his hands off you. "I wanna go home." You started walking away from him, but you stopped when he said, "What is wrong with you?"

You turned back, breath snagging as you let out a mirthless chuckle. "What is wrong with me?" you repeated, your voice coming out soft but with a bitter edge to it. "I know I am wrong for blurting out the things I did, and I am sorry."

"Y/N –"

"But don't strip me of my right to be angry when Mirai tells me to cherish you and not let you go as if she has any right to do it," you cut him off. "I didn't have the right to call her out on her transgressions to you, but don't tell me I can't cry or be mad at the fact that you had to go through all that because I care too damn much for you!"

Your eyes started to fill with tears as you regarded him, seeing the world come alive with blossoms dancing in the wind while in reality, the world was at its last legs, leaves falling all around you. Whenever you looked at him, you felt like everything was flourishing, filling your existence with beautiful things in an abundance of colors. "I'm so in love with you that I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. I hate it when I know you're tired but you still smile for me anyway. I hate it when you look disappointed whenever I hesitate and couldn't make up my mind."

"I'm sorry for reacting the way I did. I was being a jerk, but that's how much I love you. I love you, Sukuna, more than I can possibly tell you. I can't pretend I don't."

"Say that again," he murmured.

"What?" you demanded gruffly, too caught up in your emotions to comprehend.

"You said you love me. Say it again." Now he looked like he was about to cry, eyes glistening even as he smiled wide with joy, drawing nearer and taking your hand in his.

You sighed in relief, feeling your chest loosen up. It felt great saying it out loud. Beyond just great. "I love you."

The moment you let go of the words, you were wrapped up in his warmth, his arms tight around you while you listened to the thundering beats of his heart. He held you at arm's length, looked deep into your eyes as he cupped your face and leaned in to claim your lips in a brief kiss. Spring has come in the middle of autumn, filling your senses and making you feel like you could fly. He held you in place, eyes closed as he touched his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Do you mean that?" He opened his eyes slowly and you were lost in their depths as you nodded. "Yes."

"You haven't asked, but I happen to be just as in love with you if not more."

"I already knew that. How can I not when you show me every day? It's comforting to hear you say it out loud though." You smirked at him. "You know, when you don't think I'm asleep."

He stiffened against you. "You heard that?"

"God, it was so hard to keep my eyes closed and stop myself from reacting when you told me you're in love with me."

He clucked his tongue. "You waited this long to respond to me?"

"I told you I didn't wanna give it to you half-assed. I’m giving you my heart just as I want yours, and if you’re ready to entrust it wholly to me, I can’t just reciprocate with pieces of mine."

“You had it since the first day we met. I didn’t have to see everything else to know you’re the one who owns it.” Sukuna kissed you on the forehead, hugging you to him and just standing there with you, watching cars pass by the road, reveling in his proximity and his warmth. You didn’t need much of anything if you had him.

But then you broke out of his hold, realizing the mess you’ve made.

"What is it?"

"I have to apologize to our hosts. Stay here," you stated, walking back to the house to find the couple in the living room, standing there as if they were expecting you to come back. Without hesitation, you bowed before them. "I sincerely apologize for what I said. I should not have said that to you, Mirai. And it isn't my intention to indirectly hurt you, too, Toji. I'm sorry."

"What is this girl saying?" you heard Mirai say as she approached you and hugged you tight. "You silly girl. We deserve that and we don't deserve Sukuna. Everyone just gave us a free pass, and we were glad you were brave enough to say it to us like that. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Still..."

Toji shook his head. "No, Y/N. Thank you. For loving Sukuna and for giving us the chance to finally forgive ourselves, too."

At that, you smiled, nodding in understanding.

When it was time to leave, Megumi woke up and you had the chance to say goodbye to him, too, holding onto him until you had to get out the door.

"Visit us anytime, Y/N," Mirai said, winking. "Sukuna doesn't have to be with you."

"So, you're throwing me away cause you have Y/N now? Some friends you are," he sniped, causing another round of easy laughter.

"I'll come by soon," you promised, pecking Megumi on the cheek. "See you, angel."

***

"So, you're officially together now?" Suguru asked, helping you pack for the trip to the mountains Sukuna had planned, scheduled immediately after his return.

"Two weeks ago, but he had to go to London," you said, and in the next second, Ieiri and Satoru both brought out their wallets, handing bills to Suguru.

"I knew there was something different when he drove you home that afternoon."

"I can't believe you three are betting over my relationship with Sukuna," you muttered, zipping up your small luggage.

Suguru won fair and square though. He had been right to ask from the start when he walked in on you and Sukuna making out on the porch when the latter dropped you off. The drive then was quiet but you had the shut the guy up for teasing you about that "one hell of a confession," as he had put it. But he immediately took control, shoving you against the wall beside the door and kissing you stupid.

"What did I say about raising her on my own?" Suguru gloated, slinging an arm over your shoulder much to the annoyance of your supposed two other parents.

Satoru scoffed. "I was the one who did the hardest job of interrogating him the first time he came and brought our little girl dead drunk!"

"Yeah, he said you're intimidating," you told him, chuckling, and he positively glowed until you said, "But he said you apologized afterwards so..."

Suguru and Ieiri laughed hard at him.

"On a more serious note, Sukuna isn't gonna be as lucky the moment you get hurt, Y/N," Satoru stated calmly and the other two nodded in agreement. "Just putting it out there."

You would do the same for them, too, so you also agreed. "And if I'm the one causing him shit?"

"That's on him, too," Suguru said, ruffling your hair. "You're our princess, Y/N. It doesn't matter who's right or wrong when the time comes. You'll probably get an earful from us, too, cause we like the guy, but you will always have us first."

You clucked you tongue. "You're all being dramatic, but thanks. Much appreciated."

"It's the first time you're going steady with anyone. We're just making sure we've covered all the bases," Ieiri stated.

"Yeah, and before we forget..." Satoru took something out from under your bed, handing it to you.

You eagerly looked into the bag, thinking it was a present but you wanted to throw it at his face the moment you found out what it was.

"I got the bigger sizes cause Sukuna looks loaded in that department. Special edition, ultra-thin in – wait for it – mixed berry flavor." He winked. "Wrap it before you tap it."

"Ha ha, Satoru. You're really funny." You motioned to hit him, but laughed with him nonetheless as you rummaged through the bag. "Where the hell did you even get these?"

"Ordered them in from Amsterdam. You're welcome, princess."

"You're fucking weird for handing me rubbers, but thanks, dad." You handed the bag back to him. "You're giving them to Sukuna yourself though."

"Fine!"

And that he did when Sukuna arrived to come pick you up, strictly telling the man to open it in private much to the latter's confusion. Still, he accepted graciously.

"Don't open that thing," you said the moment you were in his car.

"That makes me want to open it now," he said.

You clucked you tongue, and shook your head. "Do that when I'm not looking." You tilted your head to have a better look at him, reaching over to make him face you. You frowned at the dark circles under his eyes. "What have you been doing in London?"

"Not sleeping enough is one of them, and I'm jetlagged." He took your hand in his and started planting butterfly kisses on your fingers. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." You cupped the side of his face and leaned over, pecking him on the lips. "You're going to sleep the moment we get to our destination."

"But –"

"No buts." You took the key off the ignition. "And I'm driving." You got out of the car, rounding it to the driver's side, opening the door. "Scoot."

Sukuna grinned at you. "Is being bossed around what it entails to be your boyfriend, sweetheart?" he asked, swinging his legs towards the door.

You moved closer, standing between his legs. "And if I say yes? Do you want out?" you asked, flashing him a sultry smile as you drew closer to him, your breaths mingling.

"I can't say I don't like it." He kissed you, deeper than the peck you gave him earlier.

"It's safer if I drive," you spoke against his lips. "Move."

"Just this once," he acceded, moving towards the passenger side while you climbed behind the wheel, gunning the car out of the property. But opposite to his words, he was asleep not an hour into the drive.

You never really realized how long two weeks could be until you had to wait for Sukuna to come back safe and sound. Though your time had been occupied by your studies and every other thing you did, you were always distracted by your phone, waiting for his messages and calls that you had to find yet another distraction in the form of a new video game you've gotten over the mail just two days after he left. But that was just momentary as you finished it in three days of continual gaming. You even went to visit the Fushiguros the weekend prior much to Mirai's delight just to have a semblance of familiarity where Sukuna was involved but it just made you miss him more.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, indeed. You could just laugh at yourself over the past days, thinking yourself selfish at the thought of not wanting him to go anywhere you couldn't easily reach him. But now that he was back, you are back to normal, and you knew you have to come to terms with accepting that it is a part of his job to be away from you every now and then if things are going to work out for the two of you.

You're whipped, and you know it. You've accepted that. Now, it's just a matter of not allowing yourself to become too dependent on his presence.

Sukuna woke up when you stopped for gas three hours later. Why he had to choose such a far off place to bring you to was beyond you, but you weren't complaining in that you'd go wherever he was, but it was more for the fact that he came straight out of the airport and yet he was traveling again and by car, too.

"You okay?" he asked while you munched on gummy bears, standing against the Jeep as you filled it with gas. "We can switch."

"I go on farther road trips with the boys and Ieiri every time we have the chance. Stop worrying about me."

He whined sleepily, his voice coming out thick, trapping you against the car with his body. "You're crabby today. It doesn't feel like you miss me."

"Oi, I had to order a new game just so I won't send stupid texts telling you to come back home. How dare you doubt that?"

He burst out laughing. "So you were nerding out while I was away?"

"Pretty much. Don't run away when one day, you walk into my room and find a monster holding onto my controller in the middle of pizza boxes and a whole lot of other mess. That's me needing to be brought out of my hole."

"Hey, don't do that when I go away for business trips." He looked seriously worried now. "You should do your normal routine."

"So don't say I didn't miss you because I was nearly that monster nerd I was telling you about." You popped a green gummy bear into his mouth. "And I'm still driving."

The drive continued for another two hours with you reaching the foot of the mountain at the side of the highway where you really had to switch with Sukuna since you didn't know the way.

"You didn't bring me here to murder me, did you?" you quipped, seeing how thick the forest was on the one-lane road going up the mountain. It was such green world that you almost wanted the feeling of being lost

"Probably. You're too bossy today."

"Hey, that's me being nice."

"I won't. I have other things in mind to do with you." He grinned mischievously at you, winking to which you just shook your head.

Soon enough, you reached a small, traditional village which was pretty much turned into a hot spring resort. Sukuna stopped at the largest building in the vicinity, telling you to wait in the car as he disembarked, returning very shortly later with a key dangling on his thumb. The drive continued for another twenty minutes until he parked in front of this old-style house which didn't look old at all, located at a much more secluded area of the resort. He handed you the key, telling you to go ahead while he unloads your stuff.

Yup. There was nothing old about the facilities at all with the south-facing side made entirely of glass that looked over the private hot spring and a view of the mountains beyond that. The kitchen was as modern as it could get, and judging by how Sukuna was carrying bag after bag of things into the fridge, he planned to cook during your entire stay there. You took over the job while he carried your luggage into the house. Poor thing did the shopping before coming to pick you up without telling you.

"Go shower and sleep. I can handle it from here," you told him when he entered the kitchen again, muscular arms crossed over his wide chest, eyeing you appreciatively.

Instead of doing as he was told, he came up to you, standing behind you, hands fastening onto your waist as he drew your hair to one side. He nuzzled your neck, slowly making his way up your jawline where he pressed his lips and lingered there for a bit. You smiled, reaching up with your hand to place it on his cheek.

"You need to rest, my love."

"Say that again," he whispered.

"You need to rest?" You teased, feeling him nip at your ear. "My love?"

"You keep annoying me today."

"You keep commenting about how I'm behaving today," you countered, facing him. "Come on, let me boss you around for now. You really need to get some shuteye."

"You'll let me boss you around later then?"

"Deal."

***

"Back already?"

You looked over your shoulder as you combed through your hair when you heard the sliding door open. A smile graced your lips seeing as how Sukuna looked better, more well-rested and more like himself after a long sleep, only coming to at nightfall. He took a dip in the hot spring after dinner and was returning from it.

He came in wearing that dark blue yukata provided by the resort, feeling your face grow hot when you realized you were ogling him yet again. How can you not when the garment hung loosely over his shoulder. He didn't bother tying it properly, and from the partition of the robe, you can see the broad expanse of his chest, the smattering of inked patterns following the sinews of his form.

It wasn't the first time you were seeing his tattoos, the artistic floral and tribal patterns making themselves known to you that day you woke up to him naked from the waist up. However, you did not realize they expanded all the way down the right side of his body, all the way down to the outer area of his thighs. Since he was just wearing a pair of boxers underneath the yukata, when he stepped forward, you were able to see it, and as curiosity won over you, you didn't look away even when he raised a brow at you, the ghost of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

You stood up, walking slowly towards him, stopping when you were less than a foot away. Your eyes shifted hesitantly between his face and that area of his anatomy silently asking for his permission to see more of it but your hands refused to move midway.

"What is it?" he asked, not exactly sure as to what you were trying to do.

Biting your lower lip. "M-may I..." You couldn't say it out loud so you pointed at his tattoos, feeling a lump forming on your throat when you realized how bold you were being.

"You don't have to ask," Sukuna whispered, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, warm and alive underneath your palm, while he drew his robe apart, eyes intent on you as you followed the expanse of skin that served as a canvass to the artfully-made representation of the four seasons in a single branch of a cherry blossom tree, meandering downwards. From his chest going down the length of his side, your hand traced over the colored patterns of smaller branches that progressed from summer to winter. Your fingers lingered over his iliac crest where new buds of the familiar pink blossoms that promised spring were immortalized on his skin.

Sukuna's breathing had deepened the moment your hand reached lower, and you relished the fact that you had that effect on him, too. You could feel heat behind your eyes as your blood rushed up to your head at the realization that you could do that to him, and even greater than that, the reality of just how much you wanted this man in front of you, how much you wanted to make him yours in every sense of the word and how much you wanted to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the moon that was filtered by the mist rising from the springs through the open sliding doors, you looked up at Sukuna, the man you love with every single fiber of your being, leaning your head on his chest, listening to his beating heart that mirrored the thrumming in your chest.

You brushed your lips onto his bare skin, trailing kisses across his chest before looking up at him and letting yourself be devoured by those deep, hooded eyes as you stepped even closer.

"You're beautiful," you breathed out, pulling him down towards you, tears pooling in your eyes when he finally kissed you, taking your breath away.

Sukuna's large hands roamed your body as he continued to mold your mouth against his, his tongue pushing between your lips which you welcomed with your own, loving his taste, hot and wet and stirring you alive. His hands were warm and nimble as he kneaded the flesh of your hip through the fabric of your kimono, traveling lower to where the garment parted so he can slide his hand underneath. They made their way to your ass, squeezing hard before he slid lower, hooking both of his hands under your thighs. He lifted you up, urgently maneuvering your legs to wrap around his waist.

Neither of you came up for air even as he walked deeper into the room where the bed was, pawing and hungrily devouring each other, what began as a gentle kiss turning into a scorching show of dominance as you both took from each other, not quite getting enough.

"I love you," he rasped, breathless as he nipped at the shell of your ear. "I want all of you."

He then continued kissing you, seizing you at the back of your neck, roughly nibbling on your lips then progressing towards the columns of your throat, spreading the V that formed the collar of your robe. You ran your fingers through his hair, intoxicated by his scent, your toes curling as his hands travelled to outline the sides of your body possessively.

Sukuna then returned to your lips after leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your chest and collar bones, and you kissed him back just as fervently as he pressed you down against his clothed crotch, making you shiver as you felt stirrings at the pit of your stomach. You gasped at the feeling of him poking against your thigh but before you could recover, he entered his hot tongue into your mouth again, gently luring yours to mingle with his. You just let him have his way, not quite believing what was happening as you felt your skin bursting into flames wherever he touched you.

Sukuna lifted you slightly off the bed, putting you down so that you were facing away from him. From behind, he guided you towards the pillows and snaked his hands around your waist, reaching for the sash of your robe and tugging on it. When he was successful, he tossed it somewhere on the floor and reached over your shoulders, slowly feeling for the lapels of the robe, making sure his fingers brushed against your skin, sending jolts of electricity all over your body as he peeled the garment off you in deliberate and calculated slowness, coupled with his mouth following the train down your nape to your shoulders before he pushed you face down on the bed.

"Oh god," you whispered, fighting for air as he gathered your hair to your left shoulder and licked the shell of your ear. "What are you thinking about? You're too stiff. Relax," he said in that deep, sensual voice that turned your legs to jelly.

You grabbed onto the pillow, anticipating what he was gonna do next when you felt his febrile tongue making a trail on your right shoulder, the action morphing into sloppy, wet kisses going down your bare back until you could not feel your robe anywhere near your body anymore. He has already undressed you.

You were on edge and just hyper aware of everything he was doing and every single touch he left on your body made you feel like it was leaving a mark and being absorbed by every cell in your system. It felt good being this close to him, being touched by him and you wouldn’t really mind if he marked you everywhere. You wanted to be his and you wanted the world to know.

His hands travelled everywhere it could touch, pushing you to the edge and making you feel like you were burning slowly, the kind that made every corner of your body tingle with anticipation. What you didn't realize was how tight you were holding the pillow to yourself until he suddenly mentioned it.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?" Your voice came out at a higher pitch, making you want to smack yourself. This was that you wanted and yet you were being all jittery.

He chuckled softly, stopping his ministrations. "What are you doing?"

At that, you pushed yourself off the bed a bit and turned your head sideways to meet his gaze from over your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Yes?”

“Overwhelmed,” you whispered, chuckling slightly. While it wasn’t your first time, everything felt new with the added sensations that your deep emotions for him were throwing into the mix. “How do you want me?”

He turned you over on your back, chuckling. "For starters, cut out the pillow hugging." He pried the thing off your arms and chucked it against the headboard. Sukuna then hovered over you, pinning your hands on either side of your head then began his assault on your neck going lower and lower until he reached your left breast and started licking and tugging on your nipple, his other hand busy kneading the other.

“You are beautiful,” he said, mouth moving against the swell of your flesh while his other hand took possession of the other hand, tentatively squeezing with his long fingers.

You let out a moan, craving for more but not certain whether you could take it or not with your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest. You wanted him to touch you more and as if he read your mind, he returned to kissing you intensely until you thought you couldn't breathe, well aware of how his other hand was taking off your panties. Your heart was beating erratically in your chest as you anticipated the moment, but halfway down your thighs, he raised himself a bit and laid himself on top of you, burying his face into your hair.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked cautiously as he raised himself slightly, looking into the depths of your eyes as if he was looking right through you.

Cupping his face, you rose slightly on your elbows, pressing your lips at the corner of his mouth. "A hundred times yes. I'm yours," you said with all the conviction you could muster in your hazy state – love drunk, kiss drunk, Sukuna drunk.

At your response, he latched his lips onto the skin of your neck, kissing lower and lower, passing over your breasts where he lingered, biting and sucking gently. You hissed as you watched him progress downward, his mouth doing all the magic from the valley of your chest down to your stomach, his hand reaching for the garment he had taken off you halfway down your legs, discarding it. The rough pads of his hands brushed over your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowered himself between them.

You let out a sharp cry when he licked a long stripe on your nether lips, his hot tongue swirling over your sensitive nub. He hummed in approval upon tasting you while he teased your folds with two of his digits. Without a warning he simultaneously pushed his fingers into you and sucked on your clit, building a rhythm that had you seeing stars with every thrust, coaxing out whimpers from your slightly parted lips. Your hips bucked towards him when you felt him reaching deep enough to touch your sweet spot again and again.

Sukuna anchored his arms around your thighs, his elbows on the mattress as he held you steady, continuing to lap at you and move his digits inside you as you felt that familiar sensation of coming undone, guiding you through it until you released so hard your juices squirted out despite his fingers still inserted in you, making a right mess of his mouth, chin and hand.

You spasmed against him but he didn't let go, continuing with his ministrations. He removed his fingers from inside you and started eating you out like a starved man, catching all of your essence from your initial orgasm and cajoling you into another one as he shoved his tongue right into you.

Your hand reached down, fingers tangling with his cherry blossom locks, not knowing whether you want to push him or keep him right where he was. He moaned as he felt your walls clenching, the vibrations caused by his voice stimulating you further, and in no time, you were releasing into his mouth again, your high hitting you like a speeding truck, slamming onto you and leaving you a shaking mess.

Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to calm down, chuckling in between each intake of breath when you felt Sukuna planting ephemeral kisses on your feverish skin, working his way up this time, worshipping your body before catching your lips in his where you tasted yourself on him.

"Can I eat you forever?" he asked with a groan. "You taste exquisite, my love."

"Alright," you panted, "But before that..." You looked him in the eye, running your hand down his chiseled abs until you reached the band of his boxers, excitement filling you as you palmed his crotch over the fabric. You snickered when his whole body seized on top of you, but you were just as out of breath feeling how massive and warm he was against your palm. You bit your lip as your hand moved, rubbing him slowly. Sukuna's eyes drooped a little as he drank in the clouded look in your eyes.

Satoru wasn't wrong about the condoms, and it further got proven to you when you pushed Sukuna’s underwear down and he rose up to his knees, finishing the job. You swore your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when his length was released from its restraints, slapping against his stomach, thick, long and standing proud, its pink tip leaking precum that dripped down, following a prominent vein on its underside. You never wanted to put anything in your mouth as much as you wanted his dick, but the idea of it stretching you and ripping you apart from between your legs was more intriguing.

Sukuna smirked down at you. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

"That's an understatement." You swallowed hard, taking you herculean effort to look at his face instead. "I don't just wanna look at it though."

He reached over to the nightstand, taking out that familiar bag from Satoru, quickly rummaging through it. "I'd be insulted if that's all you wanna do." He said as he took out a packet, about to rip it but you shook your head, taking it away from him.

He arched a brow at you. "You don't...Are you –"

"Stop asking me if I'm sure. I'm certain as I'll ever be." You smiled at him. "Or maybe I'll change my mind if you keep asking."

Laughing, he bent down, positioning himself between your legs as he took possession of your lips once more. You took a deep breath when you felt his tip nudging between your folds, teasing you while he busied himself with tracing the topography of your body as if committing it to memory.

Watching him now, you wished you've met him earlier in your life, loved him longer than you have at present. If you knew someone like Sukuna would come to care for you as much as he does, even in acts that are mostly governed by sheer instinct and senses, driven by need and lust, you would have combed the earth to find him. He cares so damn much for you that you knew he will find it in him to stop if you just said so even at his own expense.

"Sukuna..." his name spilled from your mouth, wanting him all for yourself, body, heart and soul. "Baby, please..." You were pleading, but for what, you didn't know exactly.

"Yes, my love?" he questioned, a smug grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the mess that you are beneath him. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you whimpered, raising your hip to meet his cock, hard and burning on your skin. "I want you," you breathed out, the delicious torture in your voice coming to a crescendo when he thrust in agonizingly slow, making your wish his command.

He stretched you, gradually, gently as if he was afraid to break you, but your breath hitched for a different reason entirely. His girth left a slight burn as he pushed in, the rapturous feel of him invading your space and being wrapped in your flesh making a heated mess out of you as you grabbed everything you can get a grip on – the sheets, his shoulders, the pillow nearest to you – trying to anchor yourself from the sudden high of knowing he was inside you.

Your eyes watered at the sheer thought of being connected to him so deeply, and you found yourself falling to blissful surrender when he finally bottomed out. You felt him twitch inside you, but instead of moving as he wished, he cupped your face, delicately brushing his fingers over your flushed cheeks. He had that look of disquiet as he examined your expressions.

"You okay?"

You nodded, beaming in your state of stupor. "Please…move."

Sukuna begins to do as he was told, sliding in and out and acquainting you to his rhythm, his intense eyes hooded yet intense as he regarded you, aware of every nuance of your expressions with every single thrust. He started picking up the pace when he felt you wrap your legs around him, hitting you deeper every single time.

Pleasurable groans elicited from Sukuna's lips as he held himself up, driving his hips against yours repeatedly. "You're so tight," he rasped, his snagged breaths hot on your ears. "You feel so good."

"So good," you repeated, completely going out of it when the mere brushing of his rod against your walls drove you over the edge. You clenched tight around him and he let out a groan, eyes rounding when he realized you were close.

"Let go, baby. Cum for me," he said between pants as he pounded onto you unrelentingly.

You spoke broken syllables of his name as you came around him, riding you through your high. Acid white flashes started to flash behind your eyelids, your back arching from the bed as you keened loudly, too enraptured and absorbed in the pleasure that he was giving you.

However, before you could even recover, Sukuna lifted you off the bed, holding you against him so that your breast were rubbing against his taut chest. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping onto his shoulders while you sat astride him on your knees.

"You'll give me one more, won't you, my love?" he said, thrusting up to you whilst he gripped your waist so tight you knew you will have bruises after, making you meet every single push of his thick length.

Both your moans filled the room along with skin hitting skin, the friction between you two kept at bay by the sheen of sweat that covered your bodies. He held onto the back of your neck, roughly kissing you, your tongues dancing the lovers' minuet. Your lungs begged for air, but you were reluctant to be released from Sukuna's wild kisses while he fucked you senseless.

"Fuck," he growled through gritted teeth. "I love you," he whispered repeatedly like a mantra.

You felt him getting harder inside you as he hastened his pace, ramming into you faster and stronger, and in no time, you were screaming out his name as you came undone again with him following shortly after you did, a deep groan falling out of his mouth in a dragged out note when he spilled his seed inside of you, making you feel even fuller, your walls throbbing around his softening length.

Spent, you both fell back on the welcoming softness of the mattress with him still inside you. He landed on top of you, catching his breath while he rested his head on the crook of your neck while you wrapped your arm around him, your fingers carding through his damp locks.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” he purred in hushed tones once he caught your breath.

Your brows furrowed in perplexity. “I didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head, pulling out and rolling away, his eyes between your thighs, watching as your mixed juices dripped down on the sheets. “I’m not just talking about your body and how you felt. That in itself is amazing, but I’m referring to everything that you are.”

You felt heat creeping up your neck, all the way to your scalp. Abashed, you covered your face with your hands. “Don’t say things like that. You’re making me a shy mess. Geez.”

“Hey, look at me.” He clucked his tongue when you didn’t move, taking your hands off of your face. When you finally did as you were told, he said, “I mean it. Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I should be saying that. You’re so kind to me, and I feel how much you care for me every single time you say or do something. And I’m just selfish, really.”

“No, you’re not?”

“I am, Sukuna. I want you all to myself from that time you first kissed me, but I didn’t really do much to make that happen because I’m also a wimp, so thank you for going the extra mile for me.” You smiled slightly, feeling your eyes fill with tears.

“Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true. You’re always the one putting in the effort.”

“Because I want to.” He suddenly sat up, pulling you by the arm to lift you up when you gasped, feeling a sudden jolt of pain at the base of your back and the joints on your thighs at your sudden movement. “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

You raised a finger, moving on the mattress on your own while you held onto his arm for support. “Give me a moment.”

Sukuna regarded you with wide eyes. “Did I hurt you?” He sat beside you, wrapping arm around your shoulder and soothingly rubbing your arm. “Are you aching anywhere?”

“A bit, but it’s the good kind.” You smirked at him. “You’re amazing,” you said, imitating his tone earlier when he said you’re beautiful, your eyes traveling to his crotch. “You wrecked me, my love.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset. “You say the most outrageous things and it doesn’t help that you don’t hold back either.”

“Too shocking?” you offered.

“Scandalous!” he quipped, chuckling and you joined in on the laughter, the merry sound breaking through the stillness. “Can I carry you now?”

“Sure.” You lifted your arms, latching onto his neck, letting him take you to the bathroom.

“Let’s wash up and take a dip.”

You nodded and let him have his way around you, standing on the shower stall with him as he did everything while you just held onto him, your legs still wobbly. He kissed you on the cheek, the action soft and delicate, filling you with happiness. You can’t believe he is real.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he spoke against your skin.

You pulled away from him, placing your hand on either side of his face, and with a triumphant smile, you said, “I’m not. Never will be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. Don’t argue.” You pecked him on the lips.

Sukuna beamed at you toothily. “Alright, sweetheart.”

He carried you out of the bath and out of the sliding doors that led to the hot spring, setting you down into the water carefully as if you’d break if he didn’t take caution. The hot water felt glorious on your skin, immediately melting the knots of your muscles as you sat between his legs, both of you submerged chest-deep.

“Damn, that feels good,” you sighed, mollified as you leaned against Sukuna’s broad chest, closing your eyes in bliss. “I can stay here forever.”

“Are you talking about the hot spring?”

“Yes and no,” you said without hesitation. “The water feels nice, but it wouldn’t be complete without you holding me.”

“You’re being sweet now after bossing me around earlier?” He wrapped his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder. “We can always come here when we both have free time. And I’ll always hold you like this.”

“I like that.”

“I love you,” he mumbled, nuzzling on the spot below your ear and breathing in deeply. “You smell divine.”

“I know. I smell like you.”

“Thank heavens then cause that’s what seemed to lure you to me,” he kidded.

You just smiled, reaching blindly to place your palm on his cheek, trying to get a semblance of reality although it was already staring you in the face, the emotions and sensations he has making you feel very much real, but you seem to be in a dream state, unable to come to terms with the fact that spring has finally come for you in the person of the man whose arms held you tight and close to his heart.

“Sukuna…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thanks for existing."

-THE END-

So, I made Megumi's mom's name here "Miriai." I made her an OC because I can't just keep referring to her as "she/her." It's quite confusing. I hope this doesn't bother anyone. I cringed, too, trust me.

Okay, Toji is also OOC here. Haha! I went all the way with conjuring these characteristics and since Sukuna, my love, is super soft here (he has cherry blossom tats XD), why not Toji, too?

Anyway, I would like to say thank you to everyone who read this fic! Stay tuned for more. Love you guys :)

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210630]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.