#too late because jon is ready to the trip

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Not my dumb ass writing down a fic where Damian Wayne fakes his own death + end up adopting one kid + get more kids + something somehow Batman Beyond + boy is back to the town + and somehow JonDami

[stilesssolo]

BICBTY please!!!! I’m desperate for some Disney fluffy goodness!!

This won the poll easily, so ask and you shall receive!

They park the car and manage to navigate to the spot where Sansa told them to meet. She is, unsurprisingly, already there, with a yawning Theon in tow. Arya and Gendry are there as well, Arya only looking slightly like a disgruntled cat awoken too early.  “Auntie Sansa!” Ella calls, Sansa’s face lighting up as her niece runs into her arms. 

“Hi!” Sansa says, squeezing Ella tight. “Are you ready for our Disney day?” 

“Yes!” Ella squeals, and Jon chuckles. 

“I’d hope so,” Dany teases. “She’s hardly spoken of anything else for a week.” 

“Where’s Missandei?” Sansa asks, frowning. “Isn’t she still coming?” 

“Oh, she is, but she had an event till late last night, and wanted a little sleep,” Dany explains. “She’ll meet us here around nine, if that’s alright.” 

“Wish I’d gotten a little more sleep,” Jon laments. “Remind me why we have to meet so bloody early, again, Sansa? Is the park even open yet?” 

“No, not until 8,” Sansa says. “Just wait. You’ll see why.” Her eyes gleam in a way that frightens Jon a bit, Theon just chuckling next to her. 

“Well, if I don’t get more coffee soon, I may get violent,” Arya warns. Sansa rolls her eyes. 

“Our guides should be here any second. And Marge just texted that their driver’s about to pull up.” 

Sure enough, hardly thirty seconds later, two Disney employees in red and navy plaid are approaching their group, and Margaery and Robb’s car is pulling up next to them. Robb gets out of the car with the Rose in his arms, Margaery climbing out after them with Ben. Her hair looks darker, almost, pulled back in twin dutch braids, and she’s got large, dark sunglasses on. Between that and her nondescript clothing, she almost looks unrecognizable. 

“Oh, perfect, we’re all here,” Sansa says to the employees that are most likely their tour guides. Margaery’s bodyguards have climbed out of the car as well, one of them speaking briefly with the driver before he pulls away. “Everyone, these are our tour guides for the day.” 

“Hi!” one of them says— there’s a man and a woman, both of them probably in their early twenties. The girl’s smile is quite bright for seven thirty in the morning, but it’s also warm, friendly. “I’m Talla, and this is Mycah. We’re so excited to show you around the parks today. Anything you want, just let us know— it’s our job to make your day as magical as possible.” They all go around and introduce themselves, both Talla and Mycah remaining the image of perfect professionalism even as Dany, Margaery, and he and his bandmates tell them their names. 

Sansa chats with both of them as they lead the way towards the security check and the esplanade, and Jon tries not to laugh. “I think she may be more excited about this than the kids,” he mutters to Dany over Ella’s head, and her grin when she meets his eyes is like the sun, blinding and brilliant. 

“Oh, definitely. I think I heard her speak more about how excited she was for the VIP tour than I did Ella for the whole trip.” Dany shrugs. “I’m glad she’s here, though, because between the three of them, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about a single thing.” 

Talla and Mycah usher them through security and over towards the Disneyland gates while keeping them out of the way of the crowds. “Fucking hells,” Jon mutters as he sees the lines of people already queueing to get into the park. It doesn’t appear that they’re letting anyone in yet, but the amount of people waiting is still staggering. 

“Wow!” Ella whispers, her eyes darting between the front gate and the train station and the rest of the esplanade. Jon reaches down to squeeze her shoulder, and the grin that she gives him is just as bright as Dany’s was earlier. 

“I thought you said the park doesn’t open till eight?” Arya asks as Mycah speaks to one of the employees at the ticket turnstiles. Sansa gives her sister a look, 

“It doesn’t,” she confirms. “However, I know Main Street is going to be one of the most crowded areas, and we probably won’t really get to walk down it later. So here’s my surprise for all of you.” 

“Alright, everyone, this way,” Mycah says, waving them forwards. The gate attendant scans something on his phone, and then lets them through, into the empty park. 

“It’s Mickey!” Ella cries, pointing to the flowers in front of the train station, which are indeed shaped like Mickey’s head. Robb puts Rose down on her own feet now that they’re completely separated from the crowd, and their party moves through one of the brick archways below the train tracks to end up in the town square. 

Main Street sprawls before them, picturesque and empty. And at the end of the street, shining in the morning sunlight, is the castle. 

“The castle!” Ella squeals, tearing her hand out of Jon’s so she can grab onto Rose, both of them quivering with excitement. Robb looks at his sister, clearly impressed that they have the park completely to themselves, and she returns a smug smile. 

“Alright, this is pretty amazing,” Margaery says. “Sansa, how in the world did you swing this?” 

“Well, it’s only for twenty minutes,” Talla says with a laugh. “Then we have to let guests in for rope drop. So if we want pictures or anything, just let me know.” 

They do all take pictures in the middle of Main Street, before they continue their stroll down the quaint street. It’s pristine and beautiful, all the old fashioned storefronts and perfectly pruned shrubbery, the sound of old classic marching band music wafting from hidden speakers somewhere, the air subtly perfumed with the scent of flowers and sugar. Jon almost rolls his ankle stepping in a trolley track as they make their way closer to the castle, having grown momentarily distracted by watching his daughter and her cousins race down the street, giggling like they’re in a dream. 

Ella’s jaw drops when they walk across the castle drawbridge and through the castle itself, emerging on the other side before the carousel in a beautiful fairytale village. Jon knows he’s been here before, years and years ago, but he hardly remembers it. Standing here now, he does have to admire the attention to detail, the upkeep, the way it feels like they’ve stepped into another world. 

“Alright, I have another surprise,” Sansa tells the kids, and Dany smirks as she shares a look with Jon, because this one at least they’re in on. “Ella, I heard you wanted to become a princess,” Sansa says, and Ella’s jaw drops. “So I thought maybe some princess makeovers were in order?” 

“Can I have one too?!” Rose says, jumping up and down. 

“And me!” Ben pleads. Sansa grins. 

“Of course. Everyone can be a princess, or a prince, or a pirate, or whatever you’d like.” 

Jon can hear voices now— looking out through the castle drawbridge, he can see they’re letting people into the parks, though access to the areas with rides like where they are seems to be roped off. “Talla, Mycah, can you lead us to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique?” Sansa asks, and Ella almost shrieks with excitement, turning back to look at Dany and Jon. 

“Alright, already this has been worth it,” he admits begrudgingly as they head across the square to one of the shops. Dany laughs. “Seeing her happy like this is worth it.” 

“I agree,” Dany says. She groans quietly, head tipping forwards. “Gods, we’re going to have to take her here so often now.” 

“No, we’ll just drop her at Sansa’s, make her take Ella,” Jon reasons. Dany laughs, and it makes him grin, their shoulders brushing. “Look at her. She’s having more fun with this than they are. She’d do it in a heartbeat.”

[asoiafdrabbles]

Is it so far from madness to wisdom? Chapter 3

Summary: Laenor accompanies Jon to Runestone, where everything is going as smoothly as a funeral can until it's not.

AO3 Link

All chapters on Tumblr

XxXxX

With only three days of dragonriding behind him, Laenor and Rhaenyra had to agree that Maegon was ready for the trip to Runestone. They had sent a ship ahead with his possessions so they would arrive around the same time, as they could not trust the Cannibal to simply follow if Maegon was onboard.

They would, of course, make a few stops so they could stretch and so Laenor could access Maegon’s state, but he did not think they would need to overnight anywhere.

He’d rarely seen anyone so natural on the back of a dragon, he was not even sure if Maegon spoke his commands at all or if their bond had grown so deep already that it was unnecessary. It unnerved both he and Rhaenyra in ways they couldn’t fully verbalize, but understood in each other: If Maegon had been Rhaenyra’s age, with this amount of skill and his gender, Viserys may have been tempted to name him heir back then, instead, despite his father.

And while Rhaenyra thought Daemon would take his son’s skill with joy, Laenor was not so sure. He liked his mother’s cousin well enough, but he was not in love with him as Rhaenyra was, and the war had largely disillusioned him towards Daemon’s “better” nature.

Another reason he had insisted on going along with Maegon. He was certainly not the boy’s father, but in a way all the men in his life were, to fill in the gaps that Daemon had left. Perhaps some of the men at Runestone felt the same, but Laenor was hesitant to rely on them for Maegon’s wellbeing now that Lady Royce was gone.

He watched him stretching after they landed, his small body probably stiff from the new position it was being forced into on dragonback. Coming up to him, telegraphing his moves because he seemed twitchy lately (Laenor wondered if it wasn’t the bond with the Cannibal causing that, certainly that dragon was the most antisocial being he’d ever known), Laenor took one of his arms and rubbed the tense muscle as he might have for his sister or Rhaenyra, as his mother had done for him.

“We’ll take a meal, now, so we won’t be hungry as soon as we get there.” Laenor would be fine, but Maegon was still growing. “You should soak in a hot bath tonight. Actually hot.” He knew how servants unused to dragonriders tended to make the water if not specifically instructed.

Maegon gave a short laugh. “I know, cousin. And the servants at Runestone know, as well, even if mother,” his face shifted into sorrow before he got control of it again, “took some convincing when I was younger.”

“I wish I’d gotten to know Lady Rhea, she sounds like she was wonderful," Laenor said before he could think better of it, because Maegon always did speak so well of his mother.

There was a long silence, but Laenor didn’t push, just going about pulling out their supplies and handing over Maegon’s share. He’d never lost a parent, didn’t know what he’d do when he did, when inevitably his father died and he was left Master of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides, but he remembered how Rhaenyra had been in those months after her mother’s death.

“She was wonderful. Being a ruling lady is not easy, especially not in the Vale with the tensions because of Lady Jeyne, but mother always persevered. And…she never blamed me for who my father was or how he treated her. The only time I’d ever seen her upset over it was when the King ordered for me to come to the Red Keep.” Maegon gave a teary smile. “I was upset, too, in truth. As much as I wished to meet the rest of you, as intrigued as I was with my Valyrian heritage, I did not want to leave my mother’s side. And did not think I’d have to, not until I was old enough to squire, at least, and even then I thought I could stay in the Vale.”

If Laenor had to leave his mother’s side as a child, he knew she was always within a few hours of him by dragon, just as he knew he could return to Dragonstone quickly if he had to now. Lady Rhea would have had to sail to King’s Landing if she’d wished to see her son, a trip that a ruling lady could not take often, and one that was not without dangers.

“I fear we did you a disservice,” he finally said, staring out towards the sea beside them. “We could have flown you home for visits, but it did not occur to us to do so.”(1)

Maegon shook his head. “You did nothing wrong, cousin. I did not hate my time in King's Landing and enjoyed much of what I learned there. And the King could have forced mother to bring me much earlier, could have had me raised there altogether, but he chose to allow me a childhood at Runestone.”

Laenor let the subject drop, moving on to talking about a prank that Laena and Rhaenyra had played on him when they were younger, leaving out any mention of parents or the King. He spared a moment’s thought to how thankful he was that his children would never know such separation from their parents, they would grow up as Laenor had, secure in how easy it was for them to visit.

***

Jon wished to push ahead faster, but Laenor was uncompromising. The Cannibal was equal parts amused and annoyed at the whole thing, though Jon continually reminded him that this wouldn’t be happening if the body he was in was older.

Though he had gotten the impression, both from Maegon’s memories and some of what Laenor and Rhaenyra had said, that there was only so much older he could have gotten before he’d be considered a lost cause. Rhaenyra had ridden her dragon at seven, let alone simply bonding to it, and most of the people who claimed dragons into their teens had never gotten the chance to try, unlike Maegon who had been given a cradle egg and gone into the Dragonpit in King’s Landing.(2)

He supposed he could be vaguely comforted that the Cannibal had thought of what impression he would make on people. Even if that made him incredibly smug across their bond.

Maegon’s Aunt Ysilla, Rhea’s middle sister, awaited them when they landed their dragons in the area outside the keep where Daemon had always placed Caraxes. She had guards and extra horses with her and kept glancing at their dragons with wide eyes, but forced her attention to Maegon.

She gathered him up in her arms and everything about her was familiar, even though Jon himself had never met her before this. Melting into her hold, it was difficult to listen to her comforting words without tearing up some. Ysilla had married a Waynwood, but visited often, and her son Waymer and Maegon were close despite the fact that for a time everyone expected him to be Rhea’s heir.

Waymer himself met them inside, sparing a small, sad smile for his cousin. Jon knew something must have happened to him in the near future, because he wasn’t the Lord Royce that Jon had learned about from the Dance, and did not feel any guilt about replacing him if it meant he might live longer.

Along with him were Ysilla’s husband, Ser Elys Waynwood, and Ser Gerold Royce, Rhea’s third cousin and friend. It was the latter that Jon went to, trusting in Maegon’s instincts, and who informed him that Rhea had named him regent until Maegon came of age.

He introduced Laenor and they were all suitably impressed both by his titles and by his charm, (though mostly by his father, who Jon was extremely excited about one day meeting, even if Maegon was apparently terrified of him). Laenor might not have been any great fighter off of his dragon, but he was an expert courtier and also well-used to dealing with people who the fancier court etiquette wouldn’t appeal to thanks to his father’s businesses.

“I will be staying for the sennight, at least, if it pleases my cousin. I am gladdened that he has the support of his family here, but we would like to offer our own, as well,” he stated when they asked if he was staying the night, and even if Jon had wanted to refuse, there would have been no polite way to do so.

There was some general uneasiness about including Laenor in their mourning, as he had met Rhea possibly once in his entire life, but Jon thought they’d get over it. If nothing else, he could tell Laenor was intrigued by their talk of traditional funeral rites, completely different from what Velaryons and Targaryens practiced.

They held the funeral that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, glinting off the bronze armor pieces that most of them wore. Jon couldn’t stop a few tears from falling, knowing his own mother had never gotten even this much, and with the ache in his heart from Maegon’s loss.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Gerold whispered to him after everyone else had given their condolences and started back to the main keep for the evening meal. “Even a man grown might cry when he loses his mother.”

Jon gave a weak smile in response, moving closer. “My thanks, my lord, but I fear if I start now, I shall not stop.”

That earned him a fierce hug. “And there is nothing wrong with that, either. I am here to do what you cannot, yet, and if you need a few days before you start, no one will judge you.”

Those words almost tipped him over the edge into sobs, but as though his wishes for a distraction were fulfilled in the worst of ways (and perhaps they had been, considering he did not know how much magic the Cannibal could still accomplish), there was a roar in the distance and then two answering ones from the dragons on the field.

The unmistakable form of Caraxes could be seen in the dying light of the day and though he was not visible, Daemon would inevitably be on his back.

XxXxX

Notes:

(1) I imagine dragonriders are like people who grew up with private jets and can’t really comprehend that everyone else can’t just randomly decide to go places and then go there. Even Laenor and Laena, whose father is very much not a dragonrider, because Corlys might take more time to get to a place, but he has access to ships whenever he wants.

(2) A lot of people actually claim dragons much later, Daemon had iirc been in his 20s in F&B, but it seemed like in HOTD that maybe isn’t true? Anyway since I’m going with HOTD!Daemon for shitty parenting, I’m going to say claiming in the teens or later is incredibly rare. So Daemon claimed Caraxes soon after Aemon died, which would still make him 11 and a huge hypocrite, but he’s a ~pureblood Targaryen~ or whatever so maybe he judges his children more harshly since they don’t have so much dragonlord blood on both sides.

Also I should probably make it clear that I love good!father!Daemon and believe in the books he really was (I've got a bunch of headcanons around Valyrian culture and parenting but anyway), however this is going with the show version because it's more tension and I like the contrast of Jon having a decent father and no mother and Maegon having a good mother and a shit father. I also have a Daemon pov coming up to show more of his actual feelings on Maegon.

[thezolblade]

Anon from the fic! Wow!!!!!!!!! That outline!!!!!! Do you want to share any more hints about those three branches?

Sure! (This is partly making up more details as I go along, which means making progress with the draft.) Below the cut for spoilers:

So I've got three routes following after Reckoning now - see also that last ask. After Jon attacks Tim and scares Martin into cooperating again:

Retaliation. Sasha and Tim burn down the Institute (with Leitner's help). Jon's hurt by the archive's destruction, but he survives, at the others' mercy.

Relocation. Martin talks Jon into asking Elias to transfer them both to one of the Institute's sister organizations, citing irreconcilable differences with the rest of the team. (They know at that point that they're also temples to Beholding, and hope they'll be granted this even if they can't quit.) Since this is roughly at the point in the timeline when Jonah wanted to put some distance between himself and Jon to avoid being compelled (iirc he mentioned that he'd have gone on a trip if he hadn't been arrested), he ends up sending them to open a second branch of the Magnus Institute in Edinburgh, close to its original site.

Respectable fears. Jon takes the Institute from Jonah, and carries on maintaining the Archives while running the whole organisation. He keeps Martin as his personal assistant, and gets more calculated in manipulating him without breaking him, fending off numb depression by asking him to research enemies that they can fight to save lives, and making the rules more structured in private. Meanwhile, he sends Tim to investigate the Unknowing, and tries to decide whether he'll be too dangerous to keep hold of long term. When Sasha's ready to give up on changing things, he offers her a consultancy role, so that she can stay on his payroll, but spend her time on projects at other organizations, and she takes that as the best deal she can get.

Hints about the other routes, hmm...

Reconciliation: The first night, when Jon realizes he may have fucked up beyond anything that Martin will put up with for long, his first reaction, instead of figuring out some brilliant way of handling that, is to retreat to his room for a cigarette. Martin waits on the sofa, wishing he hadn't admitted that he doesn't like being shouted at or shoved around, because now he's getting the silent treatment, and it's only a matter of time before he's kicked out... Until he hears Jon light a second cigarette, and realizes he ought to go talk to him, or he might just hide and chain smoke all night.

Subjugation: Here's a bit of dialogue from the first night. A lot of conversations go a slightly different direction in my drafts than in the initial notes, and sometimes unused lines come up again later, so this level of detail is the most subject to change, but it might be an interesting read anyway:

Martin could feel himself blushing hard enough that the tips of his ears were burning. "If I'd ever imagined that we had a chance, I wouldn't have wanted our first time to go this way. It's late, and we were both tired and upset going into this, a-and I'm glad I've cheered you up, but I guess it doesn't feel like we're going about things the right way to make it last, or make it special."

"What would you like to do, to make it special?" Jon's tone was light and faintly mocking.

Martin took a second to collect his thoughts, treating it as a serious question. It wasn't as if he stood to lose anything by making a few suggestions.

"Why don't we get ourselves hot drinks, and cuddle on the sofa until we're ready to fall asleep? Then maybe tomorrow, we could talk about our likes and dislikes. You know, books, music, TV, food, all that sort of thing, a-as well as sex. How does that sound?" Martin tried to smile as he waited for an answer. The silence stretched on, and he couldn't help but get psyched out. "Uh, shall I go make us some tea?"

"Not yet."

"Oh?"

"Take off your clothes. I haven't even seen you yet."

Martin hesitated, but Jon looked quite intent on doing this now.

"Oh, okay." Martin clenched his fingers in his t-shirt, then glanced at the bags he'd left next to the bed. "If we're going to be up for a while longer, why don't I grab my phone and put some music on? That could be, ah, relaxing."

"I don't need mood music. I need to know what you're capable of."

"...Oh." Martin heard his own voice go quiet, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pull himself together. Jon was making it fairly clear that he didn't care about setting him at ease, and he still wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer. Hadn't he better play along before he lashed out again?

[dreadwhoop]

Reviewing the All Elite Wrestling personnel 2024 Edition (Part 3) -

Retrospective of AEW's main champion lineage and where they are now.

In this section, to celebrate the 5 years of AEW's lineage with this title, I'm going to weigh up in hindsight if each champion was right and, if not, who it should of been or if they should have lasted longer/shorter.

Chris Jericho - August 31st 2019-February 29th 2020 - The right pick for the time. Ended too soon. Should of drawn out longer until crowds were back but even if one would have the foresight to know how long the 2020-2021 lockdown would of lasted it still felt to me like he could of coasted when the TNT title was brought in. I have a rule World Championships are only defended on PPVs anyways so it could of easily been a means to protect him until the big pop upon his dethronement.

Jon Moxley - February 29th-December 2nd 2020 - Should of always been the guy to beat Jericho but not to hold it for so long - the thing is Moxley, at his best, is always effective as a chaser. Being the guy to hold it for so long meant little in the long run - it's mostly a forgotten slice of AEW's history. We forget this is back in the days where those who weren't in factions meant so much more. Moxley should of won after a long struggle against everyone only to hold it for barely a week or two. It would make his rise mean more the next time.

Kenny Omega - December 2nd 2020-November 13th 2021 - The first truly important AEW Champion - right call, right length of time, and had excellent matches throughout. No issues here. AEW was red hot during his reign. I miss him.

Hangman Adam Page - November 13th 2021-May 29th 2022 - The anointed one of AEW - in hindsight should likely have never won this title until after the TNT title. He simply wasn't ready. He STILL isn't ready. It was too late in his story arc plus made no sense to be given so many chances and if you've seen me write about his inclusion to GET RID OF back in 2021 it only validates it more now we're in 2024 and he feels every bit the poster child for insecurity alongside Jack Perry and The Young Bucks. Watch as they have him be the one to retire Bryan Danielson. It'll prove once again their stupidity to force bad ideas in your face because Tony Khan will never be loved by those around him.

CM Punk - May 29th-August 24th 2022 - Hangman Page wasn't so much a misstep as a trip up. CM Punk was a dive in a direction which, probably, should not have happened either. I get what the idea was behind CM Punk winning but it also felt to me the divide, the split, the rift of AEW's audience occured at this moment. It was a "whose side are you on" kind of deal. Did Punk deserve to be its architect? Probably no more or less than others blamed but his win was never a comfortable one. It just highlighed how weak AEW's homegrown talent looked compared to ex-WWE stars. A product of comprimises.

Jon Moxley - (June 26th)August 24th-September 4th 2022 - And this is where the AEW World Championship went from strength to weakness. A literal square peg in a circular hole. Does it fit? Sure - didn't I say he should win it again? Didn't I also say his run should be short and then chase again? The context is lost on those who only see it for what they are. To reminisce on events years ago is to collect from it the more important lesson - timing is everything. The match sucked, the reign sucked, the purpose sucked.

CM Punk - September 4th-7th 2022 - Cursed as this all is, it's a shame this never ended up the way it could of gone. After Page you had so many potential choices - Darby, Danielson, even outside choices in Dustin Rhodes or Eddie Kingston. Wardlow. MJF, who we'll get to in a moment. CM Punk was there to instill the sense those guys were going to deserve it in the way Moxley would of with Jericho had it not been a little rushed. Everything with the title is in shambles now.

Jon Moxley - September 21st-November 19th 2022 - And here's where we look at, once again, the wrong person. It should of been Danielson. It should of been Kingston. It should of been Darby. It should NOT have been Moxley. By now it was all but proven Moxley was not in AEW to be a World Champion but a character onto himself - a person pretending to mean more than he is. The hot potatoing of this title between him and Punk only served to prove once again AEW's homegrown talent suck compared to ex-WWE talent. If I didn't know better I'd almost think Moxley is some deep-cover sleeper agent for the rival company. How else do you explain such willful incompetence? No not with CTE please…

MJF - November 19th 2022-December 30th 2023 - The second truly important AEW Champion - right call, right length of time, and had excellent matches throughout. No issues here. AEW has a sustained period of interest in this time though, through no fault of MJF, had begun to show visible cracks.

Samoa Joe - December 30th 2023-April 21st 2024 - The best choice in a bad situation. Likely earned it as a thank you for not being a total amateur whilst being surrounded by them. Right length of time too. History won't tend to remember Samoa Joe as one of the better champions of AEW but he's definately one of the least mired in controversy.

Swerve Strickland - April 21st-August 25th 2024 - Another underrated but all too deserving choice. It's clear everyone else didn't so much step up to the plate they were given it and dropped it. Swerve served everyone a feast of true expectations and by working hard and being better you deserve to be at the top. A remarkably solid run only dampened by AEW's decline. It is my hope he'll be back at the top once more sooner than later.

Bryan Danielson - August 25th 2024- - The current champion but it's all a bit too late. Should of happened a year or two ago. I almost felt like Swerve should of won because it would solidify his reign as the third truly important AEW Champion but alas was not to be…not to mean now we have Will Ospreay looming in the horizon as the next anointed one. I hope, as we go into 2025, AEW isn't going to fall back on bad talent who have been there stinking up the place and put fresh talent forward to make this company grow as it did once before - time will tell if a guy like Darby Allin will get his crowning moment. It's the only goal they should focus upon after making a 3-time former AEW Champion look so amazing after a drought of middling performances. Perhaps let Darby be the one to retire Danielson. It would be a fitting irony after last year's retirement from Sting - a full 1-year on and Darby retires another legend in the business.

[life-sport-travel]

FAMILY TRIP | Travel with us to Orlando Florida!

https://lifesporttravel.com/?p=1198 FAMILY TRIP | Travel with us to Orlando Florida! - https://lifesporttravel.com/?p=1198 Follow along on our travel day as we fly from Charleston West Virginia to Orlando Florida! The first part of our journey to Costa Rica! Traveling with a toddler is always an adventure 😜 Follow our daily adventures 💕: Hi, we’re the Schoeller’s! Welcome to our channel! We grew our family by adopting through the foster care system. Tyanna is the light of our lives. She is 3 years old! Rhianna is a certified registered nurse anesthetist aka a crna. Jon is a real estate investor. We have been working our way towards financial freedom over the years because family time is our priority. We love to travel the world as a family whether it’s by plane, boat, camper van or train! We are also vegan and share lots of plant based food ideas. Thanks for joining us on this crazy, beautiful ride of life! 00:00 Starting our travel day! 00:48 Small town living pros 1:17 Delayed flight… 2:09 We made it to Orlando! 2:48 Hotel room tour 3:56 Pool time 4:31 Dinner time – Ain’t Got No Beef Uber Eats 5:17 Travel day 2 – heading to Costa Rica 7:43 We made it! 9:51 Deleted Scenes #orlando #travel #familytravel [Music] We are heading to orlando florida right Now which is the first stop on our way To costa rica are you ready Are we gonna find a plane yeah Is that your plane planet [Music] [Music] Did you get a sticker Are you official now look at that I think that means you can arrest people Now You can arrest people It took us three minutes to get through Security which is one of the pros of Living in a small city no matter what Time of day we come here we fly right There and it’s one of the pros of only Having carry-on luggage [Music] It’s time for us to board Oh we are late Uh we’ll give you an update as soon as We go i do appreciate your patience well We were about to take off but now we’re Waiting on them They said they don’t know when the Mechanic is coming so we’re going to Have to wait on the runway and then I’m going to go fix it It’s two o’clock we’re about to take off So our delay wasn’t too bad john and Tiana have been sleeping i have been Editing a video but now we’re ready to Get to orlando [Music] We made it [Music] She’s a ninja turtle [Music] I am loving this florida humidity i Actually love humidity i think it just Feels so good on your skin and so warm And nice but we are waiting for our Airport shuttle to the hotel always book A hotel with free airport shuttles Because it saves you a lot of money on Like ubers or taxis and we’re all about Saving money when we’re traveling so We’re just waiting and then we’ll be Going to our hotel [Music] There you go Wow All right you ready to check in All right let me help you take the card Like this and put it in there All the way in And now pull it out past pull it out Okay ready Go on Wow Wow That’s great A nice bed yay You went straight to sleep i got this Room off expedia it was like a budget Room but i’m very impressed so far the Hotel is really nice the room is nice It’s very clean and it has free Breakfast so now we’re going to decide If we want to go swimming first or go Eat and i vote for eat because we were Stuck on the runway during lunch so we Haven’t had lunch yet and it’s already Like 4 p.m Um so i’ll have to see what everybody Else wants to do should we order uber Eats to the pool yeah yeah [Music] So we ordered ubereats from a place Called ain’t got no beef obviously vegan But we didn’t realize that uber eats is Like really busy here it’s not i guess That busy where we live so it’s like two Hours away and we’re all starving so We’re just gonna tough it out and wait For our food while tiana swims and enjoy The sunset it is really nice here and We’re just enjoying our down time before Our big trip tomorrow i’ll show you our Food when it gets here because i’m very Excited about it [Music] The food is finally here we are all Starving Um but we are going to take a second to Show you what we got please hurry and Show them so i can eat it Okay i’m gonna take you on a food tour Really fast so to drink we have two ice Cream teas courtesy the free drinks in The lobby tiana is eating her sweet Potato mac and cheese what do you think She’s out of it She’s so tired and hungry oh thumbs up We got a thumbs up that’s great And john got a barbecue burger with Onion rings and impossible burger and Fries Pickles yum i’ll take your pickles and Then we got a soul roll cauliflower Wings is what i ordered with buffalo Sauce we are going to eat all this And then i think we’ll feel a lot better [Music] Absolutely It’s the next morning we fell asleep Like shortly after dinner last night Because we ate dinner at like 8 30. Um and we slept in this morning actually Tiana slept in because there was Blackout curtains which she never does But now we are headed downstairs to get On the shuttle to get on the airplane to Head to costa rica We’re getting excited Almost time Okay so the security line is insane and We actually applied for global entry in Tsa pre-check a few months ago But we have to do our interview still And all the interview sites were booked So we’re going in the standard line Hopefully on our next trip we’ll have Our global entry and tsa precheck but It’s actually moving pretty fast they Got a good flow going on here We got some qodoba to eat on the flight It was worth the 30 minutes in line Because now we’re not going to be hungry And we’re actually about to board [Music] So rihanna just pulled down our little Tray table to make tiana and apple juice And it looks like she won something what Do you think it is oh no it says we need To ask the attendant i hope it’s a snack I’m very curious well what if it’s a Free fight What if it’s an all-inclusive paid-for Trip to maldives for a month [Laughter] Also while we have the camera out i Wanted to let you guys know that my Sweet husband Just told me that my hair Just finished the crossbar no you just Fixed it don’t even a little bit but it Looks like i’m looking out for you i was Looking out for you I wish i took a picture it wasn’t the Same it was beautiful nonetheless But Tiana’s ready to go she’s over here Enjoying her veggie chips and some bluey She’s like a professional traveler [Music] [Music] Oh We made it to costa rica finally it has Been a very long day but we finally made It to our villa here the awesome villa Staff patricia and felix picked us up at The airport and drove us about an hour And a half over here to the house and on The way John is excited as you can tell and on The way we stopped and picked up some Groceries it is raining unfortunately And fortunately the fortunate part of it Raining is that we’ve actually just been Able to chill since we got here Brianna’s actually making a really good Dinner and then tiana over here has Already found the toys so she’s having a Good time as well and we cannot wait for Tomorrow for the sun to come out this Villa is absolutely incredible we will Show you the entire thing on future Costa rica vlogs but for tonight we are Just going to relax catch up on some Rest after a long day of traveling and Just enjoy ourselves and hang out as a Family hey tiana do you love it here I’ll look at you all set up you got toys You got ice cream Can daddy have your ice cream Just a little bit Oh see you are the best i don’t even Want to you are just the absolute best i Love you so much hey rihanna real quick While i was thinking about it Everybody’s going to want to know what You won on the spirit airlines flight Come here guys I won 500 spirit points okay and john And i were like wow that’s probably like A free flight But It’s not it’s actually equivalent to did We figure out five dollars five dollars They gave her five dollars off her next Flight so we were hoping that was Something better than five dollars it’s Better than nothing all right so like i Said we’re now here we’re just going to Relax and hang out enjoy our time with Tiana it’s been a long day she’s been Such a good girl in this trap she’s done So well today come here come here all Right can you say goodnight everyone Good night [Music] It’s a toy Look phillip’s hand itself we don’t like Bigfoot See Good stuff Watch this watch this watch i’ma blow on Bigfoot’s nose I think they should do a vote when Things like this happens and let Everybody decide whether or not we need Ac for the flight because i bet every Single person here would vote We’ll just be hot for a little bit Take off No so they don’t know when the mechanic Somebody said no So they don’t know when the mate We got one vote for doesn’t want to be Hot all right so after a two-hour delay Like two hours She’s making me airplane feeder since We’re going on an airplane ready [Music] Chook You Mike Izzo https://lifesporttravel.com/?p=1198

[ieattaperecorders]

“I’m rambling again aren’t I?” and “Is that okay with you?” for the jmart prompt please :)

Cannon compliant, 1.4k, set at the end of S4. Prompt from here.

---

Cash only, no IDs, change directions at least twice. That was what Basira advised, so they were taking a roundabout route - train to bus to train again, a walk to another station, and then a third train to the outskirts of a town near a village near an isolated cabin. Someplace to hide.

Each time they stopped Jon would grab maps and brochures to stuff in his pockets, studying them carefully during quiet moments. Something about being prepared to act as if they were headed to a different destination if anybody asked.

Nobody did ask, and in any case Jon would have probably looked weird and suspicious, throwing in needless details about whatever place they were meant to be visiting. But it was painfully endearing, the way he poured over them, concentrating like he was prepping for an exam. One hand holding the brochure, the other usually clasped over Martin's or pawing at the fabric of his sleeve.

At one point, Jon's hand absently came to rest on Martin's knee. He flinched -- surprised at the unfamiliar contact, at the intimacy. Then he covered Jon's hand with his own, keeping careful around the edge of the wide, angry scar Jude Perry had left.

It had been so long since anyone touched Jon gently. It had been so long since anyone touched Martin at all.

* * *

There'd been a quick, fearful trip to Martin's flat so he could pack a bag. Jon barely let go of him the entire time, as if scared that he might still disappear. (Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was right to be.) He frowned when, after only a few minutes, Martin zipped up a small bag of clothes and toiletries and said that he was ready.

"You . . . may want to look around a bit," he said softly. "See if there's anything else you want to take. We might not be able to come back here."

"Thought the idea was to get in and out quickly. And shouldn't we be traveling light?"

"We can spare another minute. Besides . . . ." he bit his lip. "You might want to keep a few things. Even if they don't seem important. You may end up missing them if you lose this place."

Martin glanced around. The truth was he'd been living sparsely for a while. Bit by bit, he'd boxed up and donated most of his personal things over the last several months. It had just felt right.

(Jon's flat was long gone. He only had the small satchel he'd been carrying, and a plastic bag of thrift store clothes that Basira had gotten for him.)

He ended up grabbing a few books, a notebook he hadn't written in for a while, a couple of cheap pens, and a scarf that he'd always liked. The small carved box his grandfather had given him ages ago went in the bag too -- he'd never found anything to put in it, but he'd kept it all these years and it still smelled pleasantly like cedar.

Despite Jon's insistence they could spare another minute, he spent the entire time Martin packed bouncing restlessly on his heels, his gaze flicking back and forth between the windows.

"God, it's cold in here," he whispered.

". . . Is it?"

"Yes. Colder than outside . . . noticeably so," Jon looked at him sadly. "You can't feel it?"

Martin shook his head. He hadn't noticed.

"Suppose I'm used to it," he said.

Gravely, Jon nodded. He took Martin's hand and squeezed. Martin held back for a moment, then pointed out it was hard to pack with one hand, and Jon awkwardly let go. Another minute and they were done.

As they made for the door, Martin noticed Jon shivering and thought Basira ought to have gotten him a heavier coat.

"Hold on."

He made a detour to the closet, grabbed one of his thicker jackets and held it out. It would swim on Jon, but at least it was something.

"Dunno if it works on supernatural cold spots, but it'll be cold in Scotland too," he explained. "You'll want more than a windbreaker."

Jon stared at him for a moment, then swallowed heavily and nodded. As he put it on, folding the sleeves back so his hands would fit out, Martin noticed him wiping at his eyes.

Was he tearing up? Why? It was only a jacket, one Martin was probably going to lose anyway.

Jon held his hand all the way to the train station.

* * *

They didn't talk about the Lonely on the train. They didn't talk about any of it there, not the Institute, the entities, the attack. It was all too risky if they were overheard.

Instead, Jon talked about the places they weren't going, the things he read about as they went. Describing historical points of interest or natural features, sometimes adding a jarringly morbid fact that Martin was sure he hadn't gotten from the brochures. He suspected part of it was an attempt to engage him, as Martin found himself going long stretches saying next to nothing.

It was nice, though, listening to him chatter on as if they were out on holiday. Sitting there with the landscape going by, the rumble of the train around them and Jon talking about some landmark or another, Martin could pretend they were just out seeing the sights. Traveling on their own time, without a care in the world.

As it got late into the night, he realized the train car they were in was empty. It was the last one that ran, and there hadn't been many on it to begin with, so it wasn't much of a surprise. But with no one else there, they had a chance to speak more freely.

"Jon?" Martin nudged him, interrupting his description of a stone burial site a few miles down the line.

"Hmm?" Jon started, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"It's not that. Was just thinking . . . I know the plan is to keep moving, but we'll have to wait for the morning train anyway. Wouldn't make a difference if we got a cheap hotel room or something tonight, would it?"

"Oh . . . no, I don't think it would," he shuffled through some papers in his lap, peering at the train schedule. "Actually, in that case we may want to take the next stop, rather than going to the end of the line. There's a motel near the station that could be perfect. It's cash only, and the only security camera is over the safe."

"Did you See that?"

"Not deliberately. There's just, ah . . . " he winced, "been a lot of really gruesome murders there."

"Ah. Right." Martin raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to get gruesomely murdered if we stay there?"

"Well it's not a service they provide."

"But we do have murderers after us."

"True . . . and I don't think this place would be much protection if they caught up. But the same could be said about a bench outside the train station," Jon shrugged. "And I don't believe it's supernatural, just a bit shady. Which is probably what we want at the moment."

Martin nodded. Then, with a smirk, asked "does it have a pool?"

"Yes. And so many people have drowned in it."

". . . Hmm."

Jon's deadpan look broke into a smile. "I've no idea if there's a pool. Probably not."

"Pfff," Martin reached an arm out over his shoulders, and Jon leaned into the embrace, smiling. "The Beholding didn't think to list amenities, then? Not even an evil laundry service or, like, a continental breakfast that eats you?"

"Thankfully not."

"Good enough for me, then."

He felt Jon chuckle against him and leaned back, yawning loudly, thinking about how nice it would be to lie down in a bed. Jon shifted a little and sighed, looking at him with a smile.

"I love you," he said. Soft and warm, as if he'd said it a thousand times before. As if it was natural and obvious and easy.

Martin must have gone noticeably tense, or maybe his expression changed, because Jon's eyes widened and he looked down, fidgeting. Worried he'd made a mistake.

"Is that, ah . . . okay with you?" he added weakly.

Almost dizzy with it all, Martin let out a breath that turned into an unsteady laugh. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he squeezed Jon tighter.

"Y-yeah," he whispered, "yeah Jon. S'good."

[eldritchqueerture]

One For The Memory

Chapter 7: Turning Page

Chapter Summary: Elias listens to a tape and has a chat with Jon about his refusal to take live statements. Jon’s dreams become more violent as his regrets come back to haunt him. He realizes Martin didn't come through to this world with him, and he remembers the price he’d have to pay to free his assistants from under the Eye’s influence.

CW: Jonah Magnus, smoking, self-deprecation, fainting, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, gaslighting, manipulation, mentions of suicide, emotional abuse, gore, graphic violence, injuries, blood, knives, guilt-tripping, spiders, body horror, panic attacks, mentions of and allusions to eye trauma

Author's Notes: Let the Jon Angst begin 💀 This one is on the heavier side, so please mind the content warnings and stay safe. I also decided to change this work's rating to M because of graphic descriptions of violence.

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

Jonah Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose when the tape player clicks off, and the air of the office is once again filled with silence. He turns the words he’s just heard in his mind this way and that, scarcely letting himself believe his ears. He carefully picks up the device and rewinds the tape, just a little bit.

“…And as the last word teared itself from your trembling, bleeding lips, your eyes flashed with green light, blinding the whole world and extinguishing the sun. The sky ripped itself into a thousand little pieces and from every crack emerged a glowing Eye, ready to take in everything about Its new world. And as the new world created itself from the light, you collapsed on the floor, your eyes bleeding and burned, yet still seeing. Seeing It All.”

Jonah pauses the recording, savouring the tremble in the Archivist’s voice. These are the words of a man who has seen what Jonah longed for almost his entire life; a living and breathing proof that his plan could succeed. Did succeed.

A thrill of excitement travels down his spine and his lips split in an unwitting smile. There are still many unknown variables to this equation, primarily how exactly Jon was able to travel through time, since that’s what Jonah assumes happened, but all of those just pose an additional challenge. Whatever travel Jon has been through, it clearly left him in a severe state of disarray, enough not to be able to organize any sort of plans quickly. Which, of course, gave Jonah plenty of time to investigate, and observe, and make preparations of his own.

Jon’s refusal to take live statements had been a worry at first. How was he supposed to become the Archivist, if he didn’t feed the power in turn? Jonah started considering alternatives; if Jon now knew too much to take those first steps towards Becoming, maybe he should think about a replacement, before it is too late. Sasha would of course be his second choice; she obviously lacked the mark of the Web but her ties to the Beholding were the strongest out of all of the assistants, and Jonah knew her to be impulsive. He had offhandedly instructed her to steer the statement givers away from Jon if the situation looked too similar to that of Ms. Herne, and instead take the statement herself. It wouldn’t be as strong without the position of Head Archivist and Jonah was sort of bending his own rules for this, but the situation clearly called for it. Fortunately, time showed he needn’t have worried. Even without live statements, Jon had started exhibiting signs of being in the Beholding’s favour, with an astonishing speed at that. Supernatural, someone might even say.

Jonah Magnus focused on studying the event the night before the Archivist’s first day in his office. Watched it from different angles; the tear in the fabric of the universe, spreading its strands across the cosmos. Throughout the following months he’d observed the unrest among the followers of the Fears. They all felt it to one degree or another, and most of them were devoid of the tools that allowed them to look at the bigger picture. Jonah watched Nikola Orsinov gather her allies and plans for the Unknowing, convinced that the power she felt was a sign that her ritual was destined to succeed. He watched Oliver Banks, haunted by the dreams of an unknown, dark-skinned man poring over files in the office previously belonging to Gertrude Robinson, whom he got to know so well before her death. The veins took Oliver again down the Institute’s staircase, right to the same desk, where he watched a bloody stain bloom over the man’s heart, stark crimson against the white of his shirt. Jonah watched Annabelle Cane scuttling around the old Hill Top Road, where the tear seemed the most pronounced, with a glint of elation on her face, then again with the expression of utmost despair.

All in all, Jonah Magnus wasn’t getting many answers, but it bothered him only to a manageable degree. It was never just about the answers anyway, was it?

He rewinds the tape again.

“…at the sky – it is dark, deeper than dark, something that would be ready to swallow the Earth in its entirety if only given a chance; but it doesn’t. Instead, it watches. The sky watches with thousands upon thousands of eyes following every little movement and thought. And you know that the Eyes are fond of you. You’ve done them a big service. “You deserve a reward,” the eyes say.”

The tower of his Panopticon was never meant to be a beacon of understanding. It was built in the name of observing the experience, of being here and now, and drinking every little detail, every little thought. A state of utter bliss at admiring the work of fear around him that Jon has helped him achieve once. It is no doubt frightening to him, if the contents of the tape and his poorly concealed anger are anything to go by, but it is a sacrifice Jonah is willing to make. Not for a lack of compassion, mind you; if he knew of a way to achieve his goals without causing Jon this much suffering, no doubt he would take it. The voice speaking on the tape belongs to a deeply troubled man, but Jonah finds that sometimes the most troubling stories make for the most powerful ones.

The next breakthrough came just a few days ago, when that twisted thing calling itself Michael had interfered. Jonah observed developments keenly and could barely contain his satisfaction at Jon’s ability to extract answers. Truly a remarkable Becoming, if it really was one. That’s when he began considering that perhaps, the thing that travelled back in time was not entirely Jon anymore. Perhaps he need not Become, but simply Awaken. From that it’s a short work to conclude that—

Elias blinks out of his reverie at the cold breeze on his exposed forearms. He stifles a sigh of annoyance at the familiarity of it and watches the mist gather in the corner of his office, before it fully forms the bulk of a sea captain with his cap slightly askew.

“You know, for one of the Lonely, you surely pay me a lot of visits as of late, Peter,” he says nonchalantly. “One might think you’ve grown tired of your Patron.”

“With your little eye stumbling to my domain so often, my attention is here far more than I would like,” Peter grumbles, but there is a glint in his eye Elias knows very well. “Which lets me see some pretty interesting things regarding your current pet. One might think your Patron has grown tired of you.”

Elias chuckles.

“I wouldn’t keep my hopes up, if I were you. The Archivist is catching up, yes, but the Beholding doesn’t play favourites. Everyone is equal under the gaze of the Watcher.”

“I’d rather associate that phrase with the End, don’t you think?” Peter smirks. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about favourites. I haven’t heard of any other servants of the Eye making a name for themselves in a good while. And here you are, not only successfully evading Terminus, but also with the Watcher’s Crown well within your grasp.”

“You sound rather infatuated, Peter.” Elias snickers. “Have you come to grovel at last?”

“But now, it seems the apprentice has surpassed the master,” Peter continues, unfazed. “What other explanation could there be for this sudden growth in power? Evidently, the Watcher has found its new Pupil.” He raises his eyebrows at Elias, who scoffs.

“Such a short-sighted view. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, though. All that fog must be so hard to parse through, after all.”

“I see all that I need to be content.” Peter flinches, which brings a smirk onto Elias’ mouth.

“Only because my previous Archivist foiled your masterfullycrafted plans of…” He elongates the vowel as if in thought, feigning a struggle to remember. “Right. An apartment complex.”

“It had potential!” Peter shakes his head. “Besides, I’m not convinced you have a right to claim Gertrude as yours. If I recall correctly, she was minutes from burning down your Archives when you killed her.”

“History is written by the victors.” Elias shrugs. “And only one of us is alive to tell it.”

“And you suppose you’ll always be the last one standing?”

“Let a man dream.” Elias leans back in his chair and tilts his head at Peter. “Is there a point to your visit, or did you simply grow lonely out at the sea?”

“You have an infuriating way of prolonging the displeasure of talking to you.” Peter rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather grow old and lonely with the sea as my only companion.”

“Yet you keep coming back.” Elias waves his hand in amusement. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Your little eye disturbs the mists.” Peter’s gaze grows serious. “Uninvited.”

“I thought you were meddling in my affairs to be a nuisance.” Elias raises his eyebrows. “He can’t be doing that on his own.”

“Well, it isn’t me either.” Peter crosses his arms on his chest. “Have you let an unknown player infiltrate your precious Archives?”

“I assure you, Martin isn’t a player,” Elias scoffs. “He has no pre-existing connections to any of the Fears, and that includes the Lonely.”

“He certainly has one now.” Peter shrugs. “I’d appreciate it if you got him under control. If he wishes to associate with my Patron then he may well go for it, but not in my domain.”

Elias joins his hands on the desk with a glint in his eye.

“Isn’t that interesting? No connections to the Powers when I transferred him and now an unexplained ability to access a part of it… Did you perhaps invite him without noticing?”

“Of course not—”

“Or,” –Elias leans forward. “Is the Lonely playing favourites as well?”

Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“Just what exactly are you implying?”

“Your Patron could have given him access.”

“It doesn’t do that,” Peter scoffs.

“Neither does Beholding grant the powers of the Archivist to just anyone, and yet.”

Elias stands up to walk towards a window overlooking the street in front of the Institute. The sky is lightly overcast, and the city is rather quiet at this hour.

“Don’t you understand, Peter?” He speaks. “Things have changed. Jonathan Sims has shifted the stakes, for better or worse, and I intend to see where this leads before I interfere.”

“Obviously,” Peter mutters. “How on Earth did you manage to get me involved in it, though?”

Elias turns to him with a grin.

“Don’t pretend you did not get yourselfinvolved. We both know the misanthropy is for show most of the time.”

“Not now, though.” Peter looks away in annoyance that Elias recognizes as played up.

“It shall be over soon. The circumstances may well be aligning in our favour.”

“I highly doubt that.” Peter shakes his head with exasperation, before dissipating into white mist and then, entirely disappearing.

Jonah Magnus smiles to himself. He is a careful man, placing his bets thoughtfully and with the utmost precision, which usually grants him the upper hand. He cannot afford to be in the wrong, and something tells him this time would be no different.

—

Jon is on his smoke break when she arrives at the Institute. He’s not expecting it, not so soon, but he does have to admit that days have an awful habit of bleeding through his fingers lately. The spring sun is high in the sky, and the temperature has been steadily rising to a comfortable degree. He stands outside in pleasant shade when he hears the back door to the Institute open.

“Hey, Jon.” Sasha gives him a tense smile, and he lowers his cigarette.

“Hey.” The way she searches his face and her slightly too tight grip on the door handle register on Jon’s mind, twisting his guts with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s, uh… Wrong, per se, it’s just.” She takes a breath. “There’s a statement giver. In the Archives.”

Jon tenses up.

“Elias said that it’s Institute’s policy or whatever, that only you can take live statements, but I could…?” She bites her lip.

“No,” Jon answers too loud, making Sasha wince slightly. He exhales and stubs out his cigarette with a shaking hand.

“I, uh…” He swallows. “I’ll handle this.”

“Jon.” Sasha puts her hand on his shoulder, and he only flinches a little. She withdraws, but her gaze stays sharp on him. “If there’s going to be a repeat of the Herne incident, I’d like a heads-up.”

“There’s…” Jon grimaces. “There might be. Or—Or it could be worse, I-I honestly, uh… Don’t really know how the Eye will take it.”

“Shouldn’t you take her statement then?” Sasha frowns. “Don’t they… feed you, or something?”

“I’m not—” Jon huffs. “I’m not going to condemn Melanie to nightmares for the rest of her life just because I might need a pick me up.”

“So, instead you’re going to let an eldritch entity hurt you?” Sasha blinks. “Also, I never said her name.”

“I know her,” Jon says quietly with a sigh. “After giving a statement here she started looking into it on her own using our library, and eventually she ended up signing a contract with Elias. I’m going to make sure none of that happens. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Sasha makes a few weak protests, but Jon walks down the corridor with a grim determination. The ache in his stomach grows and the closer to the Archives he gets, the more his mind narrows on the idea of a statement. He doesn’t remember about what Melanie’s first statement was, and his mind burns with the need to Know.

As soon as he sees her sitting next to Sasha’s desk he stops, hands curling into fists, nails digging into flesh. He needs to stay focused. He steels himself with a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Ms. King?” He asks, schooling his voice into that clipped tone he tended to use when his public image still mattered to him. Melanie looks at him warily, although he does not miss the latent fear in her eyes. His stomach tightens painfully.

“That’s me.” She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

“After you.” He opens the door to his office and lets Melanie through.

“Maybe I should be there in case… You know,” Sasha suggests quietly, and Jon shakes his head too violently.

“No. Stay here. Don’t call anyone.” Jon takes a shaky breath. “Hopefully, she’ll be out of the door before anything… drastic happens.”

He closes the door before Sasha can form any further comments, and promptly makes his way to the other side of the desk.

“So, you’re Melanie King.” Jon sits down and avoids looking her in the eye. He looks down at the form Sasha had given him instead, staring at the date. Halfway through April already?

“Yes…?” She sounds unsure. Jon fidgets with a pen to hide the tremble of his hands.

“From the… podcast. I presume.”

“A show, thank you very much.” He hears her cross her arms over her chest.

“I wouldn’t really know, pretending to see ghosts in old churchyards doesn’t really interest me.” Jon’s gaze stops on the tips of her hair dyed blue; in the corner of his eye he can see her offended expression.

“Excuse me?”

“We have been subjected to jokes from the members of your community before. I’m not very keen on having my time wasted on your made up ghosts.”

“But the clearly fake bullshit about vampires and mummies is all fine and good?” She scoffs. “We may play it up for the camera a little bit, but we use actual scientific instruments and research genuine, documented cases instead of taking the word of every traumatised, drugged up idiot off the street! Honestly, who cares about evidence, about the investigation, when you can just give a statement to the Magnus Institute!”

“Why don’t you go and tell your story to your colleagues then? Do us both a favour.” Jon raises his eyebrows and Melanie deflates.

“I, uh…” She looks away. Jon drops his pen, forming a tightly clenched fist at the ache in his stomach, and swiftly hides it. “They wouldn’t believe me.”

Jon clears his throat, blinking at the form in front of him.

“And what makes you think I will believe you?” His voice comes out strained.

“Isn’t that literally your job?”

“It is not.” A slight shiver passes through him.

“But you do have to take my statement, right? I need to tell someone what happened.”

“I…” Jon closes his eyes around the stifled groan. “I don’t…”

“Are you okay?” Worry joins the judgmental tone of Melanie’s voice.

“Fuck.” Jon hides his face in his hands, fingers reaching up and pulling at his hair. His glasses slip from behind his ears and clatter on the desk. Blood rushes in his ears, his vision swims, and there could as well be a black hole in the pit of his stomach. “Get out of the Magnus Institute.”

“Uh… What…?”

It’s a light at the end of an endless black tunnel, a door outside in a twisting maze, a pond at the centre of an infinite desert, and he’s dying from thirst. The one thing he needs is there for the taking in front of him, how can he refuse, how can he resist?

“Run, Melanie. Get out of the Magnus Institute,” he breathes out heavily. “And do not ever come back.” He inhales sharply. “This place is—” He doubles over the desk in pain.

Melanie staggers back, reaching for the door and opening it to find Sasha already looking at her with a sort of dreadful anticipation. As soon as she sees the fear on Melanie’s face she jumps up and grabs Melanie’s hand to pull her outside the office. Tim, armed with a first aid kit, exchanges tense looks with Sasha and disappears behind the door.

“I apologise, Ms. King, Jon is… He’s been through a lot lately and he’s not exactly himself,” Sasha says giving Melanie a bit of space to gather herself.

“I, uh…” Melanie exhales, no doubt trying to calm herself. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Sasha frowns.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“He told me…” Melanie trails off, visibly suppressing a shiver. “A-Actually, I think I should just go.

“Are you sure?” Sasha presses her lips together, her expression inscrutable. “I probably could—”

“No, no, I… I think it would be best if I just… Just, don’t contact me. I wasn’t here. I’m gonna go.”

With that, Melanie turns around and flees the Archives.

“Uh, Sash…?” Tim’s muffled voice sounds from the office. “A little help?”

There’s a thud, and as Sasha storms into the office, she sees Jon on the floor, his eyes glowing faintly as he mutters something incomprehensible. Tim hovers over him with a look of fear, unsure what to do.

Jon wakes up with his head elevated and someone’s hand in his hair. He blinks his eyes open with a groan at the soreness of his throat.

“Jon? Are you… here? Is it you?”

Tim. His concerned face clears in Jon’s vision, lines of tension creasing his forehead.

“Yeah, y-yeah, it’s me.” He whispers. “Who else would it be?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Tim exhales with relief and helps Jon sit up. “That muttering was beginning to get really creepy, no offense.”

“What… What are you talking about?” Jon looks around the empty office. “Where’s Melanie?”

“You have successfully scared her out of the Institute, if that’s what you were going for.” Tim answers with a tinge of sarcasm Jon can’t really quite place. “You passed out and your eyes went all… green. And you were muttering something about old hospitals, and shadows, and… and skin.”

His voice quivers at the last word, and Jon looks up at him.

“Christ,” Jon sighs.

“You can’t do this every time someone comes in here with a real statement, Jon,” Tim says seriously. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“That’s unavoidable,” says Jon, quietly. “I can at least make sure no one else gets hurt with me.”

“Jon.” Tim grips his shoulders tightly. “I’m not going to watch you let this thing hurt you over and over again and do nothing!”

The door to the office opens and Sasha walks in with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“So,” she starts conversationally. “You’re back, I see.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha—”

“How are you feeling?” She interrupts him and kneels beside him on the floor. Jon sighs.

“Had better days. But I’ll manage.”

“I talked to Rosie,” Sasha starts tensely. “Elias wants to talk to you in his office.”

Jon huffs out a laugh.

“Right.”

“So much for the pretence, huh?” Tim grimaces.

“It’s fine,” Jon says, unconvinced. “That’s fine.”

“Regardless, this cannot continue.” Sasha crosses her arms on her chest. “This is the last time I let you do this.”

“I’m your boss,” Jon chuckles weakly, but it dies under Sasha’s glare.

“A couple of bad dreams isn’t worth this, Jon.”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re going to seriously hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

Jon meets Sasha’s gaze and curses in his head.

“I can survive on written statements. I have before,” he says hoarsely. “I’m going to get the meeting with Elias over with. Where’s… Where’s Martin?”

“Still in the library,” says Tim.

“Don’t… Don’t tell him about this. Please.”

Tim and Sasha exchange looks.

“Fine.”

Tim helps him get up, and Jon momentarily winces at the pang in his stomach.

“Oh, and, uh…” Jon looks up at them both, trying to conceal the pain in his eyes. “About Martin. He’s… If it really is the Lonely reaching for him, then he needs friends more than ever. P-Promise me you’ll, uh… You’ll be there for him?”

Tim frowns.

“We can all be there for him together, Jon. Right?”

“W-Well, yes, technically, but I’ve been, uh, thinking, and… And if the fog is really there because of me then—then my presence might be making it all worse. And—And if the obvious trigger is gone then perhaps he’ll be able to completely overcome the Lonely.”

Tim observes him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t think that makes complete sense—”

“Please. I—I need him to be okay. If he has a chance—If you all have a chance at a normal life without all of this then, then I have to ensure you get it.”

“But we haven’t actually established that we do, have we?” Sasha remarks sceptically. Jon wets his lips.

“I… I might be onto something. I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know when I have something more concrete.”

“Look, we’re Team Archives.” Tim tries for a smile, gently nudging his shoulder. “We’ll take care of each other. You too, yeah?”

Jon nods, swallowing through the tightness in his throat. “Yeah.”

Jon climbs the stairs already exhausted, wondering how much Rosie knows about what’s really going on in the Institute. She gave him a strange look when he was passing her desk, and he isn’t sure what it was supposed to mean.

A deep breath in front of the door to Elias’ office isn’t nearly enough to prepare him for the conversation, but it is all he’s going to get, so without further delays, Jon knocks and enters when he hears Elias’ voice.

“Sit down,” Elias says immediately after he closes the door. Jon obeys reluctantly; though he doesn’t favour standing, weak as he is, the couch in front of Elias’ desk has the worst texture he’s ever touched in his life. He wonders briefly if it’s deliberate.

Elias regards him with an air of a disappointed teacher. There is no anger to his gaze, no aggression or cruelty, just… Concern.

“I think it is time for us to talk openly,” he says.

“Melanie didn’t want to give the statement. That’s all there is to it.” The attempt at a lie is laughable even to Jon as soon as he hears his strained voice, and the words tumble out of his mouth too fast. Elias sighs and joins his hands in front of him.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t make this harder than necessary.” He meets Jon’s gaze. “I’m going to put it bluntly, Jon. Are you suicidal?”

Jon opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“We both know you need the statements to survive. We both know you’ve been getting weaker. At one point old statements aren’t going to be enough, and you know this. Especially since your powers are coming on so fast, you need the sustenance. So, are you trying to kill yourself? Because there are easier ways to do so.”

Jon blinks and swallows.

“No.” His voice is hoarse and his throat tight. The rawness of Elias’ words feels like a punch to the gut.

“Then what are you trying to do? I don’t understand the resistance.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Jon laughs quietly. “You’ve never cared about your humanity.”

Elias chuckles.

“Ah. Humanity. Such an elusive concept.” He tuts. “Do you really think it’s worth dying for?”

What does humanity even mean? What does actually separate him from the monster in his dreams? From the monster he’s afraid he will become?

He thinks of Martin. He remembers holding his hand while they walked together through a desolate wasteland, different facets of the same, broken world. You are my reason. His reason. His anchor.

What is he without it?

“It isn’t what you thought it would be, is it?” Elias asks quietly as Jon blinks away tears. “Going back.”

Jon takes a shaky breath.

“I didn’t…” He trails off. How much does Elias actually know? How much can he say? “It doesn’t matter.” He clears his throat.

“So, what is your plan, Jon?” Elias tilts his head. “Do you even have one? Or are you planning to teeter on the edge of being human until you starve yourself to death?”

“It’s not what’s happening.”

But isn’t it? How long can he wait for a miracle that will solve his problems, for an answer that will make everything better, bring Martin back, and save this world from the apocalypse? He’s barely just remembered enough to make sense of what’s happening to him, and yet it feels like he’s been wasting all this time chasing shadows.

“I’m not your enemy, Jon,” Elias speaks up. “It really doesn’t have to be this hard. We don’t have to be on opposite sides.”

“You ended the world.” Jon huffs out and closes his eyes, his head hanging low. He’s so tired, so drained. He can tell Elias is trying to manipulate him but he’s almost too tired to care.

“And yet it continued.”

Jon can tell Elias is looking down at him. Is it pity? Contempt?

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “It started torturing everyone.”

“Do you really care?” Elias leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “What is ‘everyone’ really, if not just a measure you can’t really wrap your head around?”

“I do care.” Jon meets his eyes. “I felt everyone’s suffering. Both all at once and individually. I’ve seen it all.”

“And did you not enjoy it at all?”

Jon looks away.

“Seeing it all, drinking in every little detail… Was the new world not everything you’ve ever needed?”

Jon refuses to answer. He’s thought about it before, and he knows that Elias is right. He did enjoy—The part of him made of eyes, the part that feeds on the statements and pushes him towards knowledge enjoyed it. It drank all the terror in, and he remembers how Martin told him it must be horrible to witness it all in his mind. He knows it wasn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Elias answers himself gently. “You think that you should care. You tell yourself it’s bad that people suffer because you think that’s ‘the right thing to do’ but you don’t really care about that, Jon. You need to face the fact that this is who you are; it’s not in your nature to live in denial.”

Jon shakes his head; his heart is drumming in his chest, and he feels tingling in his palms.

“If I’m dead, your ritual won’t succeed. Regardless of whether I care or not, I’m not going to let you bring them all here.”

“Right.” Elias nods. “And what stops me preparing Sasha to take over your role?”

“I know how to kill you.”

Elias raises his eyebrows.

“Perhaps you do.” He chuckles. “Really fascinating. Are you aware you’re going to hurt the entire Institute with that? There’s no telling what will happen to them.”

“I know what happens when you succeed,” Jon growls. “Anything is better than that.”

“Alright then. If you’re sure.” Amusement plays in Elias’ eyes and a spark of frustration makes Jon’s hands shake. “My offer of working together is still on the table, though. If you ever change your mind.”

Jon stands up and leaves without another word.

—

The knife, once again, finds home in his flesh, cutting deep into his shoulder, and bringing with it fresh and hot agony. Jon opens his eyes with considerable effort, eyelids stuck together by the quickly drying blood that must cover him head to toe by now. The stab wounds and lacerations on his body bloom with crimson as he lies on the ground, exhausted; blood draining from him yet never running out. His breath comes in ragged, punctured lungs filling his airway with blood, yet still letting oxygen through. Whatever holds him in its grasp won’t let him lose consciousness. Not yet.

The face of his assaulter changes yet again. As his vision stabilizes, he’s met with Tim’s hard stare. Jon can see the ashes of hatred that once used to burn in his eyes, now a cold pile ready to be scattered by the first wind.

“You look like shit.”

Tim towers over him, standing with a knife gripped in his fist so tight, it makes his knuckles go pale. Jon inhales to answer and chokes on his own blood. He can feel his heart valiantly beat to keep him alive, and he can’t decide whether to feel grateful or resentful towards it.

Tim kneels beside him. Jon regains the shaky balance of breathing through his pierced lungs and splutters.

“What a fucking shame. You were my friend once, you know that?”

Jon whines weakly. He’d really think the pain would lessen after all this, that his mind would find a way to numb the agony, but no such luck was granted to him. This is a banquet and he’s tasting every flavour of suffering, making sure to really savour each one, truly get to know them. He feels the Archivist’s gaze on him from afar, or so he thinks, though that thought only makes him want to laugh.

“I wanted to hurt you,” says Tim and a spark of that anger, smouldering somewhere underneath the ashes comes to life for a second. “I wanted to make you suffer so that I would forget what I felt, and the only thing that mattered would be your pain and the fact that I was causing it.”

He lets out a mirthless laugh; the anger sputters out and dies.

“But then I saw you here. Like this.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s not how I imagined it. I don’t feel angry, I just… You’re just too pathetic.”

The cold steel of the knife’s blade touches Jon’s throat. Tim rearranges it so the tip is placed right below Jon’s voice box. Jon swallows unwittingly, feeling the pressure of the sharp point on his skin. He curses his own heart, ushering himself over to the side of resentment. It would do better to give up on him and save everyone the trouble.

“I’m going to end it now. I don’t forgive you.” Tim’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he grips the handle tighter. “So don’t you dareforgive me.”

His world does not end when the knife pierces through his larynx. The pain disappears as he feels his flesh knit itself back together, and he is once again breathing freely. He takes a moment to enjoy the relief of clear lungs, his body shaking with the adrenaline.

Then, he opens his eyes. He finds himself in the darkness of night, laying down in what feels like a rectangular wooden box. His eyes don’t need long at all to adjust to the darkness, and, with a start, he realizes he lies in a fresh grave. He attempts to rise, but something pulls him down, pinning him to the cold wooden floor. His breath picks up the pace as he struggles against the force; then he stops. There’s a sound of steps on the ground, dirt crunching under someone’s boots, and soon, he sees an outline against the grey darkness of the sky.

He knows it’s her as soon as he sees her, despite the fact that her face is nothing but a blur of skin tones, weaving through each other like paint being mixed. Her body is fluid, changing shape and size in waves, and he cannot recall how it is supposed to look. Her voice doesn’t have a sound to it that he can pinpoint in his mind, yet the words are clear, accusatory, and full of regret.

“You never dream about me,” Sasha says.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and quiet, trembling under the guilt and shame that build up on instinct.

“Not like you dream about the others. Their faces haunt you as you sleep, the past coming back to remind you how it used to be. Do you even remember me, Jon?”

Jon lets out a gasp, wracking his memory in search of the smallest details about his friend that he could recall. Was her hair black? Brown? Maybe it had a ginger tint to it, or—or maybe she had it dyed?

“Did you ever even care about me? Maybe that’s why you can’t remember.” She presses her non-existent lips together. “Do you even remember my name?”

“Sasha,” Jon begs. “Please, I can’t—”

“Do you have any idea how much it hurt? To be devoured by that thing, for it to wear my identity like a new fucking suit? And no one noticed. I watched it parade as me, so obviously false, so clearly, appallingly not me, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I… I tried—”

“Yeah, you did try,” she laughs cruelly. “You set it free. After it ate me under your very nose, you rewarded it by breaking its prison. How could you be so stupid? It was so obvious the table was binding it, a blind man could see it.”

Jon shuts his eyes with pain, the sheer weight of the guilt itself pinning him to the floor of the coffin.

“I can’t take it back.” He whispers, voice weak. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a dark room. There’s dust in the air and old cobwebs on the wooden ceiling. Jon sits up with considerable effort and notices kitchen cabinets, a table, and a big, bare tree outside the window, that casts ominous shadows in the faint moonlight. Everything is visibly old and covered in a sizeable layer of dust, and Jon can’t shake the feeling he’s seen it before.

“It’s you.”

He freezes when a voice sounds behind him, striking a familiar cord in his memory – something buried deep in his mind. He turns around and flinches back violently, crawling away until he stumbles into the old cabinets. In front of him sits a boy of about nineteen in an old, tattered sport uniform. There are eight glistening black eyes on his pale face, and additional spindly appendages sprout from his body here and there. He crawls closer a step or two, and Jon crams himself back into the wooden panels of the cabinets.

“I remember you,” the boy says. Jon swallows in terror as the voice finally connects with the barely recognisable face, yet the name eludes him. “What? Little Einstein can’t even remember his friend’s name? Such a shame.”

He crawls up closer, painfully taking his time, and Jon pushes himself back into a corner with a whimper.

“Get back!” He breathes out, unable to find his voice. The boy laughs.

“Or what? You’ll feed me to a giant spider from a book? Oh, wait,” –he crawls up until he’s just five feet away and reaches with two of his black, hairy legs to lean on the wall over Jon’s head. “You already did that.”

“I—I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t know what I was doing—” Jon stammers out but stops with a cry when the boy leans over him with fangs emerging from the corners of his mouth.

“I was just a boy,” he hisses. “And you’re what? A chosen one?” He scoffs. “It should have been you. It should have taken you, and we would all have been better for it.”

Jon presses his eyelids shut, squeezing out tears of terror. His body trembling violently, he anticipates the stinging pain of venomous teeth, but it doesn’t come. He breathes shakily, not daring to open his eyes even a crack. Is the spider torturing him? Trying to make him believe the danger has passed, to relax just a little, so it can strike and rouse the fear all anew?

“It’s over now.”

He flinches at the voice in his head, the coating of static almost pleasant. He can’t open his eyes, though, can’t trust the words. His body is frozen in dread and has lost all connection to the signals of his brain.

“Jon. You can open your eyes. You’re safe now.”

All he can do is shake uncontrollably and breathe. His throat is closed up and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to move or speak. All that matters is that he’s alive right now and the slightest alteration of his position could change that.

“Very well. Take your time.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Jon’s throat with an exhale. Could it be that he’s safe? That the spider’s really gone?

“I suppose I shall watch over you, until you come to.”

Jon can finally feel the tensed up muscles in his entire body. He starts to loosen them, bit by bit, first his forearms, then shoulders. The room around is quiet, save for the distant sound of wind outside. He moves his fingers and curls his hands into fists, only to rapidly unfurl them to relieve some tension. His left hand gives him a familiar ache.

After some time, when he brings back life to most of his body, he dares to open his eyes. The Archivist sits on the floor, some distance from him, and the dusty floor is covered in heaps of magnetic tape.

“What is this?” Jon mouths the words, his voice not yet fully responsive. He clears his throat, but the Archivist understands him.

“You could call it my prison if you wished to, although this place binds far more than just me. It is an end as well as it is a beginning.”

Jon looks out the window at the bare tree, swaying in the wind, the looming shadows swaying with it; long branches reaching across the floor akin to the legs of a spider.

“Hill Top Road,” he whispers.

“We were bound to end up here sooner or later.”

“What are we doing here?” Jon asks, his vocal cords finally starting to work.

“Dreaming, in your case. Waiting, in mine.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Fate, I suppose. I’ve done what I could, and I don’t think…” The Archivist trails off, and its human eyes blink. “The matter is in our hands in the waking world. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“I still don’t know how I got here.” Jon hugs himself, bringing his knees up to his chest. “There’s still so much I don’t remember…”

“As long as we are separated, some things will remain forgotten. There are parts of the Becoming a mortal mind cannot comprehend.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Jon shakes his head, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “It’s just… I can’t. I can’t.”

The Archivist observes him for a moment, the eyes unmoving but for the two natural ones that take in his face, bit by bit.

“The fear seems all encompassing, vast, unending; but it is an illusion. It will fade with time. You may be plagued by the images of the past and the crushing guilt for all your remaining time, but the fear will lessen. It would become mundane if it did not.”

Jon snorts through the tears.

“I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be comforting or not.”

“Do you find comfort in it?”

Jon sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Sort of?”

“Then let it be meant as comforting. Whatever it may be, it is still the truth.”

Jon nods and stares at the tape on the floor, glistening in the faint light from the window. They sit in silence for a moment, his breathing finally stabilizing, and the Archivist as motionless as ever.

“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” Jon says quietly, unsure whether he’s addressing the Archivist or just thinking out loud. “Whatever we did to stop the apocalypse at the end… I think I’ve made a big mistake. Whatever it was, it’s… It’s resulted in this.” He waves his hand half-heartedly. “It must be my fault. This—This guilt couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

“Do you want to know what you’ve done?” The Archivist asks. “The knowledge may be tempting, but it holds many dangers. They say sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Yes. I do want… I need to know.” Jon bites his lip. “Not right now. But I do.”

The Archivist nods almost solemnly, although Jon can’t tell from where he’s got that impression.

“Appropriate, I suppose.”

—

He can barely feel his body. His clothes are soaked through, and his skin frigid and numbed by the delicate mist that coats the landscape whichever way he looks. It’s dark, yet somehow the grey wisps are visible, hanging low and swaying softly on a non-existent wind.

When he begged for relief from whatever nightmare has held him in its grasp until now, it was not exactly this that he had had in mind. Jon lifts himself up from the ground with a groan of effort and a tremble in his arms. It is cold.

Hugging himself tight, he looks around again, searching for anything that might offer him shelter. He has found himself on a shore that looks suspiciously like a secluded part of the beach at the edge of Bournemouth, where he used to sneak off as a kid. It was never a hot spot among tourists, the access to it overgrown and less than comfortable, but the locals were known to be around sometimes. Now, the place is desolate; not a living thing in sight. On an evening like this Jon would expect the cicadas and nightly insects to be well into their regular repertoire of songs, yet the only sound breaking the deadly silence is the gentle sound of waves on the shore.

A full body shiver runs through him, and Jon tightens the hold over his arms. The mist feels oppressive in the air, as if waiting for something. It’s too quiet. After the adrenaline heavy rush of the nightmares, the stillness plants an agitating unease high in his stomach. The trees behind him are but a looming mass of shadows, waiting for him to seek refuge among them, only to devour him before he knows it. Jon thinks he sees eyes glistening amidst the darkness, watching him intently, but the next second they’re gone. He grits his teeth and turns towards the shore.

“Am I dead?” He asks in a whisper so quiet he can barely hear it himself. He cannot feel his heartbeat anymore, and his body is just weight that he needs to carry around. The mist touches his cheek softly, and he briefly wonders how it is possible that he can feel it at all.

“Does it matter if you are?” A sound answers him. It’s not a voice and it doesn’t speak in words, yet the meaning makes itself crystal clear in Jon’s mind.

“No… I suppose it does not.” Jon takes a couple steps on the hard sand. The sea is still a couple yards away from him, yet the beach is hard packed and wet, as if the water of the flow reached here as well. He glances back and sees his footprints fade away on the ever so slightly shifting sand. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Feeding on what’s left of broken souls; like a vulture disguised as shelter.”

Jon sees a set of footprints some distance from him, near the edge of the water. If he squints and focuses on the spot, he can make out a denser patch of fog, but it disperses soon after, the sand as smooth as it was before.

“There is nothing here to feed on you but yourself. No one is speaking but yourself.”

Jon takes another heavy step towards the water.

“Right.” He sighs. “It’s just me now.”

“Maybe always?”

“No, not always.” Pain tightens his chest, and he grimaces, looking out onto the horizon. “There was a time…”

“What was it like?”

Jon looks down and presses his eyes shut, willing the tears away.

“It was… He…” His lips split in a pained smile. “It was like coming home. Like finding a place to really belong. Safe.”

The mist touches his closed eyelids, and Jon shudders.

“It sounds nice.”

Jon chuckles bitterly and kneels on the coarse sand. He reaches one hand to touch the grains that give way under his fingers.

“Where is he now?”

Jon shuts his eyes in pain. His eyes prickle, as if the tears want to gather in his eyes and flow freely, yet something doesn’t let them.

“I killed him,” he mouths the words, not brave enough, not strong enough to say them out loud. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s… And I…” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s my fault. Whatever I did to get here, to get another chance…” He shakes his head. “I think that’s what killed him. Stupid, idiot, selfish—”

“It’s okay,” the mist caresses the outside of his palm, and he feels the gentle waves wash over his knees.

“And now…” Jon continues. “Now it’s after him again, except this time he didn’t… He had a chance to escape. He had a chance for a normal life, it wasn’t… I brought this on him. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

He slumps his shoulders, feeling the cold water take away the grains of sand from under his palm.

“You don’t have to fix anything.” He opens his eyes and sees the mists slowly gather around him, like fluff from a cloud making a bed for him to rest on. “Least of all here and now.”

“This is a trap,” Jon says half-heartedly, knowing he doesn’t really care. He’s so tired.

“Then you’ve set it up yourself. There’s nobody else here.”

Jon closes his eyes and loses himself in the soft sound of waves that caress his numb body. Maybe it’s what he needs; what he deserves. To fade away. To finally rest. To die. To let go.

“Jon. Jonathan.”

He flinches, feeling a presence beside him. The sound of the waves still fills his ears, and the scenery hasn’t changed, but now the Archivist sits to his left, its open eyes on the lower parts of its form unflinching at the contact with the water.

“You’re here,” Jon says, his voice weak and broken with unuse.

“Someone had to wake you.”

“Isn’t this still a dream?”

It doesn’t have any facial features to emote, but Jon can’t shake the feeling it glares at him.

“So, you’re giving up?” It asks, and Jon looks down at the sand.

“I… I don’t know. I shouldn’t. Not yet. Elias…”

“Needs to die. Yes.”

“Do I know how to kill him?” Jon frowns at the calm sea. “Do I actually know anything?”

“All that has to be done is finding his body in the Panopticon.”

“What about the Institute? About Tim, and Sasha, and—and Martin?”

The Archivist closes its human eyes.

“There is a way to get them out. Before you kill Magnus.”

Jon blinks and straightens his back, looking at the Archivist. “What do you mean?”

“If you manage to sever your own link to the Eye, they will be free as well. No more ties to the Institute, or the Beholding.”

“But that would mean my death,” Jon remarks, but the Archivist shakes its head, its two eyes still closed.

“Not necessarily. It’s not something I can Know but blinding yourself should be effective and might be something you can still survive.”

Jon exhales, staring off somewhere ahead. Pluck them out. End it now. You can stop it before it’s even started. Save them. Gouge them out and be done with it. They could be free from the Eye, truly go back to their normal lives. Be happy.

“Wait.” He blinks, drawing a breath. He turns to the Archivist. “Why are you telling me this? Wouldn’t that… Wouldn’t that kill you?”

The Archivist’s eyes bore into him with prickling intensity.

“I…” It’s voice falters in Jon’s head and for a moment, his mind is only filled with static. “I don’t know how much longer I can resist the pull. It’s been getting harder and harder, and I hoped that Martin… He was our anchor. And now, he’s gone.”

Jon frowns and swallows, thinking about his next words.

“But he’s not entirely gone, is he? And—And Tim and Sasha are alive, that’s got to count for something?”

The Archivist’s human eyes stare out into the sea.

“I suppose it’s all about being alone. None of them went through what we did. I can’t bear this guilt on my own. I can’t resist the pull of the Eye like this, and I’d rather die than let them see what will be left of us after that.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’ve never been this honest with me before.”

The Archivist chuckles bitterly.

“Last pieces of humanity, perhaps. There isn’t much time before I fully become the monster you see in me.”

“Used to,” says Jon before he can stop himself. The Archivist looks at him with wide eyes, and Jon clears his throat. “I, uh. I may have changed my mind. You’re… Well. There are worse things out there.”

The Archivist buries its black limb in the sand, and grains of sand land in an eye on its hand. It doesn’t close due to the lack of eyelids, but moisture gathers in it, expelling the sand with tears that sink into the ground. Jon unconsciously mimics the gesture with his hand.

“Thank you.”

—

Jon stares blankly at his sink in the pale yellow light of the lightbulb for what seems like years. He turns the needle in his shaky hands, familiarizing himself with the smooth texture. The metal absorbed the heat of his fingers a long time ago. Jon takes a shaky breath.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” he says shakily to the tape recorder whirring on the floor. “You need to kill Jonah Magnus yourselves. You’ll be free from the Eye either way, so it—it won’t affect you. The tunnels under the Institute are huge and can be manipulated with a Leitner book. I, hah. I think Leitner still has it down there.” Jon takes another shaky breath. “You need to find the Panopticon, and there, in the tower, is Magnus’ body. O-Original body. Killing it should do the trick. If—If you want to be thorough, killing Elias and burning his eyes won’t hurt. I suppose.”

Jon lets out a trembling chuckle.

“I’m… I’m sorry. For everything. This is… I need to do this. I should still be able to survive.” He swallows and looks down at the needle. “Right.”

He looks up at himself in the mirror. His eyes are still brown, with the smallest tinge of green in the retinas; exhausted but wide open in fear. He realizes he hasn’t had the need for glasses in a good while.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and brings the needle over his face with a trembling hand. “Okay. Okay.”

---

Author's Notes: I apologise.

Today's chapter title was brought to you by Turning Page by Sleeping At Last :)

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Getaway

The trip to Scotland.

cw nausea and vomiting but no details I promise, fainting I think?  I don't really remember, dizziness, food mentions, let me know if I need to add something more I haven't looked at this chapter in a while and I a posting in a rush.

Martin’s hand is damp in his.  The same tacky, salty grit of the Lonely fog.  A little bit of fog trapped between their tangled fingers, or maybe just the anxious sweat of two people who don’t really know each other as well as they should.  

If Jon is being honest, it’s not a comfortable sort of hand holding, but he doesn’t care.  He will keep clinging to Martin’s hand as if that single point of contact can keep Martin weathered to the physical plane.  

It makes packing more difficult, but Jon doesn’t care.  Not as if he hasn’t been living out of a backpack for months, or anything.  (Longer still if you count living off a shelf before most of his belongings were ruined in the flesh attack).  Still, he stuffs in the few items not in his back, and takes a healthy stack of statements and shoves those in, too.  Probably depressing that he can fit those in a single bag with all his earthly belongings.  

Jon doesn’t feel well.  

He hasn’t felt well in a while.  But the exhaustion is getting to him.  Apparently shredding a person with his mind is a bit rough on the body.  Even if the supernatural hunger is more than sated.  

Heh.  The unnatural feeling of being content and full and powerful at the same time as hallow and shakes and weak.  It would be enough to make him dizzy, if he wasn’t already dizzy.  If he hasn’t been dizzy constantly since statements were limited to empty paper, as if he hasn’t been dizzy since his early 20s and his POTS diagnosis.  (And before, but that’s where he was still convinced it was nothing).  

Jon is loathed to let go of Martin’s hand when he starts Daisy’s ancient car.  It’s more than a little beat up.  Jon tries very hard not to remember Mike Crew’s blood in the back seat.  It’s clean now.  Mike’s blood and Jon’s vomit long since scrubbed away.  Nothing quite like being carsick at gunpoint.  

Jon shivers.  

He can’t let himself think about Daisy now.  Such a confusing jumble of anger and fear and sadness and regret and friendship and comradely and resentment.  It’s… it’s too much for him to take in.  

He hasn’t ever been able to reconcile his feelings about Daisy, and now it’s worse.  Worsened with his exhaustion.  They were friends, they were enemies, and he couldn’t give up on her because that would mean that he was also lost.  She hurt him and she loved him in a way.  He couldn’t forgive her and  she was his closest friend for a while.  She was terrible, is terrible, but she was all he had and he loved her for being there.  It’s too much to think about.  And Basira.  Christ, he feels terrible losing Daisy like that, and yes he loved her in a way, but he wasn’t in love with her like Basira is, and he knows the helplessness and emptiness of losing someone he’s in love with.  

He shakes his head roughly.  The bite of headache and way the world sickly twists in and out of focus for a moment distracts him enough to start the car.  He looks over at Martin, pale but solid.  He reaches for Martin’s hand as he drives them to Martin’s flat.  

Jon has to do most of the packing for Martin.  Martin more attached to him than free thinking individual.  Drifting after him, pulled taught by their tethered hands.  A balloon pulled along by the wrist of a small child on a rollercoaster.  Although Jon can’t fault him for that, he thinks that might be an apt description for how he’s feeling.  …Pulled along by unknowable forces beyond his control.  And he’s flapping helplessly in the breeze of a battle far bigger than him.  

No.  Focus.  

Martin.  

Shove clothes and toiletries and tea and books and a few items that Jon judges to look treasured.  A worn stuffed tiger, a few faded pictures, a deck of tarot cards, he even takes the ratty binder that are shoved under the other ones (the nicer ones that Jon has already packed with the essentials), a tattered notebook under a layer of dust, a well loved poetry book, a small box of earrings, and what looks to be Martin’s knitting.  

It’s still a pitifully small amount of luggage for an indefinitely long trip.  The large first aid kit that he found makes him feel a little better.  (Emotionally, but also physically after he downs some paracetamol.  He eyes the dramamine, but he’s going to be driving and he can’t risk getting drowsy.  It’s not like they have time to stop).   

Nausea twists down deep before Jon even starts the car.  Catching at his stomach as he settles Martin’s bags in the back seat.  Still trying to search out the stains that are long gone.  

And oh fuck he killed someone.  

And yeah the bastard deserved it, but Christ he feels sick.  Sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly ahead.  

Martin’s hand in his.  

Martin squeezes his hand.  

Jon squeezes back.  

It’s fine.  He’s fine.  Just… Just drive.  

It’s the next step, and he has always been good at pushing from one step to the next.  Don’t worry about what happens next, just drive.  

Martin is here and… not fine, but alive and whole, and slowly thawing next to him.  

“Hey…”  Jon forces his tight throat and tighter chest to allow the word past.  

They haven’t spoken since Basira told them where to go and gave them a ring of keys.  

This almost shakes Martin out of his stupor.  Almost.  “Hey,” he echos.  

Jon wants to pack so much into a question.  How do you ask everything?  Are you okay?  Do you love me?  Do you know I love you?  Do you need anything?  Are you sure you want to come all this way with me?  Are you okay with moving in with me?  Are you hungry?  If the fog comes for you, will you tell me?  But those are too many words.  Martin starts looking glazed over when there is too much going on.  Too much movement, too many people, too much sound, too many questions.  And Jon wonders if the Lonely only served to magnify this, and if so, did he notice?  Did Martin hide it well?  Did Jon make it worse?  What if he makes it worse now, but what if he makes it worse by not saying anything.  

“You ready?”  This will have to be enough.  

Martin nods, apparently not noticing the pause.  

Jon tries not to jump out of his skin when Martin starts rubbing circles on Jon’s hand.  It’s surprising, but it feels nice.  

More than nice.  

Jon starts the car.  

It’s chilly.  Late September.  And it’s getting dark.  Both in that the sun is going down, and in that storm clouds are gathering.  

Jon knows they can’t stop for the night.  

He just has to get them to Scotland.  Hopefully then it will all be okay.  

They stop at a service station just out of the city.  Jon gets a black coffee.  He buys Martin a tea and a sandwich.  

He knows the coffee won’t do his stomach any favors, and will more likely than not set his heart to hammering, but it will be worth it not to fall asleep at the wheel.  

He can’t let Martin drive until Martin looks like less like a space cadet.  

But Jon hopes the tea brings color back to Martin’s face, even if he can’t quite tell in the sickly light of the service station, or the dim light of the evening as Jon tops up the petrol.  

Highway before and behind, and Jon is throwing up.  Pulled to the wrong side of the road in the dark and the rain.  Trembling as Martin rubs his back and gently pulls back his hair.  

They aren’t even halfway there.  His heart is beating too quickly.  Anxiety?  Caffeine?  POTS?  Nausea?  Who’s to say.  But Jon is miserable, but there isn’t much choice, because being a passenger will make it worse, even if that would mean he could take some medicine.  But Martin is in not fit state to drive.  And Martin must know that, because for all his soothing, he doesn’t offer to drive.  Or he almost offers, but Jon can see the thought die on his lips.  Besides, Jon is fairly certain Martin can’t drive a manual transmission car.  Not that Jon is particularly good at it, and stalled the engine twice leaving London.  

The occasional car and lorry thunders past.  On the side of the road, Jon can feel their movement in his core.  He worries how he will get them safely back on the road, as he spits in the dirt.  

“Sorry.  Let’s go,” he mumbles his embarrassment to Martin.  

He tries to ignore the pitying look that Martin has fixed on him.  

“Sure we can’t stop?”  

Jon shakes his head, and the dizziness threatens to take him down.  He sags against Martin for a moment.  “Can’t risk it.  Perils of being on the run, I’m afraid.”  

Martin frowns at him.  

“I’m fine.  Just… tired and… well, carsick.  We’ll be there by morning.”

“Yeah and the fact that you basically collapsed against me is something I’m just supposed to ignore?”  

Jon waves him off.  

The brief conversation seems to have stolen all of Martin’s words.  He quietly gets back in the car, and Jon shudders and sways without Martin’s warm bulk holding him up.  

He starts the car, and takes Martin’s hand.  

Just a few more hours.  Then they can rest.  

[jeongi]

caught me. | jjk (m)

(edit done by my love, @httpjeon)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 13.5k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | roommate au. slight e2l au. smut. porn with very little plot.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. mentions of vaping. mutual masturbation, sex toy usage, oral sex (f + m receiving), gagging, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, some wall fucking, riding, unprotected sex (you know the drill, wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, jungkook has tattoos, long wavy hair and a giant schlong.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

“Seokjin, how could you do this to me?” You whine from the kitchen island, reflexively stabbing at the bowl of cereal in front of you. You can’t believe your roommate is just now telling you, a day before he leaves for vacation, that his “friend” will be temporarily moving in while he’s away. Of course, Seokjin pays no mind to your tantrum. Instead, he continues packing the last of his luggage in the living space, across the room. Simply rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh in response, he’s far more acquainted with your antics than he’d like to be. He could almost call you the younger sibling he most certainly never wanted, a nuisance wrapped in feigned misery. The arrangement between the two of you seemed nothing more than the result of a last-ditch Craigslist roommate search.

He should have known the consequences, he supposes.

Another sigh escapes his lips as he turns his attention away from the luggage. “_____, I’m only leaving for three months.”

You wail again, this time, your arms stretching across the cool, granite counter to push the bowl away from yourself. You’ve wholly lost your appetite, ready to wreak havoc as you slide off the stool you’re sat on and stomp your way over to him.

“I don’t care about you leaving me!” Seokjin scoffs at this statement, returning his focus to the open suitcase laid on the floor in front of him. “I care about you stuffing me in this apartment with a complete stranger while you’re gone.” What was the fucker’s name again? Jon Q, John Cook? You’re furious, but of course, Seokjin fails to take notice of this. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone and scrolls through his extensive list of items to pack. He’s only gotten through half of it.

Your words don’t seem to have much of an impact on him, fueling your fury. “What if he tries to murder me? Or even worse, what if I end up murdering him? You won’t even be here to help me hide the body— this is a travesty!” This is followed with another signature sigh, all drama, your wrist shooting up to your forehead as you dab at invisible sweat.

You briefly think you might actually hate Seokjin.

He pauses, dropping his phone into the open luggage before craning his head towards you. Blinking, purely baffled by the lunacy he has to constantly put up with, he internally gives his utmost gratitude to the heavens that his work has sent him on this European trip tomorrow. Three clean months of the peaceful canals of Venice, the Colosseum in Rome, the Eiffel Tower in Paris and most importantly, three lovely quiet months away from you. Suddenly, three months no longer seems an eternity to him. How could it? He assesses you top to bottom, seeing nothing more than a rabid young woman scorned, hands placed sternly on her hips, expectant of a reply.

No sir, three months is not long enough at all.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks through gritted teeth. “You are the most melodramatic person I know— you think you can afford to pay my rent for the next three months?” This shuts you up momentarily.

For a moment, you’re disarmed. You can’t argue that he’s right, and you hate admitting it’s the only reason for your new (temporary) roommate.

Releasing his nose, he looks at you, warming a little. “Look, he asked to stay here -temporarily- until he finds his own place. He’s my best friend; wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

That final bit had the effect he wanted it to, and boy, did it sting. Of course, you’d do the same for your best friend. The only trouble is that you know very little information about this John Cook character, only getting brief details about him moving into the big city for the first time and Seokjin “graciously” providing him a rental until he can find something more permanent. It isn’t a fault on Seokjin’s half. You just don’t know the poor bastard.

Beyond that, you know this guy is a Taekwondoin, moving here to join one of the most prestigious Taekwondo academies in the country. Your blood runs cold in a sudden rush, a certain grim realization dawning on you that you’d absolutely be no match for him if he did try to kill you. Perhaps Seokjin has told you so late because he too wants you dead. You really shouldn’t have met him through Craiglist.

You consider leaving a lengthy, final Tumblr post in remembrance of your inevitable end, hoping one of your 12 followers would come forth and save you from a gruesome slashing. At best, someone saves your life. At worst, you’ve written your own eulogy.

Huffing a breath of frustration, something akin to a groan escapes you as you march back to the kitchen island for your now soggy bowl of cereal. It only fuels your now quiet rage further, but pettiness takes over, mentally muting Seokjin’s yelling profanities after watching you dispose of one of his favourite glass bowls. It’s the least you can do as revenge.

As it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is a nearly six feet tall mural of muscle and inked skin that rarely stays home. His dark wavy hair falls gracefully past his large doe eyes, and his plethora of tattoos litter the tight expanse of his neck and arms. Notably, the blossom of two red roses painted over the porcelain of his neck.

Though verbally a silent roommate, you find he vapes far too much and equally plays far too much Fortnite at odd hours of the night. He only comes out of his room to either make himself food or to leave the apartment, and a couple of times you could have almost sworn he might’ve been doing his laundry. He’s a feast to lay eyes on, that much is irrefutable but he leaves at least one utensil unwashed after eating, irritating you to an unprecedented degree.

Jungkook also enjoys eating ramen at two in the morning- you know this because it wakes you up almost every time you hear the microwave blare its oppressive siren. He also figures he must shower each time he returns home from being out, suitably fattening your poor water bill. You’ve only briefly spoken to him a handful of times, mostly about house rules and a tour of the facilities.

It’s only been two weeks since he’s arrived, yet you already seem to despise him- sending Seokjin angry messages from across the globe about this, all of which have been ignored. You’ve been too busy lately anyway, rarely seeing Jungkook who seems to be out for most of the day.

However, it’s today that you finally catch him when you’re just coming home from work. He sits at the kitchen island, flipping through a comic while he loudly chomps on an open bag of shrimp chips, pausing to look at you as you make your way inside.

You’re on speakerphone with your friend Nari, both of your arms too occupied and laden with groceries to normally hold the phone to your ear. Upon seeing this, Jungkook gets up from his seat and immediately rushes to lend a hand. He’s completely shirtless, his loose dark sweatpants hugging the low subtle curve of his hips, and it’s only then that you notice the mosaic of more tattoos scattered across his skin beyond his full sleeves and the two red roses on his neck. He has much more than you had initially seen, a large black and white snake running over his pelvic bone. It draws your eyes forward, let’s it linger over to his bare abdomen, untouched with ink and defined with muscle. You can see it evidently, the indents carved into him as if he’s been sculpted from the finest of limestone.

You catch yourself from staring, thanking him with a silent bow of your head as he turns away from you, all the bags of groceries now racked effortlessly down his taut arms. Your momentary and involuntary ogling is cut short by Nari’s voice booming through the loudspeaker of your phone.

“God, you really need to get laid soon- I’m tired of you being so grumpy.” You freeze, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I already deal with one grump on a daily, I don’t need to add another to my inventory.”

Fuck. “Yeah, well, working on it!” You titter nervously into the microphone. It’s all in vain, for Nari is relentless in her pursuits.

“Didn’t you say your new roommate was hot? Just fuck him, that’d be pretty convenient. It’s like, like...dick-on-demand!” She laughs, guffawing into the mic as though it’s the most hilarious thing she has ever said. You stand there, eyes wide and mortified as the cackle from the other end of the line sounds more villainous than genuine humour. Her words linger still in the air, and a very deep desire to Crtl+Z yourself from life’s current existence fills your petrified body.

You know Jungkook has heard the words because he pauses in his step very briefly, faint stutters in his movement as his back stays turned towards you. Before you catch the slightest motion of his head about to look over his shoulder, you’re whipping around and fumbling for your phone. With the greatest deft you can muster, your thumbs desperately try smashing the giant red ‘end call’ button.

To no avail, the phone screen freezes, Nari’s cackling report still filing through.

You think this feels like a nightmare. In fact, you’re certain you’ve had a nightmare precisely like this before. Except this is real, very much real and you’re humiliated. cheeks surely flushed crimson as you tut in annoyance at your malfunctioning product of capitalism.

Jungkook simply clears his throat and continues moving towards the kitchen once again, acting as if nothing has happened. Under any other circumstances, you would almost be offended, but given the current nature of what has just transpired, you both let the feeling pass. “Anyway,” Nari continues and you wish she’d shut up. “I gotta go, Yoongi just got Minecraft and I’m going to give him the best head of his life,” she groans into the mic in satisfaction. “I love you, bye!” She cuts the mic, completely and blissfully unaware of the impending Armageddon she’s inadvertently spawned. You’re stood there in horrified silence, counting to five in your head before you’re very anxiously swivelling around.

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. What could you even say?

Jungkook cuts in. “I’ll uh, put these away. Don’t worry about it.” He beams you a rather charming grin, completely devoid of any awkward tension that filled the air moments ago. Somehow, this surprises you far more than if he had acknowledged it.

You thank him with haste, your feet acting much quicker than your head as you swiftly cut across the kitchen towards the hallway where your bedroom stands. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, your face is surely now painted just as red as Jungkook’s bag of shrimp chips on the counter.

Perhaps it’s to ease yourself more than anything that you decide to get angry over this situation. You’re not angry at Nari, no, you’re angry at Jungkook. Who was he to waltz into your apartment and have you monitor your phone calls? And be shirtless nonetheless? Had he no manners? Why should you have to tiptoe around him? You think if this were Seokjin, he wouldn’t nearly make everything so uncomfortable for you in your own place of living. Seokjin would also wash all his dishes and sleep at a reasonable time. This thought only fuels you more.

The words slip out of you before you can even comprehend stopping. “For Christ’s sake wear a shirt while I’m home, I don’t need to see you prancing half naked around the apartment. This isn’t Magic Mike, it’s home- my home.” You bark, halting Jungkook in his movements as he goes to place a new carton of milk into the fridge. He turns to look at you, the dangle of his silver earrings glinting against the light and you almost grimace at how attractive he looks in this moment.

Before he can respond, you’re pivoting away from him and walking towards your bedroom.

You slam your door with a thud and let out a strangled groan. Perhaps it was too harsh, the anger is now replaced with further distress. You toss yourself onto your mattress, stuffing your face into the nearest pillow and restraining yourself with every ounce of self-control you have from screaming your lungs out into it.

You hadn’t even called Jungkook hot, you had mentioned that he was conventionally attractive- which wasn’t a lie in the slightest. You’re half tempted to call her back and scold her good for the humiliation she’s so blissfully unaware of causing, but as you pick up your phone, a text flashes across your screen with a name you’re all too familiar with. And all too soon, your agitation grinds to a halt, dissipates and metamorphosizes into a goofy, toothy grin.

Taehyung - [1 New Text Message]

Kim Taehyung works just across the room from you on the seventh floor of the accounting firm. He has rich blonde hair and plump pink lips that he constantly wets with a dab of his tongue. You swear he’s been purposely winding you up recently, the brushes against your skin too frequent, the lingering stares too prolonged and the husk in his voice too low when he speaks to you. You’ve had a crush on Taehyung since you’ve started working at the firm, two years ago. Of course, he’s completely unaware of this.

5:44pm [Taehyung]: Hey, can I ask you for a favour?

The squeal you let out is unbearable, even to you. You feel the reminiscence of being back in middle school when your sixth-grade crush, Park Jimin had asked you to the Halloween dance. Of course, that night had ended terribly for you, catching Jimin and your rival, Sooya slow dancing while you went to get unnaturally lukewarm fruit punch from the snack bar. But much like right now, you remember the butterflies fluttering through your entire body the night before the dance.

Feeling the crimson warmth return to your cheeks, you clutch your phone to your chest while a coy smile stretches across your lips. You practice your well-rehearsed, five-minute wait before texting Taehyung back, typing and retyping your response until you’re satisfied with a legible reply. Pursing your lips, you go back and forth between adding a smiley face or not, ultimately choosing to go with one just to further the delusions in your head that adding one will somehow make him fall madly in love with you.

5:50pm [You]: of course you can! :)

You gasp when your phone vibrates within seconds, a giddy coo leaving you as his name flashes once more across your screen. You slap a hand over your mouth when you hear the footsteps of Jungkook pass by your door, your eyes darting towards the shadow of his feet seen just underneath the crack of your door. His room- rather Seokjin’s room- is right next door to yours, another unfortunate occurrence in your miserable life.

5:50pm [Taehyung]: Could you possibly drop me off at the airport tomorrow morning? I’ll treat you to breakfast on the way!!

Your grin grows tenfold, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in its hold as you glide your fingers over the keyboard with an answer.

5:52pm [You]: it’d be my pleasure!!

It seems as if everyone but you and Jungkook were going away on vacation from this hell city. Perhaps you may be in need of one too.  

You drop Taehyung off at the airport at five in the morning. You think it should be illegal for anyone to wake up at such an hour. You hadn’t had much time to sleep, Jungkook’s nightly ramen snacking occurring at exactly two in the morning, just two hours before you were supposed to be awoken by the chirps of your alarm. As if the morning couldn’t have gotten any worse, you had learned Taehyung was travelling abroad to meet his very long-term and long-distance girlfriend for the first time. Your luck seems to have worsened as you’ve aged. All the signs you thought you’d seen of him visibly showing his interest in you had all been in your head.

By the time you reach home, it’s six, the sun barely peeking through the hillside view from your apartment and your eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep. A yawn escapes you as you place your keys on the kitchen counter before you kick off your shoes and shuffle towards the living room in a slump. You plop onto the couch, releasing a long exhale as you lift your feet up to lay more comfortably.

Briefly, you think you should stay up and get your day started, as you reckon most people who have their shit together would do as such. Unfortunately for your itinerary, you’re not most people and you’re certainly not someone who has their shit together. You’re _____ and you’re now dreaming, dreaming of a single Kim Taehyung.

His mouth is on yours, golden locks under the tight grip of your fingers and his cock is steadily rocking into you, fingers digging into your sides. He has you seated on the bathroom counter, your legs circled around his waist as his sharp thrusts elicit the neediest of cries from you.

“Taehyung!” You’re moaning, eyes rolled so far back into your skull, you feel the pull of your optic nerve. Loosening your grip on Taehyung’s hair, he moves away from your mouth and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck. Every curve of his dick plunges in calculated fashion into your cunt, egging you closer to your undoing.

Another sharp thrust has your entire body shuddering, a lapse of jitters filling you as your orgasm rumbles through you. When Taehyung lifts his head from the crook of your neck, you gasp. For when you look at his face, it’s no longer Taehyung, it’s now Jungkook.

He offers a lopsided smirk, an indent of his dimple forming around the right side of his mouth while a finger trails down your cheek.

“Wake up,” the apparition whispers.

You gasp awake, spine shooting upright as you heave heavy breaths. Skimming your hands over your face, you let out a frustrated groan, bewilderment and daze hitting you as you land right back to reality.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You hear a low voice and you immediately shriek, arms hugging yourself in a mock attempt to hide yourself even if you are fully clothed at the moment. You look over, glancing at the tall, frozen figure stood in the kitchen. His doe eyes are wide, startled by your reaction, dark hair wavy and long, clinging around the edge of his pale face and you can see the faintest trace of the red ink on his neck underneath the loose collar of his black hoodie. He’s got a knife in one hand and a half-cut tomato laid on a cutting board in front of him. “I-I was going to wake you up for lunch but…” His face has suddenly flushed to a shade of rose, tongue swiftly dabbing at his bottom lip. He clears his throat and hesitates before looking away. “Y-you seemed engrossed in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.” What was that supposed to mean?

When you look behind him, the pot on the stove is steaming and it’s then that you catch the aroma of sauteed onions and oregano. Naturally, your mouth instantly waters, eyes glancing over to the digital clock that displays itself on the stove. It reads as five minutes past noon and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before you’re blinking towards the time again. Had you really passed out for a solid six hours? How long had Jungkook been here? “You...don’t have work today?” You swallow, slowly raising up your feet.

Jungkook merely chuckles and shakes his head no. The silver of his dangling earrings swings with this motion. “I’m not working yet, I’m a student at Master Seong’s.” You had almost forgotten about the Taekwondo Academy, it’s the exact reason he’s now standing here in your kitchen cutting tomatoes. “Hopefully, I’ll be the one teaching by next year.” As he speaks, you notice he has a perfect set of pearly whites but then you think of course he does- anything that would make Jeon Jungkook less perfect at this point would be a micropenis. For whatever reason, that makes your blood boil but as much as you’re in disdain, the thought instantly brings attention to a sweltering puddle between your legs.

Your head shoots down, feet shifting uncomfortably as you feel a slick cling against your panties and it’s then that every aspect of your sex dream hits you in a movie montage. You had fully and wholeheartedly dreamt of Jungkook fucking you.

You gasp, unwillingly, feet losing balance before you catch yourself against the counter. Jungkook pauses and looks at you, a tentative eyebrow cocking in your direction in question.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, more curious than considerate. His voice seems to ebb and flow with the sultry ease that only he could— my god, maybe you do need to get laid.

You use your elbows to push yourself off the counter before you’re walking over to the stove, body brushing against Jungkook’s back as you reach for the vent switch.

“Next time you cook something, turn on the exhaust fan or else it’ll get smokey in here.” You say, voice stoic like ice in this smothering heat, ignoring the blatant arousal seeping out of your cunt. You brush past him once more to make way towards the hallway.

Jungkook sighs in defeat, watching as your figure disappears into your bedroom.

The moth outside your window bats against the patio light with a fierce determination that boggles your mind. You wonder what might be going through the moth’s head: does it ponder this alien, man-made warmth it now feverishly flutters around? Does it understand it in the slightest? Why else would such a simple creature be breaking the peace of a sticky midsummer’s eve?

You glance at the clock on your dresser. It’s now half past midnight, and you’re dying in this stupid heat. Perhaps it didn’t help that you had a six-hour nap, impressed by your ability to do so in broad daylight. And you can’t get it out of your head, the dream. It’s kept you horny all day- in need of relief. You think about the last time you’ve had sex, a one night stand with a tall, polite gentleman named Namjoon. It was quite possibly the best sex you’ve ever had, a shame you never caught his number.

With a less than pathetic groan of protest, you put your head between the pillow and the mattress, savouring the seconds of coolness that surround your head in a desperate bid to lower the temperature however you can. Something’s got to be better than stringing sex and a fucking invertebrate into the same train of thought this late at night.

Raising your head up from the pillow, you weigh your options. You’re not about to drink yourself to sleep, and your secret supply of ZzzQuil has run dry. Fortunately, you have a solution.

It’s nights like tonight that you can’t hold yourself back, orgasms helped you sleep better anyway. Your vibrator mocks you, blinking as it charges for the first time in weeks. You hear Jungkook shuffle on the other side of the room, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as you quietly reach your bedside table for a pair of headphones. You grasp at odds and ends until your fingers find purchase, and with a small sense of victory, you pull a very tangled mess of headphones from the drawer. You hear a cough on the other side and pause, gulping as if you’re fourteen all over again and just discovered the fruits of pleasuring yourself for the first time.

The vibrator’s LED light switches to a solid green, indicating its readiness to abuse your very untouched clit. You flush at the thought, yet eager as the familiar moisture pools in between your legs. You’re suddenly all too ready, all too demanding of the touch of a toy that you haven’t felt in too long. Why had you been putting this off for so long?

Unplugging it from the outlet next to your bed, you slip off your shorts and lay comfortably back onto your mattress. Another blush creeps onto your cheeks, your thumb unlocking your phone and opening the Chrome app. Making sure to switch to a private browser, you hesitantly type it in.

‘Pornhub’

The link loads embarrassingly quickly and you flush further, a mix of both the heat and your self chagrin marking the apples of your cheeks. You don’t even know what to look for, the home page overwhelming you with a variety of sinful thumbnails, begging to be clicked on. It almost makes you grimace in distaste, suddenly too aware of your surroundings and the situation at hand. You decide against pornography, gripping onto your imagination as you toss your phone aside and clear your throat, settling back onto the mattress with your eyes closed.

You’ll think about Namjoon. His broad hands, slender fingers and that deliciously thick cock. His moans, his honey skin and the way he was able to make you come twice that night.

Spreading your legs apart, you fixate the vibrator against your heat, gasping at the cool tip of the silicone already sensitive against your clit. You’re already soaked, the head gliding over your clit with slick.

It feels wrong when you turn the device on, the low buzz of vibrations filling the air. Brows knitted together, you picture Namjoon again. Trying to imagine the stroke of his tongue against your folds as the buzz of your vibrator rings through you, you gasp at the overwhelming sensation. Why didn’t you do this more often? You try to stay quiet, breathing growing laboured as the image of Namjoon between your legs morphs into something else. Rather, it morphs into someone else.

You see it in your head, your fingers threading through dark curls, legs pinned apart by two ink-sleeved arms. When you look down, you’re met by the intense gaze of brown doe eyes, his brows furrowed as his tongue flicks relentlessly against you. It’s almost as he’s smirking at you, the slightest quirk in his eyebrow implying that he knows he’d fucking you well with only his tongue. The image makes you shudder, shaking your head as you kick this sick fantasy out of your mind. Were you out of your mind?

On the other side of the room, Jungkook’s ears perk up to the sound of this low buzz. He hadn’t realized you were still awake. But as the buzzing intensifies, and a rhythmic deep breathing follows, it soon grows impossible to ignore. He has to be certain. Cautiously removing one earphone, he almost leans into the noise, cocking his head to the side.

No, that’s definitely you, alright.

You gasp as you apply more pressure to your clit, eyes rolling back from the waves of vibrations surging through your entire body. You can’t get it out of your head, imagining Jungkook’s taut arms holding you down, his tongue unforgiving against you. The moan that escapes you is wholly on accident, a hand slapping against your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself further.

Jungkook sits at his desk, dumbfounded. Were you really doing what he thought you were? Surely not. It’s then that hears the moan. It penetrates the thin wall that separates the two of you and stirs a familiar twitch in his boxers. He feels it press against the fabric, stretching with every heartbeat that knocks against his ribcage. His breathing begins to deepen, only letting his imagination wander as to what you were doing in this moment, merely a few feet away.

No, he thinks. Absolutely not. Behave yourself.

You’re…well, you’re moaning.

Fuck this, Jungkook’s inner dialogue protests. If you’re not going to play fair, then neither is he. He rises from his desk, tripping slightly over his office chair, clattering the plastic wheels against the hardwood floor. The sound reverberates through what feels like the entire house, and the silence is broken by the impact, which by all accounts seems far too noisy for its own good.

Jungkook freezes, terrified. The buzzing ceases just as suddenly, and the air is replaced with an undesirable discomfort.

Inside your room, your left hand tightens over your mouth the other switches off the vibrator. The kerfuffle seemed to have occurred frighteningly close, prompting a sudden cease to desist all sinful pleasures. The anxieties come in waves, one after another. Did he hear you? Oh God, how long was he listening? Was that even him?

A painful eternity passes. The silence fills the house once more, the crickets outside resuming their nightly song.

Jungkook half expects you to barge into his room, fuming at him for being a pervert and listening in but your feared assault never comes. If anything, his cock only seems to grow harder, the thought of you pleasuring yourself just on the other side of the wall so alluring, he begins to palm himself over his boxers.

You, on the other hand, upon the silence, convince yourself that he hadn’t heard after all. Surely, it was something else, Jungkook had probably already gone to bed.

Jungkook. Your lips form the shape of his name but no sound comes out, only a heavy exhale. This is wrong, beyond inappropriate and downright vulgar. It’s the dimples, you try to argue with yourself. Or those eyes, a deep coffee brown that take away from his masculine frame. It almost brings a childlike charm, distracts you from the surfeit of tattoos that mark his muscular build.

With impatience, you start the vibrator again, placing the device over your clit once more. You’re soaked beyond control, your own fingers itching to be stuffed inside yourself. Thumb hitting the setting button, the buzz of vibrations grow an octave higher as the intensity of the second setting rolls over your bead with a blast of euphoric pleasure. It’s almost too much, legs clamping shut as the judder of silicone repeatedly assaults your clit. Your panting growing quicker, inching you to tip over the edge. Oh, how you yearned to be filled with a cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, giving into the barbaric thoughts in his head. Quietly, he slides his boxers down his thighs and situates himself back onto his desk chair. His cock is throbbing, tip a blushed pink as his heartbeat begins to resonate harder. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you testing him? Teasing him? He rests his head back, eyes fluttering to a close as he holds the base of his painfully erect cock with his right hand.

His hand slowly begins to slide up and down his own length, twisting slightly whenever his fingers cross over his glans. The sensation fills him with ecstasy, and he can’t help but gasp as he tightens his grip and continues to stroke his cock. He thinks of you, on the other side of the wall with your legs spread, flushed and begging to be fucked. How well he’d fit inside you, how well you’d take him in your tight cunt and how you’d whimper his name into his ear. With these thoughts, his pace on himself quickens, breaths laboured against the air. This was wrong, so wrong but hearing you like this, imagining you sprawled on your bed in desperate need of his touch only pushes him further to his climax.

For a moment, he thinks about risking it all and just ripping your door open to fuck you into your next existence. He stays planted onto the leather seat, his hands roaming in a familiar rhythm.

You are minutes, seconds away from seeing strings of white. It’s when you raise your vibrator to its third setting that you come undone, biting the inside of your cheek as your orgasm plummets you to a new horizon and Jungkook’s name sits at the edge of your tongue.

You feel it spray out of you, your arousal sprinkling over your bed sheets in a clear indication of your collapse. You gasp and shudder, quick to turn off the device as its relentless motion becomes far too much for your sensitive clit.

You lay for a moment, gathering your bearings as your high lingers between the furrow of your eyebrows. Your head feels heavy, sleep overtaking every inch of your body and you begin nodding off almost instantaneously, vibrator still in hand. It’s when you shift to doze more comfortably that your thigh makes contact with a cool, wet splotch.

Your eyes spring open and you’re sitting up, flicking on your bedside lamp. You have just squirted all over your sheets, the damp puddle prominent and deride. You sit there in disbelief, blinking at the mess between your legs. You frown, suddenly becoming aware of the incessant pounding in your head from your high and you curse yourself for making such a mess.

Now you have to do the laundry, there’s no way you could sleep in these.

Jungkook is close, frustratingly so…it won’t take much at this rate for him to blow his load all over himself. He places his hand firmly around the chair handle, fingers gripping against the plastic. His other hand strokes faster than ever before, breaths deepening. And as he reaches his climax, the quietest of moans escape his lips, followed by your name. It’s so soft on his tongue, it feels uncouth. The trail of white fluid follows, spurts out of his cock and onto his stomach. He pants, quick to milk every ounce of himself with the squeeze of his palm around the edge of his head and then he’s reaching for his water bottle, taking a cool swig of the liquid.

He has to shower now, there’s no way he could sleep like this.

As you unhook the last of your sheets from the mattress, you quickly roll the fabric into a giant ball within your arms. You’re on your tippy-toes, hesitantly reaching for your door as you twist the knob and pull the barrier open. You look around, relieved to see the hallway engulfed in complete darkness. Jungkook’s door is closed, no light emitting through the cracks which means he must be asleep. Gingerly, you close the door behind you and tiptoe towards the end of the hall where the laundry room is- attached to the shared washroom.

You’re quick to stuff the sheets into the washer, loading the detergent into the cartridges and powering on the machine. The room’s lights aren’t even on, you’re too lazy to find them. Besides, the stark moonlight and LED of the washing machine are plenty of light enough. When you’ve set the machine to its cycle, you ponder on what the hell you can do with no bedsheets to aid in your sleep and your body covered in sweat.

Even if you are hotter than before, sweatier than before, slumber takes a toll on your body. Your head feels weighted, drowsy from your hard climax. You think a shower would work best, turning to go back into your room for a change of clothes when you bump into something, rather someone.

You shriek and take cover under your raised arms, a soft glow of white light sifting through the crack of your arms as the washroom lights get flickered on. Raising your head out of the shield of your arms, you find Jungkook standing in front of you, void of a shirt and clad by only a pair of boxers.

“Jungkook, what the fuck?” You can’t help it, your eyes wander, rake him from head to toe. You can see it, the ever so light outline of a bulge, something that is definitely nowhere near a micropenis.

“I was just...about to shower. I’m sorry- I didn’t know you would be out here, I would’ve worn more clothes” His gaze is soft with worry and you’re reminded of your earlier outburst. It was quite hypocritical of yourself when you’ve just fucked yourself on a sex toy to scandalous thoughts of him. His eyes flickers to the low drone of the washer and then back to you. “You’re doing laundry?”

Your cheeks flush, your voice hitching in your throat as you promptly pull up an excuse as to why you’re doing laundry at nearly two in the morning. “I-I spilled some tea on my sheets, I have to wash them.” You hope it’s convincing enough. “I was about to shower too.”

Jungkook regards you carefully, expecting a scolding for even asking but it never comes. You’re flustered and painted a shade of red he is familiar with. He’s only familiar with it because he too is the same shade of red. You two had been pleasuring yourselves, separately yet simultaneously. The memory almost brings a fresh wave of lust.

“Why are you showering at-” you glance at the time on your phone, “-one o’clock at night?” Jungkook doesn’t expect this question from you. You had never been interested in anything he did other than if it was something bothersome to scold over. He clears his throat and uses his slender fingers to push his hair back. You reckon he’ll need a haircut soon.

“I was exercising in my room.” Technically, masturbation was a certain form of exercise…  

The air is stiff, you feel it. It crosses both of your minds, had you heard one another? Was it obvious? You shift on the balls of your feet, teeth crashing down on your bottom lip. “Well, who’s gonna shower first?” You eye his practically unclad figure. It’s impossible to not take notice of the Adonis belt that leads your vision straight to his casual bulge. You look away. “Technically I was here first.”

Jungkook chuckles and pokes the inside of his cheek with a tongue. “Technically this is your house too, right?”

Your head drops to the ground, a shameful pout crossing over your features. Perhaps you were too harsh earlier, but you may just be feeling this way from the endorphins.

You go against the wish for a shower, it’s the least you can do. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, just letting you know. Please don’t make food at some obscure hour of the night or I will kill you.” With that, you push past him, your shoulder knocking against his arm as you head towards the living room.

To Jungkook, there’s something so beguiling about your clear disdain for him. He merely observes you from where he stands, feeling another rush of blood make way to his cock. How could you so ignorantly disregard that you had just been touching yourself? Did you really not know he could hear you? It baffles him, leaves him with another hard-on as he turns away, closing the washroom door behind him before he’s turning on the shower.

Today, you’ve had a shitty day.

Kim Taehyung has put in his two weeks' notice. He’s quitting this job to move halfway across the world and live with his girlfriend abroad and your boss had informed you one of your very own clients have committed tax fraud, costing your firm thousands. Along with this, you’ve spilled coffee over your white button-up and the hair tie holding your crisp bun up had snapped to unleash your unbrushed, unwashed owl’s nest.

When you walk into the apartment, you almost don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was strategically placed in the foyer by Seokjin, his scientific reasoning behind it being so he could start a positive day by looking at himself one last time before leaving the house. This logic seems like bullshit to you now. Your hair is a lion’s mane, your black bra visible against the translucent, chestnut coffee stain on your chest and your face is shiny from the amount of sweat you’ve had building up throughout the day from this sweltering heat.

Kicking off your heels, you take notice that Jungkook’s Pumas don’t take their usual occupancy on the shoe rack. This means he’s not home and this means, he wouldn’t be seeing you in this state. Relief floods over you.

Somewhere prior to the halfway point of Jungkook’s stay, your animosity for his presence seems to have expired ever so slightly. Perhaps it had to do with your newfound liking towards him from your late-night fantasies, or maybe it was because he had actually been putting more effort into working around the house as of late.

You barely see him now, and when you do, he’s usually made your food along with his own or he’s left you sticky notes telling you he’s taken out the garbage for you or cleaned the washroom. It has warmed your rigid heart but only to an extended degree.

Carding your fingers through your hair, you tame as much of it as you can before you’re unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting the air dry it out. Your bra feels slick against your skin, the mixture of coffee and sweat too unbearable. You unclip it from behind and toss it onto the bar stool by the kitchen island.

After opening the fridge for a can of iced tea, you walk over to the pantry for a snack to accompany the icy, perspiring drink. But before you can make it, you suddenly take notice of it, the twinkling mound of silverware against the sunlight seeping through the windowpane. You look down at the small pile of unwashed cutlery in the stainless steel sink, an inferno flickering in your chest.  

The feeling crawls back, the feeling of wanting to reinforce your disapproval of him. It’s an emotional memory, screaming at you to go back to your familiar disdain, to a more comfortable habit. Or maybe it’s your horrible day, everything bad that’s happened leading up to this breakdown. You feel like an overly emotional pregnant lady, getting fired up over unwashed spoons and forks but you can’t push it down. You’re seeing red.

A click is heard from the bathroom down the hall, followed by the tune of a cheerful whistle. You wrap the open ends of your shirt around your chest, crossing your arms as you stand in the kitchen and await the figure’s emergence from the shadowy refuge of the hallway. Jungkook now appears at the mouth of the hall, one arm rubbing a small towel against his wet hair and the other clutching the towel hanging off his hips. Upon seeing you, his whistle abruptly drops.

“Hey,” he begins nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be home—”

The words come out of you like rapid-fire, all “good deeds” he’s ever done as a roommate escaping through the vents. “You…” You begin, and he winces. “Do you see this?” You point to the sink. “How fucking hard is it to wash your own forks and spoons? Fuck, I’m so tired of picking up after you!”

You’re really unable to stop yourself, weeks of pent-up frustrations just now unleashing, lashing against the boy with such vigor, you can see a gulp send his Adam's apple to a bob. “For the record, if you’re going to smoke, do it the absolute farthest away from the apartment- I cannot stand the scent of fake strawberries and watermelon anymore.” Your arm motions towards the hallway, your foot stomping with it. Jungkook’s gaze very briefly strays to your shirt that unravels, just barely covering your breasts. Were you not wearing a bra?

“For every shower you take after the initial one, you have to set aside two dollars extra towards the water bill and for the love of all things holy, please start eating dinner at a reasonable time- you make it impossible to like you when I’m forced to wake up at two in the morning almost every single night.” With one push off the counter, you’re off towards the hallway to your bedroom, the heat of Jungkook’s stare burning into the back of your skull as you pass by him.

Jungkook sighs.

“I try, you know.” His quiet words halt you in your steps. “I knew you never liked me but I never knew why...that much was always a mystery. It never stopped me from trying to be the best damn roommate you’re ever going to have.” You twist around, taking in his stance. Now his arms are crossed, the towel once on his head now draped over his arm. “And yet you still hate me.”

You’re disarmed, mouth suddenly dry as you take in his words. Jungkook continues. “I...I just don’t get it- and I have to admit it’s a little disheartening,” He takes an idle step forward. “I don’t know what to expect from you- one moment you’re scolding me and the next…” His eyes trail to the exposed delve between your breasts, carefully covered underneath your unbuttoned shirt. You coil into yourself, wrapping your shirt over your chest again as you shift your gaze to the marks of ink blossomed over his skin. “And the next you’re staring at me.” Steadily dragging his gaze back up towards your eyes, he smirks and speaks again. “Kind of like you’re staring right now.”

If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s being called out. Your pride is wounded and you rise to the challenge, huffing a bemused breath. You shoot back with faux scorn. “I’m only staring because you’re practically naked in front of me. Have you no decency in the presence of a woman?” This makes Jungkook cock an eyebrow, and he finds himself closing more distance between the two of you.

He laughs, mirthless but nonetheless amused by your rebuke. “Usually in the presence of a woman like you, decency is the last thing on my mind.” Leisurely, you’re losing each other in one another’s gaze.

You scoff. “Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy, you and I both know you’re not near as good as you think you are.”

This statement catches you off guard, wholeheartedly. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes flicker between the towel that’s barely clinging around his waist to his eyes that have seemingly darkened, ablaze with something akin to salacity. Jungkook licks his lips, the length of his damp hair sending a tiny trickle of water down the side of his face. “And that doesn’t even count all the weird shit I’ve heard in this house.” Now you’re the one gulping, frozen in place as he takes another step closer. “You moan in your sleep, you moan when you touch yourself at night...” Your eyes widen in horror, he had heard you that night and possibly every night after that.

“I’ll never forget what your friend said on the phone, you know. With lips like that…you make it impossible to forget anything about you.”

Shit.

He’s gotten closer, much closer. With anyone else, the lack of distance between you would be nothing short of uncomfortable and unwanted, but you find yourself pulled towards him. The closing of the gap between you is mutual, and before you have a chance to shoot back a reply, his lips are hovering above yours. “Pretty lips that make pretty noises.” And then, his mouth is on yours.

Your knees nearly give out.

Before anything else, you’re filled with shock, an invasive shock. How could he be doing this?

He… He’s…he’s actually a pretty good kisser. You’re swept away, his arms cocooning around you. His lips pillow against your own, his tongue the taste of mint.

Jungkook is damp from his shower, his skin slick and cool under your touch as you slide your arms around his neck. This motion beckons you closer, pushing your lips harder against his. He walks you backwards and you follow suit, mouths remaining on one another as your back hits the wall right next to your bedroom door. There is absolutely no turning back now.

His hands are sliding down your body, feeling every curve of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes and kneads until he’s reached your ass. You moan into his mouth when he grabs handfuls of your bottom, a calculated grip that he uses to push your pelvic bone against his growing erection. This invites his tongue into your parted mouth, taking in the taste of yours into his own. They cushion around each other, a synchronous valse that only grows the moisture in between your legs. You feel his want for you build against your stomach, the thickness that lays just beyond his towel.

Jungkook’s teeth find the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh before he’s tugging at it. The whimper you let out only elicits a growl to emit from his chest, the hands on your ass now sliding up your sides until they’re cupping your face. It’s then that his clear want for you becomes evident, a taut prominence poking against your stomach.

“M’Jungkook…” You whimper into his mouth, his right hand moving from your cheek to the base of your neck. You gasp as his palm pushes against your sternum, the fingers wrapped around your neck tightening in the slightest as you’re pushed farther against up against the wall. Jungkook hums in response, his lips relentless against your own.

His mouth works in precise vigour against your own. It’s as if he has been starved of this moment for too long, days, weeks of holding himself back. You can’t stop yourself either, not quite being able to comprehend the happenings of this exact moment. Nights of pleasuring yourself to the thought of your roommate and here you two are, your cunt seemingly progressing into an ocean of slick and his cock ready to be smothered in it.

Jungkook pulls away, and when you get a chance to look at him, his cheeks are powdered in a shade of rose, his lips marginally swollen from your heated kissing and his eyes ablaze with a craving you can’t even describe. “Not so smart with that mouth now, are you?”

You swallow thickly, words failing you. Your eyes glance towards the roses stoic on his neck. Oh, how you’d like to lick over them. The situation is beyond words, and you reckon if it hadn’t been, that actions still would fare far better than words.

Jungkook drops to his knees in front of you and fiercely grabs your hips. You inhale sharply, head dropping as your fingers instinctively grasp for purchase against his impossibly broad shoulders. They’re marked with feathers that lead down his biceps in the shape of wings. You can’t help but dig in, your nails leaving thin red crescents slashing across the ink as your back rests against the wall.

“You think you can get away moaning my name every night?” He groans, alternating between breaths and kisses around your pelvis, slowly moving past your navel. His fingers hook around the belt loops in your pants, his free hand eagerly tugging down your zipper. With precision, he pulls your pants down until you’re clad in only your underwear. Thank God, you chose today of all days to wear a thong. The baby pink silk, smooth underneath his fingertips. Jungkook looks up at you wishfully, his doe eyes radiating a boyish innocence that contradicts the ink littering his skin. But then he speaks, his voice a soft growl.

“I hope you taste as delicious as you look,” he says, not doubting for a second that you won’t as he bites the elastic of your thong. You are breathless; it’s hard not to be when Eros himself is between your legs, yearning for a taste of your dripping sex.

Your breath catches in your throat, Jungkook’s thumb skimming down your pubic bone to where you want, need it the most. You shiver as he circles against your clit through the cloth, a purposeful pressure that has you tightening your grip on his shoulders. He can feel the moisture against the fabric, your arousal clinging against the material.

“I didn’t even have to touch you and you’re already this wet for me, baby?” He licks his lips, fingers running up and down your thighs. The nickname baby stays with you, lingers and only soaks you further. You roll your head back against the wall, letting his fleeting fingers latch around the band of your thong before you feel them being tugged down your legs.

It’s almost instinctive for you to want to cross your leg over the other, to keep Jungkook from seeing you so bare and needy for him. But of course, Jungkook doesn’t let this happen. He kisses your right hip bone before tracing a bold lick diagonally down to your pelvis. Your fingers rub against his shoulders, one hand gliding up the back of his head to comb through the mass of his damp dark curls.

Jungkook hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, letting the balm of your foot rest against the delve of his back as he spreads you above him. A broad hand pushes your hip back against the wall, the one leg you’re balanced on steady underneath his aiding grip. He uses his free hand to run his second and third digit up and down your wet folds. You shiver.

He looks up at you once more. This time, a lopsided smug grin adorns his face as he beams you a set of perfect teeth, the familiar indents of his dimples marking against his lower cheeks. “I’m going to make you come so hard.” You’re moaning in response to this, leg wavering as you feel the slide of Jungkook’s forefinger push into you. He hums in appreciation, your tightness inviting the chafe of his finger. He places a chaste kiss just above your pubic bone as he begins a slow rhythmic pump of his finger.

“Fuck,” you breath out, the ridges of his calloused digit filling you far greater than your own ever has. You can’t even begin to imagine how his dick will feel, your fingers laced into his hair tightening their hold as well.

It’s when you feel the point of Jungkook’s deft tongue stroke against your clit that you cry out, his hand gripping your hip harder against the wall as he feels you waver above him. Your eyes flutter to a close, letting him have his way with you against his tongue. He uses it mercilessly, flicks pointed and dexterous against your clit as his finger pushes in and out of your tight heat. “Oh my god, Jungkook.” He inserts another finger and you nearly lose yourself.

Your eyes are rolled back, your hips involuntarily jerking away from Jungkook’s grip as they push forward in search of more of his mouth. You feel it bubbling inside you, each stroke of his fingers and each swirl of his tongue making it impossible for you to focus on anything else but this feeling. He laps around your clit, strict and continuous. When you open your eyes to look down, you see his gorgeous hair enveloped in the thread of your fingers. You’ve never been eaten out against a wall like this and it only adds more to your impending undoing.

Jungkook’s digits move quicker now, with each pump comes a curl that elicits the neediest of whimpers to fall past your lips. He feels his cock twitch with every sound you make, a melodic hymn to his ears. He alternates between sharp flicks and taking the whole of your clit with his mouth in a gentle siphon. This time there is no barrier of a wall between the two of you, this time he can hear you as vividly as he hears the tits chirp outside his window every morning and this time, you are not using a vibrator on yourself, he’s fucking you with his tongue.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke. You are close, so very close and the feel of his relentless tongue lapping around your clit along with his slender fingers has you seeing nothing but the ceiling above you. Jungkook picks up the pace of his tongue as well, his head moving in vigour as he fervently pushes the wet muscle against your bead.

He senses it coming before you do, his tongue and fingers in a violent rhythm. You jerk above him, your hold on his hair impossibly tight as you let yourself go, crying out his name from your orgasm. He feels your squirt spray out of you, it coats his mouth and chin, sprinkling even to his chest as you shake above him. Jungkook does not stop, digits pumping even faster, tongue continuing their assault.

You chant his name as you writhe underneath his grasp. The sensation becomes too much within seconds of your orgasm but somehow his persistence makes it feel as if you can come all over again.

“J-jungkook p-please,” you beg, your fingers unraveling from his hair and tightening onto his shoulders as you try to push him away. He follows suit, unlatching his mouth from your heat before languidly rising to his feet.

When you look at him, his lips are swollen and painted in your clear arousal, your squirt coating down the cleft of his chin, streaming his neck and sprinkled across his chest. It matches his damp hair, uniform with the wetness of his previous shower.

“You...just...squirted. All over me.” You can’t quite tell if this statement holds aversion at first. Truth be told, you’ve never squirted from a man’s tongue against you.

Jungkook steps closer. “Do you know how fucking hot that was?” You don’t know, but Jungkook is taking your hand into his and placing it over it his very hard bulge. You gasp at the feel underneath your palms, unyielding to your touch. It’s far greater of a bulge than you’ve ever felt before.

You smell yourself on him, a faint fragrance that you taste when Jungkook leans forward to kiss you with greed. His mouth his sticky, kisses lingering against your lips. When he pulls away, his fingers glide over the knot that holds his towel up. You watch him, eagerly as he pulls at the twist, letting the towel to fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

“Oh my god,” you catch yourself saying out loud.

Jungkook is big. Larger, thicker than you could have ever imagined. An erect serpentine that lays firmly in his hand as he takes the base of his cock in his palm, you can’t look away. You gulp, eyes flickering between his daunting length and his growing smirk. Your mouth suddenly feels parched, a tentative tongue poking through the seams of your lips to swipe over your lips. Something about him not using the towel to directly wipe off your squirt makes your stomach flip with somersaults, so aroused by the idea of him wearing your ograsm on him with pride.

Jungkook twirls his forefinger in the air. “Turn around,” he commands and you oblige, twisting your body as you lay the flat of your palms against the cool wall. Jungkook pulls at your hips, mumbling words of profanities as your ass grinds against his thick erection. He already feels so full against your heat.

Kicking your legs open and apart, his feet stand in between yours, making it impossible for you to close them. He places a kiss against your shoulder, your forehead rested flush to the wall as a tender hand kneads at the cheek of your ass. He spanks it once, the echo of both the slap and your yelp of surprise travelling down the hall.

Hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, his damp hair tickles your neck as he whispers. “Think you can take it, baby?”

“Y-yes.” Your answer is short and breathless, hips instinctively grinding against him for further proof of your want. This earns you another spank and Jungkook is taking the base of his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with his free hand as he lines up to your cunt.

He nudges past your folds with his head, speaking in a low growl. “Good girl. Now let’s hear you scream.” He pushes in.

The stretch of his tip pressing into you tingles with a sizzling burn, the pressure that follows has your fingers curling against the wall and an arm reaching back to grasp onto Jungkook’s hip.

He takes your offering hand, interlocking your fingers together as he pushes another inch into you before pulling back out. He lets you adjust, your mixed moans echoing throughout the hallway as he juts his head forward to fill you once again.

His girth pinches against your walls, deliciously so and Jungkook pauses every couple of moments to let you feel every inch fill you until he’s reached the hilt.

He lets your hand go and you bring it back to press against the wall in aid of holding you up. “That’s it, baby...take every inch of it.” His voice is low, husky, something so carnally divine in the clip of his syllables that it has you rolling your head back. “You’re doing so fucking good. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you say as you exhale shakily.

He rolls out of you, his name just on the edge of your tongue before he’s thrusting forward to have it spill out of your mouth. The velvet smooth feel of Jungkook’s cock mixing with your slick arousal makes the pinching sensation come to an ease. He’s swearing behind you, alternating between muttered profanities and guttural moans.

“So. Fucking. Tight. You feel so good, baby, taking me so well.” His fingers are firmly grasping onto your hips, his thrusts now beginning a steady rhythm as he steadily fucks you against the wall. Jungkook’s girth knocks the breath out of you, a full pressure that fills your tight cunt so satisfyingly, you almost lose yourself a second time within minutes from your first orgasm.

Jungkook is panting behind you, fingers surely leaving bruises against your skin as he speeds his hips to pound into you. He loosens his grip, three of his digits tracing a line down your spine before cutting around your waist and hovering above your clit. “Come again for me, baby. One more time, squirt for me.” It’s with these words that you decide, you don’t want to squirt on the floor once more, you want to squirt on him, on top of him.

“W-wait.” You reach your arm back, pressing the flat of your hand to his hip in a gesture to stop. He stills immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” The worry in his voice only causes you to release a breathless laugh, shaking your head no in reassurance.

“I want to ride you.” How could Jungkook ever say no to that? Without a beat of hesitance, he slides out of you, taking his cock in his hand before lightly tapping the head against each of your cheeks. Gripping your waist, he spins you to face him, a dimpled smile greeting you as you reach his gaze.

“Mm, is that so?” He asks and you nod, returning his smile. The dim glow of sunlight pouring into the hallway allows you to see the glowy sheen of his sweat and your arousal glimmer against his face and chest, enhancing his tattoos. The dampness of his curls have dried but a new layer of perspiration forms a film over his forehead.

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, leaning forward to place a chase kiss on his lips before you’re leading him into your bedroom. You walk him backwards, your hands on his shoulders and his eyes focused nowhere but on yours. It’s when the back of his knees knock against the edge of your bed that he’s forced to have a seat.

He expects you to straddle him, you see it in the glimmer of his doe eyes but instead, you drop to your knees in front of him, arms separating his inked thighs apart. This takes Jungkook by surprise, he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raising in question.

You hands glide up and down his legs, a grin stretching across your face as you lean forward and place a gentle peck to the base of his thick cock. Jungkook hums in satisfaction, eyes holding a challenge as he watches you with great concentration.

The pink of his head looks all too inviting as you take his cock in your hands. As you do so, Jungkook’s hands roam up your arms before they’re resting on each of your shoulders. He benignly grips at the tense muscles of your shoulders, thumbs moving in circles over your skin. “You’re tense.” He vocalizes.

“You’re fucking huge.” You hit back, eyes wide and mouth salivating at the heaviness in your grasp. It’s tacky, coated in you as you swipe a thumb over the head and Jungkook hisses above you. When you look up at him, his dark eyes are speared to your movements, teeth gritted. You begin moving your hands up and down his length.

“You can take it in your mouth, can’t you?” The tone in his voice depicts a challenge and your ears nearly perk in interest. Of course you can take him in your mouth. You lean forward, Jungkook’s broad hands leaving the expanse of your shoulders to slide up the sides of your head. His fingers comb your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. The movement flexes the muscles on his inked biceps and you have to admit to yourself that he looks so fucking good.

Jungkook is all too eager as he watches you, the flat of your tongue sticking out to lick around the rim of his head. He chokes back a groan, grip on your hair tightening. You stretch your mouth as wide as you can, a discomfort to your movement as you engulf the whole of his head with your tongue. Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, fingers threaded into your hair as he eases you down to take more of him.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning a slow suction. “Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles from above you, shifting on the mattress, watching you. “Open wider, baby.” You do as asked, jaw already sore from the girth of his head alone. He pushes his hips off the mattress in the slightest, grip on your hair firm as he thrusts more of himself into your mouth.

You’re careful not to let your teeth graze over the skin of his cock, your fingers tightening around his length before you start to twist your wrists and continue sucking. Jungkook is careful to be gentle with you, very tenderly urging his cock to fill more of your mouth. It shocks you when you feel the blunt of his head hit the cap of your airway, eliciting a gag.

Jungkook pulls out a millimeter before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. Your mouth looks so pretty stuffed with his cock; it’s almost as pretty as your cunt taking him to the hilt.

Another gag rumbles out of you and vibrates against his member, this time, Jungkook being the one to moan. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the walls of your bedroom, followed by the guttural moans of Jungkook as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva as you find purchase of the flesh of his thighs. You let him have his way with you, your mouth stretched as wide as you can physically make it and a single thread of a tear rolling down your cheek. You look up through the flutters of your eyelashes, pleased to see the Adam’s apple in Jungkook’s throat bob up and down while his head is thrown back in pleasure.

The sudden pull of his cock from your mouth comes with a light ‘pop’ followed by you gasping for air. Using his hold on your hair, he jerks your hair back so you’re forced to look up at him. He hungrily latches his lips onto yours, sloppy and wet with a relentless tongue that intrudes your mouth.

You slide your hands over his thighs, towards the ridges of muscles on his abdomen as he helps you rise to your feet. Your right palm travels up his chest, your other arm circling around Jungkook’s neck as you let him grab a handful of your ass. With a persuasive lift, he places you on his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso as his mouth remains on yours.

“M’let me ride m’you,” you gasp in between kisses, Jungkook’s toned arms looping around your waist as he shuffles closer to the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah?” He moves from your mouth to the edge of your jaw.

“Please.” Jungkook loosens his grip around your waist, letting you rest the front of your calves on either side of him. You situate yourself, raising your hips as your hand finds his still, very erect length to line against your core.

“Look at you so needy for my cock, don’t hate me so much anymore?” The smugness in his tone only grants him a glare from you, a chuckle following his tease. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in need of you too.” You have noticed, his massive cock hasn’t wavered in want in the slightest since he first kissed you.

You huff a breath. “I never hated you.” Rubbing his head a few times over your sex, you finally sink down onto it, your cunt eagerly taking in his head. You gasp at the feel of this new position, his length gliding in much smoother with your previous practice. “You just need to start washing your fucking dish- ah!” You cry out, hands fumbling to grasp at his shoulders as Jungkook juts his hips up, slamming into you. His girth stretches your walls once again and he feels so fucking delicious in you like this. Quite frankly, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to go back to an average sized penis ever again.

“Mm, I should keep pissing you off if it means I get to shut you up like this.” His voice hitches at the last word as you pick your hips up and ram yourself back down onto his cock. You both moan at this, your arms once again looping around Jungkook’s neck as his hands firmly grip your hips in guidance.

Your teeth clash as you kiss him with each bounce of your hips, the position more so letting you gently rock over his cock. Your clit rubs against his skin with each roll of your hips, making sure you alternate between circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Jungkook is losing himself, you know this because he holds you tightly, firmly as he lets you take control. You ride him hard and slow, the pre crescendo to his coming end.

“Come for me, Jungkook,” You moan against the shell of his ear, legs losing stamina as you try to keep a rhythmic pace. But Jungkook doesn’t want to finish just yet, he wants you to come again too.

You yelp as he slides his hands under your ass, lifting you off him before he’s throwing you onto the mattress so you’re on your back. He stands up, above you at the edge of your bed, taking your knees in the crevice of his elbows before yanking you towards him.

“Where is it?” He gruffs, fingers gripping your waist.

“What?”

“Your vibrator, where is it?” If you weren’t flushed already from Jungkook’s cock, you’d be blushing at his knowledge that you even had one. You stretch your arm above you, fingers reaching underneath a pillow where you usually keep it hidden. Grasping the device in hand, you bring it out, idly waving it in front of the ink-skinned boy. He grins, the youthful boy-like glint returning in the doe of his eyes as he releases your leg from the arm that extends to retrieve it from you.

Inspecting the controls, he finds the power button, clicking it on. A low buzz fills the room. the words that follow leaving you breathless again.

“Ah...now there’s the noise I like to hear every night.” Clicking it back off, Jungkook places it carefully next you before hooking your leg back around his elbow, hoisting your hips up. You watch with eager eyes as he pokes his tongue past his lips, letting a string of saliva drizzle carefully over his cock. He smooths the slick over his cock, letting it coat the entirety of his length before he’s guiding his head against your opening.

He gently slaps his head against your clit before rubbing against it, letting your arousal build once more. You shift your hips in impatience, fingers gripping tightly against your sheets. Jungkook leans down towards your mouth, claiming your lips once more, hard and deep. He tastes of sweat and your arousal, a tinge of salt that you lick away. When he pulls away, he’s pushing his cock into you again.

The curve of his dick hits differently with this position, now he has more control with hitting just the right spots. He’s slow at first, frustrating slow as if he’s testing each stroke of his hips to see how you react. When he’s surging forward until he’s got an inch remaining, you’re crying out loud.

“Here?” He asks and you nod profusely, words unable to form on your tongue. Jungkook pushes even deeper, another cry escaping your lungs at the new fullness. Your grip around your sheets grow tighter, teeth harshly biting down on your lip as he begins steady rock in and out of you.

You’ve never been filled so well like this, his cock hitting every surface area of your inner walls as he stretches you delectably with each roll of his hips. He fucks into you, hard and deep, changing from circling his hips to pistoning into you with no mercy. He talks filth into the air, profanities and moans chased by the sounds of skin slapping as he relentlessly plummets into you.

He can feel you about to come, the pressure of your clenched walls tightening around him to un unprecedented degree. With each thrust, your cunt only eagerly invites him back in, needy for his spurts of cum. This is when Jungkook grabs the vibrator he placed beside you, thumb quick to power the device on. You yelp and mewl as he places the silicone tip against your clit, the vibration ringing through both of you. The sensation is overwhelming, the girth of his cock mixed with the jolts of your stimulated clit leave you near screaming his name. You shake underneath him, legs quivering as you feel the rise of your orgasm build through your entire body.

“You can squirt again, baby. I know you can. I know you want to.” Your body jerks and still as the combination of one more thrust and the vibe hit you exactly where you need it to, to come undone. Jungkook doesn’t fight it, the pressure of your squirt pushing his cock out of your tightness. “That’s it, darling, so fucking hot.” He keeps the vibrator on you and you whimper, releasing the clutch of the sheets as you flail your arms towards the vibrator in an attempt to push it away from you. Jungkook does not budge.

“P-please, fuck, Jungkook...it’s too much, please.” He does not stop, watching you with intent as your body shakes underneath his control of the vibrator. He knows you can come again.

“One more time.” Your legs are desperately trying to clamp shut but Jungkook expertly holds your legs apart with his torso as he continues assaulting your clit with the silicone. It buzzes against you, rings through your entire body and within minutes you’re coming all over again. It’s so intense, you nearly black out, your voice clamouring to a scream of Jungkook’s name.

He turns it off and throws it somewhere on the mattress before he’s sliding into you with ease. He fucks your squirt back into you with a push of his cock.

This time, Jungkook wastes no time. This time, he drills into you, clamping your legs together as he pushes them forward until your knees hit your chest. This position allows him to go deeper, watching your cunt swallow every inch of his cock with greed along with every thrust of his hips. He feels his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Each snap of his hips become sloppier, his laboured breathing sporadic as his fingers dig harshly into your calves.

“Where do you want me to come?” He rasps, pulling your legs apart once more.

“I-inside me, please.” Your words elicit a mumbled fuck from him followed by a groan. You watch him through lidded eyes, your head thick and heavy from your plentiful of orgasms. Jungkook looks like the God of sex himself above you, sweat dribbling down his forehead, his dark long waves spilling over his eyes, his inked chest glistening and his muscles flexing with every grind of his hips into you. He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “Come, Jungkook,” you coo, egging him to come undone. “Come inside me.”

With the last phrase, his hips stutter and still before he’s gasping for a breath as he spills himself into you. He shouts your name, voice getting caught in his throat. He steadily moves again, milking every last drop of himself inside of you as your walls achingly aid him.

As he comes to a stop, the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your mixed heavy panting. Jungkook leans forward, pressing a heavy kiss against your lips before he’s pulling away from your mouth and away from your cunt. He watches, mesmerized as his cum dribbles out of you. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, your tight cunt filled to the brim with his seed.

“Fuck,” he pants, reaching his arm out to help you sit up. You roll your head forward into your palms, the rush of dopamine pounding into your skull with a massive headache. “You okay?” He asks and you nod your head, face still encompassed by your hands.

“You...should piss me off more often.” Jungkook chuckles at this. When you look up from your hands, his wavy locks have a newfound dampness, beads of sweat encompassing his tattooed chest. He’s grinning, a lopsided grin that leaves you with a warm feeling pounding in your chest. 

Jungkook offers you a hand, guiding you off the bed. You take it, letting him pick you up to your feet with the strength of his biceps. 

“Yeah, yeah I should.” You’re both walking out your bedroom and towards the shower.

Seokjin wears nothing but a grimace at the kitchen island as he watches you and Jungkook coo at each other. He’s just returned from his trip abroad, hands crossed over his chest as he observes the blasphemy before his eyes. Jungkook is by the stove, flipping the last of Seokjin’s steak and you’re beside him preparing a salad on the counter.

“Disgusting.” Seokjin scowls. “I leave for three months and this happens?” He scoffs at the thought of the two of you cooking him steak for dinner, as if it would break the bearer of this terrible, awful news. You two are now dating. His best friend and his roommate- to Seokjin, it’s an ultimate betrayal.

You sigh and roll your eyes, setting your freshly made salad in front of him as Jungkook brings over a sizzling pan of steak. He wears a grin on his face, a grin that matches yours before you’re leaning on your tiptoes to kiss against the indented dimple against his lower cheek. Seokjin nearly gags at this.

He truly thought he’d be rid of you as soon as this lease had ended but here you were, snogging who he thought to be his best friend. He thinks he’ll have to burn his mattress too.

“Great,” he says, deadpan, picking up his knife and fork. “I’m stuck with you forever now.” With the greatest of fake enthusiasm, he musters a disingenuous smile and angrily digs into his steak.

He hates that it’s delicious. 

all rights reserved © jeongi

a/n: HEWWOOOO. how u feeling!? 🥴i REALLY!!! did not expect this fic to be so long holy shit im so sorry, i went out of control!!!! this was very loosely based off real-life events that were then fuelled by jungkook’s lotte concert look. and badda bing, badda boom, a 13k fic of pure smut is born and i am wholly unashamed of myself. i really hope you enjoyed reading this filth, it was very fun for me to write!!! please let me know what you think and as always, thank you for reading and i love youuuu 💞

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 23

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

It's harder to say it out loud.

Jon and Martin catch up.

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders. 

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy. 

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry. 

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop. 

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food. 

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.” 

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation? 

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.” 

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug. 

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines. 

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers. 

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?” 

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea. 

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flich. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering.”

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled. 

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.” 

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?” 

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch. 

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.” 

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

[letswrites]

what about feeling homesickness and Calum comforting her?

thaxxx! i changed a bit, hope you like ❤

Home

He was standing in front of her house, it's was a fresh end of the afternoon in LA, with a cool wind and a pink-shaded sunset. He had a cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the other one was resting at his side after he knocked on the door. She opened and locked it with her key "night" he checked his iPhone '5:57 pm' "almost night. And you are gorgeous. As always" "thanks, you are too" she directed her gaze to the cigarette quickly, but not quickly as he dropped it onto the ground and stubbed his foot in it. She hated when he smoked. "thought you were going to quit" "I will" "yeah and I will fly away from this damn city" "what is wrong with LA?" "It isn't home" he knew she missed her hometown, Milwaukee, and he also knew she had duties in LA and she knew that too "babe..." "It's alright" she breathed deeply before look at her boyfriend and smile "thought we were going, huh?" "Yeah, sure, let's go" "let's go" he took her hand in his empty one and they walked to her car. She had a glowing conversible candy apple red 1966 Ford Mustang that Calum was never allowed to drive "why I cannot drive?" "You know why" "oh, come on. It's old shit, honey" "no! Almost kill me isn't 'old shit'" "was an accident and you just broke an ankle" "A leg" she sat on the driver's seat and he watched how good she looked in the sunset "hey!" She snapped her fingers "aren't you coming in?" "fuck! Sorry. it's your fault!" he jumped into the car and put on the seat belt "I will not apologize for you having a terrible sense of beauty" she had low self-esteem sometimes "my sense of beauty is perfect" he leaned closer and cupped her face "just as you" "you are perfect" she smiled and pulled his neck to a passionate kiss. A calm and warm, but passionate kiss "but, seriously babe, let me drive" "no!" she turned on the engine, adjusted the mirror and backed up the car from the driveway without taking her gaze from the mirrors "that's how you back up the car with safety" he groaned, throwing his head back "It happened once! And it was an accident" "I know, just recalling" she winked and made the way for the downtown.

Last year, before they started dating, she asked Calum to back the car out of the driveway, but he did it without looking in the mirrors, according to himself "who the fuck know the right side of pen drives?" and ran over her. Accidently, of course. For luck, she just broke a leg and he took care of her, and due it, they become closer. "You know, there're some bad things that happen for good reasons" "I thought we were done with this subject" he squeezed her right hand "if I haven't given all my attention to the damn pen drive and ran over you, maybe we'd not become closer as we did" "yeah... fine, I will let you drive" she parked the car left the driver's seat "move on, Cal!" he stood up and gave her a deep and quick kiss before sat down in the driver seat and squeeze the beige leather steering wheel "I love you" "love you too, but now I'm fucking dying to know where we're going" "you were driving and I have to know?!" "yes, Mr. driver" she teased, he giggled "fine. Know a place" "good".

*

They were on a road that she didn't recognize "Calum" "my name" he loved when she said his name "where are we going?" "It's a surprise" "oh no. Please, don't do this to me" "sorry, babe. I didn't make the rules" "which rules?" they laughed together "okay" she turned on the radio and tried to connect with some decent station "fuck" "you know you can use your pen drive, right?" she had taken the pen drive off the car "not with you in the wheel" you know, just for caution. he rolled his eyes and she finally connected with some Latin radio station

'Once de la noche y todavía no contesta'

'Un de la mañana y todavía no hay respuesta'

"Oh, no! No way!" "What?" "I am not bilingual like you" "and...?" "Not listening to something I do not understand" "so are you graduated in Korean now?" "No..."

'Cómo hacerte entender...'

he swallowed dryly a little "don't know what are you talking about" "no? What about that time you got drunk and sang out loud BTS's songs, huh?" "Only the English parts! Now just change it" "but it's Maluma!" he looked at her without blinking and pouted "fine" he smiled like a kid

'... eres muy bonita pa' llorar por el...'

She changed the radio station once more and found a random one

'Day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment

I’d let you had I known it, why don’t you say so?'

"You got to be kidding me" she giggled "I hate this song!" "I know" she kept laughing

'You got to keep me focused, you want it? Say so'

"Just turned it off" "oh, but I like it" Calum turned off the radio "no songs for you" "hey, that's my car! Spent lots of money on it" "But I am driving" "don't make me feel more regret than I already am" he laughed and leaned quickly to kiss her cheek "hey, Cal" "hum?" "I am bored" "you're acting like a fucking kid" "no. I am a fucking kid" "well, it's not a long ride. We'll be there soon" "where is 'there'?" "Nice try, nice try" she pouted and laid her head on the window so she could stargaze and think about how lucky she is to had been run over by the man driving at her side. She was so so in love with him.

*

Flashback:

Some friends had texted her. Bon Jovi was going to be in town and they have two tickets more. They gave it to her of course expecting she'd invite that guy she hanged out a few times, definitely her new crush. Calum. Such a beautiful name 'thanks Roy' he had introduced them. For some miracle, she got the guts to invite him.

[4:28pm]

'Be here at 6pm'

[5:17pm]

'Your place is so far from where I am now'

'You can drive my car'

'will be there in 40 minutes'

She grinned, shook her head lightly and blocked her phone to finish her makeup 'he will never desire me' she thought even knowing she will try to impress him anyways. Was 5:55pm when he arrived "I have exactly 2 minutes in advantage" "you made it, next time I will let you have a rest" "thanks" he pecked her cheek out of breath "are you ok?" "Yes, you are just breathtaking" he laughed "oh, I am not" "yes, you're. Always" she blushed "thanks" "you're welcome. Can I have a glass of water? The bus stop is far from here, you know?" "Yeah, sure come in". She gave him a glass of water and dropped on the sofa "thanks" "how can I refuse water for someone? Especially someone like you" he arched an eyebrown "someone like me?" "Yeah" "how is someone like me?" he dropped next to her "ridiculously healthy" "oh" he giggled "thanks. I really appreciate" "so, where were you?" "someone is interested in where I was" he teased, she rolled er eyes "you love annoy me, don't you?" "And you still have to ask? Anyhow, I was hanging with a friend" "'hanging with a friend' means banging with a girl?" "What?!" He started laughing "are you jealous or something?" "No..." She blushed "just trying to know you better" "so why are you blushing?" "I..." "Relax, I was with Luke. He is planning a trip to our home country with Ash and Mikey too. So we went out to lunch, but he lives far from here..." her body relaxed and she smiled "Australia is very nice" "is the best place in the world" "yeah, except the fact that is not Minnesota" he laughed "keep dreaming, kid" "I am two months older than you" "whatever, ms. jealousy" "'m not jealous!" "you looked so relieved when I said I was with Luke" "I didn't" "it's ok, I already admitted to myself that my love life is a joke anyways" "I bet it's not true" "trust me, it is" "thought you were the kind of guy that spent the night in 3 parties and in this 3 parties, hook up with at least 2 girls. At the same time" he laughed out loud "oh, honey, I used to be that guy, and now I am feeling very proud of myself" she giggled "why you are not that guy anymore?" He cleaned his throat "well, I met this lady, some months ago, and now all I do is think on her. I made out with someone a few days ago and couldn't finish the job, because was thinking on her" 'wow that hurted' "wow... You should be with this girl right now, not with me" he looked at her, 'unfreakingbelievable' "I literally made an hour and a half trajectory in 40 minutes to go in a concert just to be in your company cause' honestly I am not going to this concert because I want to see old Jon Bon Jovi sing 'bed of roses' and take ladies to Heaven..." she giggled "why do you think I did that?" "'Cause you're an idiot" he grinned "you are right, I should be with the my romantic interest" she frowned a little and they just stayed looking inside each other's eyes for a minute "I-I think we should go" it felt like he raped her with his gaze "are you ok?" "I dunno" "alright, tell me if you will need an ambulance" "okay" "so, where is that bad boy keys?" she chuckled "here" she gave to Calum the key "please, be careful" "my middle name is safety" "really? I thought was Tomas" "details, details". They were on the driveway ready to go when she saw Ginger, her cat, with the paw stuck in the water drainage grid "oh! wait a minute" she left the car "what's wrong?" "My cat. you can back the car while I help Ginger?" "no problem. Am I allowed to listen some music, too?" "Sure. The pen drive is in the glove compartment" "'kay". she ran to Ginger to help her little baby "my God, love, I am here" Calum grabbed the pen drive in the glove compartment and started back the car slowly without looking in the mirrors "well, it's done, Ginger. You are free now" she freed her cat that ran back to the roof. Calum was fighting with the pen drive's USB entrance "why I never put that shit on the right side?" and he forgot that he was backing the car. She turned to went back to the car or they would be late and all she could see was the car's trunk colliding with her hip. When he stopped the

car she was already on the floor. She definitely needed that ambulance now.

He took her to the hospital and then back to her place. He locked the front door and she dropped onto the sofa, now with a broken leg "that was the last time you drove my car" "you're sure?" he joined her on the sofa "you will need someone to help you during the next two weeks" "I have other friends..." "So we are still friends?" "Yes" "I am sorry for ran over you" "yeah, be mad with you will not change what happened" "it's because of this that I will be the one who will take care of you. Remember? My middle name is carefulness" "Wasn't safety?" "Is a long full name, see? Calum Safety-Careful Tomas Hood" "hum, I don't think so" they laughed "sorry, again" "stop apologizing and start looking for a driver costume" "I will not do that" "why not? Would be so sexy" she bit her bottom lip "you think?" "You are already sexy so..." "I'm" they laughed "okay, you don't need a costume, but I will need help in the shower, instead" "I will love to help you with the shower" "I was thinking in call Roy" "call Roy?!" he looked a little angry "you should see your face. And I am the jealous one here" "well, I just maybe, just very very maybe am into you" she smiled and blushed a little "I am into you too" "you are saying that only because do not get turned on by Jon Bon Jovi tonight" she laughed "And you are saying this only because you ran over my leg" he turned his grin to a line "No. I really mean it" "me too" she bit her bottom lip and he smiled again "but… unfortunately, you are not literally into me" "not for too long" soon the distance between them became minimum and in a blink of eye, they kissed. They kissed like already did that for years, like their lips met each other already before, even being the first time. Calum laid her back on the sofa and things started to get hotter, soon her Bon Jovi's tank top flew across the living room. She broke the kiss "what are you doing?" "I am trying to make up, because of the concert. Do you mind?" she smiled "you really know how to fix up the things" and they kissed again, now his black tee was off and...

*

"Honey, 're you alright?" Calum took her off the flashback "oh, yes. Was thinking in the first time we fucked" he laughed "so delicate" "sorry, the first time we 'made love'" "uh, that was bad" she laughed "thanks for ran over me, by the way" "only you for thanks the idiot that ran over you" "well, you are an idiot, but you are my idiot" "possessive" but he was hers and he loved that "oh, shut up" he laughed "so, was thinking in the week after your leg was better, huh?" "That wasn't the first time we fucked" "It was" "no, we fucked after you took me home in the night it happened" "no, no. I fucked you that night and I thought we had fucked, but three weeks later I discovered that I was wrong" "I am not..." "The way you move, babe, when you were with the broken leg wasn't sex with you, was sex for you" she laughed "It should be a compliment?" "Yes. And a good one" "well, in that case, thank you very much" she directed her gaze back to the sky and he looked at her, he was so in love

*

About 30 minutes later, Calum was taking the exit on the road to Santa Monica, she had read that in a sign. "Santa Monica!" "yup" "the pier?" "Yes" "oh, you know I love a pier, is…" "…so romantic" she laughed at him pretending to be her "but, we are not here specifically because of the pier" "so why?" "You will see" "please, stop. It's killing me" "oh, you're such a drama queen" he parked the car and turned off the engine "let's go". He tugged her to the amusement park "that's so exciting! what are we gonna do?" "fucking kid" she giggled "we'll play hockey" "what?!" he guided her to the Playland Arcade "that's..." she was confused that couldn't even talk "there's a lot..." "air hockey tables? yes" "but..." "Look, I know that do not have ice and is not real hockey, but I thought you'd enjoy" he rubbed the side of his neck "hockey remembers you home, right?" she had some water on her eyes and a true smile "I would like everything since it came from you" he smiled and flipped the disk "so, let's see if the Milwaukee girl still in flames" "you definitely know nothing about Winsconsin"

*

She won, of course "Badgers rocked your ass Aussie boy!" as she said, and they decided to rest on the pier, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her body "that was lovely" "me losing or your very kind comment about it?" she giggled "no. You remembered the air hockey here and tried to diminish my homesickness" "I understand how bad it is" "thank you" "no, thank you" "for what?" "To be with me, to love me, I was taking the wrong way before met you, you know?" "Well, shout out to Roy" "shout out to Roy" he repeated and they laughed "I was thinking in buy a ticket for you. To go home for a few days..." she looked into his eyes "what do you think?" "don't" she said smoothly "you sure? I have been saving money to paying the first tax to a car mortgage, but it can wait..." "No, Cal. Buy your car" "but you miss home" "yes, I miss it, but..." she cupped his face "I have you here and I realized... my home is you" he smiled and dipped to kiss her. She rested her head back on his shoulder and watched the moonlight reflecting in the ocean "and you are mine" he whispered against her hair. she smiled and enjoyed his company, she was so in love with him and he was so in love with her.

suggested playlist:

[rosy-cheekx]

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

-

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

-

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

-

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

-

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

[winterrose527]

Prompt: Person A backs into Person B’s car.

Truly adored this one. Here you go, my love!

****

He was really starting to hate King’s Landing.

It wasn’t that he’d ever liked it. Even when they’d come to the capital for their eighth grade class trip, he and Jon couldn’t quite understand why anyone would want to live here.

And now, he did.

Well he didn’t want to but he did live here. He had for about two months. His family company was expanding and as the heir apparent he was in charge of opening the new office, a soft launch for his future as its leader.

With that in mind, he’d gone with very little argument. It wasn’t that there weren’t good reasons. It had given him a convenient excuse to get out of a relationship that had run its course without hurting anyone’s feelings, he was getting to build a team from the ground up, and he’d even gotten a pretty great apartment close to the beach.

Not that he could go anytime other than at night because it was too hot. And even with the salt air it still smelled like garbage.

None of that was anything compared to the people. This city was like a magnet for selfish, aspirational, people with non-existent moral compasses. And not only that, but there were a lot of them.

Which led to his least favorite thing about King’s Landing: the traffic.

It felt like he lost hours of his day to traffic. He would have taken the subway, but the line that would have taken directly from his doorstep to his office (the exact reason he’d chosen the apartment) was under emergency construction, because of course it was.

The light was green and yet the car in front of him wasn’t moving. He looked and saw that the driver was – is she plucking her eyebrows?

King’s Landing had turned him into something he hated. Robb Stark was officially a honker now.

“MOVE!” he yelled, even though his windows were up as he lay on his horn.

As though he was inconveniencing her, she made a big show of stopping what she was doing and started to drive. He went to place his foot on the gas and -bam.

“What the fuck?” he asked the general world.

A gold – yes gold – convertible had just backed up into his SUV.

He got out of the car, ready to let this person bear the brunt of every bit of frustration he’d been feeling for the past two months.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked as soon as his door closed, it was getting closer as they came around his car, “I am so sorry!”

“Yeah well –“ he started and then stopped. “I…uh… are you okay?”

It wasn’t exactly what he had planned on saying but he also hadn’t planned on the person who hit him being the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

She shook her head, slender fingers brushing back naturally golden hair (after two months here he could spot the difference), “I’m fine, I am just so embarrassed. And sorry. Is your car damaged?”

“Um, I don’t know,” he admitted, realizing he should have been thinking about that rather than wondering how her legs could seemingly go on for miles though she would hardly make it up to his shoulder. He started walking towards her and she turned and lead him around his car. And then bent over. “Looks good to me.”

“Thank the gods,” she said with a hand to her chest, straightening up and peering over at him, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nodded, “It was just a little love tap.” Her eyes widened and he blushed, “What a stupid fucking thing to say, huh?”

She laughed, “Original, though.” Then held out her hand, “I’m Myrcella Baratheon.”

He shook her small one, and introduced himself, “Robb Stark. Can I ask you something?” She nodded, her hand still in hers, “What is a girl like you doing with a car like this?”

This girl was all class. Her structured white shorts and silk button down, fresh face, pale nails as opposed to the garish red pointed ones so many women down here wore.

The car was decidedly not.

“It’s not mine,” she told him and his stomach clenched, wondering if it belonged to a boyfriend that was clearly in no way good enough for her. “It’s my older brother’s. He’s… the actual worst.” He opened his mouth and she smiled, taking her hand up and holding it up in front of her, “The worst. Look at his license plate.”

He glanced at it and saw that it read KING JOFF.

He laughed, “It hurts.”

“Hey Robb, I know I just rear ended you and all, but can I show you something?” she asked.

Anything he might of said. Instead he just nodded.

She turned and walked down the length of the car and he followed her and then she pointed at the rearview mirror.

“Do I need to see a neurologist or is that not a mirror?” she asked.

He leaned over and his jaw dropped, “That is not a mirror… I think it’s some sort of…mosaic? And definitely not legal. You could have taken out the whole city with this thing.”

“Thank the gods, I thought I was going crazy, it’s just that my car is in the shop-,” he smirked at her and she rolled her eyes and smiled, self-deprecatingly, “For a standard tune up. I should have known there would be a catch when he offered to let me borrow this one.”

“Yeah I don’t recommend you drive this thing,” he told her, then asked stupidly, “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

He watched as a blush rose on her cheeks and she demurred, “That’s alright. I can’t inconvenience you anymore than I already have. Thank you, though.”

He nodded, because he did have a meeting he was supposed to be at in about ten minutes.

“Well… could I maybe have your number?” he asked.

She nodded immediately, “Yes, of course, I won’t be on his insurance so please just get a quote and send me whatever it is. I’ll make it right.”

“Oh,” he shook his head, realizing that while that was the normal reason to have asked the woman who just rear ended you for her number it was absolutely not something that had even occurred to him. “No that was actually my way of asking you out.”

A smile landed on her face so quickly that it brought one to his own.

“You’re asking me out?” she asked.

“Trying to,” he agreed.

She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking something over and asked, “And what if this was my car?”

“Um,” he laughed as he thought about it, “Well I’d still ask you out. I would just never ever agree to drive anywhere with you in it.”

She giggled, and then informed him in a stage-whisper, “I drive a hybrid.”

“Family dinners must be interesting,” he teased.

“Oh you have no idea,” she smiled.

“I’d like to,” he told her.

She grinned again and then knocked a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses off of her head and onto her nose, “You know, you’re a lot smoother than the last guy I rear ended.” He opened his mouth and she told him, “Kidding.Do you have your phone?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She typed her number in and then handed the phone back to him.

“Are you going to be alright getting this back in there?” he asked, gesturing to what looked to be a private garage.

She nodded, “Thankfully he didn’t cover the windshield in crystals.”

He chuckled, “No because that would be tacky. Well get home safe, Myrcella Baratheon. I’ll call you soon.”

She gave him a heart stopping grin and then opened her door and eased into the driver’s seat. He went around his car and got back in, easing back into traffic.

Thankfully it was fairly light the rest of the way so he was only a little bit late for his meeting.

It was a busy day, some final interviews that people had wanted him to take part in, some calls with his Dad and Jon up north. So it wasn’t until later, as he walked the beach still in his suit, his shoes off and the sand beneath his feet, that he had a chance to call her.

He scrolled through to M, but Mom was the last entry.

“Was it Marcella?” he asked the sea.

He scrolled up just to be sure, but the only Marcella in his phone was a girl he’d met on a vacation in the Summer Isles. He deleted the contact because he hadn’t spoken to her in a full five years.

No girl had ever not given him her number before. He knew that it happened, it just hadn’t ever happened to him. There weren’t many that he asked for, and only when he felt something that seemed reciprocated. And though they’d only had a limited conversation, it seemed like they had.

She’d been so sweet and sorry and cute, pointing out her brother-

He scrolled up to the Ks and would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy sighing in relief when he saw King Joff waiting for him.

Without hesitating he pressed call and listened as it rang once, twice.

“Hello?” a soft voice asked.

“I’m uh, looking to speak to the king,” he greeted her.

Her giggle filled his ear, “Don’t even mention him I am in SUCH trouble. How are you Robb Stark?”

“I’m better now that I found your number, two scares in one day? Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” he asked.

“I’m free tomorrow night,” she informed him, “Want to find out?”

***

Two months later…

“And of course,” he sighed as he slowed down behind a bright yellow SUV.

“I would think you’d be used to the traffic by now and besides,” Myrcella noted at his side, “I would have thought you’d be fine being late for dinner with my family.”

“Your mother already hates me enough,” he pointed out, “I can’t afford to be late on top of being northern, being a man, being unrelated to you, being sexually attracted to you, being liberal, being alive…”

The light had turned green and yet the cars in front of him hadn’t moved. He went to go honk his horn but Myrcella grabbed his hand before he could.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hello,” he returned.

“Do you know what’s nice about traffic?” she asked. He raised his brow and she smiled, “I get to do this.”

With that she leaned in and kissed his lips softly. He kissed her back less so, his fingers carding into her hair as she opened her mouth to his.

Cars had started honking all around him, but in that moment he didn’t care.

He was really starting to love King’s Landing.

[darktammy]

The right kinda of love (ch9)

{Warning: loving making smut I guess you can say. Enjoy my readers.}

Tag: @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @bss-babygirl @living-the-life-1996 @moxleybabe @sassymox @wrestlersownmyheart @lghockey @fabulousrockstar @bluepunkrock

Later on that night Y/n was sitting by the pool. It was late and she was exited for tomorrow morning. She couldn’t wait to meet up with Cassidy for their trip. While she was thinking about all the things they can do she felt someone kick the side of her arm. “Hey how are ya?” Jon ask. “I’m fine just enjoying the night sky for now. Then I’ll get some shut eyes because in the morning I’m heading out.” She told him. Jon nodded as he sat down next to her. “Hey I’m sorry about what I did, I was only trying to protect you that’s all.” She nodded. “I know and I’m sorry too. Most of all I’m so so sorry about your sister Rebecca. I didn’t mean to say all those things.”

You told him as a small tear fell from your face. Jon nodded. “No it’s alright, I just didn’t think she would change. Every time I try to help her, she would always fall back into the same dark hole.” Jon said as he look up into the sky. “I still wish I could have help her out more.” He said. “You did all you could Jon. Remember you can’t always help them when you have your own life. Plus they need to help themselves because if they don’t then they're just going to be weak.” Y/n told him. Jon nodded his head as he look over at Y/n with a smile. Y/n move over to Jon giving him and hug.

The next morning came and you was at the airport. You told Renee and Jon that you was going to take a taxi there due to the fact that you didn’t want Jon to see you with Cassidy. You walk all the way the exit that showed one the ticket. You look around to see if you can spot him. “Damn it Cassidy where are you?” She said starting to worry herself. Then after a few minutes she felt some strong arms hugging her from behind. “Hey they're my sweet strawberry.” She turn around with a smile on her face. “Cassidy I thought I’ll never see you.” She said as she hugged him, Cassidy took Y/n hand as they walk to their flight.

While on the airplane Cassidy had his shades on making Y/n smile. She took them off just so she can see his light brown beautiful eyes of his. He smiled at her as she look up into him. “I heard that you're not suppose to look into your eyes. If you do then that means you're in for a fight. Is that true?” She smiled at him. He lean in and whisper into her ear. “Let’s find out when we get there.” He wink at her with a smile.

One the plane landed they both got there bagging then got a rental car. Cassidy drove the car all the way to the farm house where his grand parents once lived. Cassidy park the car seeing the smile on her face. “OMG!! This place is so pretty.” She said getting out of the car. She look around to see the big blue barn house on the far left while on the right you can see some of the cows. “This place look great Cassidy.” She said. “Oh yeah then you're going to love the barn house once we unpack.” He said. She smiled as they both walk into the house.

She meet Cassidy grandparents for the first time. Such lovely kind people as they welcome her in with open arms. Once they settle in the same bedroom the both laid down on the bed. “So looks like where sharing a room.” Cassidy said. Y/n laugh as she look up at him. “Yeah sound like fun.” She told him.

It was late in the day so Cassidy was helping his grandfather move some cows back into the barn. Y/n watch him without his shirt on which had her turn on a little. She keep her eyes on his body seeing his arms flex as he pulled the cows rope. Y/n watch him as her smile came on her face. Cassidy stop to look over at her. “Ya wanna help me out?” Waking Y/n up from her daydream. “Uh I’m sorry what?” She ask making him laugh. She look down embarrassing herself.

It was night time and Y/n was done taking a shower. She wrap herself up with a towel as she walk out of the bathroom. She dry herself then she put on her nightgown now knowing she’s not staying at Jon and Renee’s home. She laid in the bed as she smiled. “Going to bed so soon?” She look over to see Cassidy standing by the door. “Well I mean all this excited me got me a little tried.” She said sitting up in bed. Cassidy took his pants off and toss them in the hamper. Then he walk into the bathroom she smile as she tried not to fall a sleep. A few minutes later Cassidy walk out with his towel wrap around his hip. He look to see Y/n was already a sleep. He walk up to her giving her a kiss on forehead. “Goodnight sweetheart.” He told her.

In the morning Y/n smiled as she ate the morning breakfast that Cassidy’s grandmother made. “My dear were heading into the city for somethings if that’s ok with you?” She nodded. “Sure I would love to.” She told her. Cassidy walk in as he see breakfast ready. “Thanks grandma.” He gave her a kiss on her head. After breakfast was done Y/n got into the car with his grandmother and they drove off. “Boy she’s nice.” Cassidy look back at his grandfather. “Yeah she’s nice she’s a keeper.” Cassidy laugh as he help his grandfather out with the chores on the farm.

Y/n was helping the woman out with a few things in the supermarket. “So my dear how long have you both been dating?” She look at Y/n. “Oh no I mean we work together but where not dating.” She told her. She nodded as she walk with Y/n. “Well his a good boy I know that for sure. I mean the last women he was with was a big mess.” Y/n look at her. “Who was the other woman if you don’t mind me asking.” Cassidy’s grandmother smiled as she look at her. “Oh this woman was name Penelope oh my she gave him a hard time. She was always thinking about herself never wondering if he was ok. She was hell for him.” She told her. “But it don’t matter because I now can see that smile that I missed so much.” Y/n smiled at her as they finish up their food shopping.

Cassidy was walking around his room until his phone rang it showed Penelope, he sigh as he answers. “Yeah?” He said annoyed. “Well hey I see you left without me, so what’s up you went back to the farm with your grandparents?” Cassidy smirk, “Nah I’m here with my mother and she really hates you.” He said. She laugh as she look down. “Hey listen when you get back I’ll be waiting for you, I mean after all Cassidy we all live in the same apartment building right?” He shook his head after seeing Y/n parking the car. “Yeah Penelope I got to go bye.” Cassidy end the called. “Cassidy! Hey Cassidy damn it!” She said stamping her feet.

Y/n helped the grandmother with the bags as Cassidy came down taking the bags out of his grandmother hand. “I got it you should sit down and relax.” Cassidy had put the bags down on the table. “Oh you do so much.” She said walking away. Y/n started taking the stuff out and putting them away. Cassidy walk over to Y/n as he put his arms around her hips then he lay his head on top of hers. “I’m happy that your here Y/n. That means a lot to me.” She smiled as she puts her hands on his arms. “I’m glad I’m here with you Cassidy.” She smiled.

Renee was sitting on the couch drinking water. “So how is everything so far?” Y/n smiled as she sat down on the bed. Everything is fine. I mean I love it out here. I mean it’s like a breath of fresh air.” She laid down on her bed. “Well what did you two do, I mean did you guys do it yet?” Y/n look at her phone confuse. “What no I’ve only been here for like three days and nothing.” She told her. Renee laugh a little. “Oh Y/n you and I both know your head over heels for this man. I think you should tell him how you feel. Let him know but try not to show it please I mean come on you both are sharing the same bed.” Renee told her. Y/n smiled as she look up at the ceiling. “Yeah got it sis I’ll let you go, and yes I will be there with you so that way I know the sex of the baby. Love you sis.” Renee said the same as they both ended the call.

Y/n got up and look out the window to see Cassidy helping his grandfather fixing the trunk. She watch him without his shirt on, which turn her on. She spent three days with him sleep in the same bed with him. Watch him walk around with a towel on which turn her on more then she can count.

Cassidy look up at the window and wave at her, Y/n wave back as she bit her bottom lips. She move away as she start to breath heavy she was turn on once again. Feeling her nipples as they both are hard. She knew she was wet from seeing him. She slowly moves her hand down her pants. She moves both her finger down between her clit. She saw already wet from just thinking about him. She start to rub herself softly as she close her eyes all she can see was Cassidy. Seeing his face, his body watching him getting close to her like that. She quietly moan under her breath as she though about him touching her. Feeling his lips on her body. Beginning him not to stop the madness that she’s feeling. She whisper to herself. “Oh Cassidy please don’t hold back.” She told herself. She moves faster and faster until she finally it’s her high. Her body shakes as she finally move her hand away as she was out of breath a little. “Oh god I need to clean myself up.” She said walking into the bathroom.

It was late at night Y/n was sitting inside the barn house watching AEW. She heard Cassidy walk in. “Hey there you are. It’s raining outside I think we should be inside the house.” He said sitting next to her. “Nah I love the rain its calming makes me feel happy.” She told him. He nodded while he put his arm around her. “Hey Cassidy?” She said putting her phone down. Cassidy look down at her. “Yeah?” He told her. Y/n had a nerves look on her face. “Will it be odd if someone told you that they care about you?” Cassidy look at her confuse.

Y/n laid on her back while she look up at him. “Hey I really wanna tell you something Cassidy.” He smiled as he move right on top of her. “Cassidy I…love….I love you so much.” She told him making Cassidy lean in giving her a deep passion kiss. Y/n wrap her arms around his neck. Cassidy broke the kiss as he pulled her shirt over her head. Then he rip her bra off as she giggles. Cassidy had a smile on his face then he grab her breast and start to suck on her nipple. Y/n start to moan with pleasure. Slowly Cassidy was bitting lightly on her nipple as he heard her say his name a few times. “Oh Cassidy yes please.” She begged him.

Cassidy lefts his head up as he start to pull her pants off. Now seeing her in her panty he smiled. “How should handle you Y/n uh?” She was confuse at his words. “After you wave back at me I ran up stairs to see if you can help out but, instead I got to see a free show.” He said leaning in. “It was so fucking hot that I got hard so fast that all I can think about was doing this.” Cassidy rip her panty off as he open her legs. With out warning he spat in his hand lean in and start to kiss her clit while sticking two fingers inside her. Y/n start to man loud as she put her hand on her head.

Y/n look down at Cassidy as she watch him eat her out like a mad dog. Like he never ate anything for days. She keep moan out his name as she move one of her hand down to his head. Cassidy start to pump start in while he lick her clit. “Oh…god…yes…I’m getting close please…d.don’t…st…stop!” She yelled out. Cassidy stop what he was doing pulling his finger out her making Y/n look up him confuse. “What the hell?!” She said. Cassidy smiled as he undone his pants. Slowly he pulled his pants down. Then she saw him fully hard and ready. She smiled as she got up on all fours. “Does my little girl want his?” She smiled as he crawl up to him. “Yes daddy.” She said smiling up at him. Slowly she took his cock into her hands and slowly stroke him making him moan. “Oh baby.” Cassidy whisper. Y/n slowly start to put him inside her mouth slowly sucking him with enjoyment.

Cassidy start to feel excited while she keep bobbing her head back and forth. Her hand wraps around his hard cock making him look down at her beaming with joy. Cassidy grab a fist full of her hair as he lean back in an angle just so he can pump himself into her mouth. Y/n look up at him looking happy as she felt him hitting her throat. After a few more pumps he stop letting her head up then kissing her. “If I keep that up then I would have came.” Cassidy told her. She nodded as she kiss him right back.

Cassidy turn Y/n around making her get on all four as she look back at him. Cassidy stared at Y/n while entering her slowly. She start to moan when he enter her slowly. They both moan at the same time Cassidy not wasting anytime thrusting Y/n. Y/n look at Cassidy heartfelt gazed in her eyes. Cassidy keep his eyes on her while pumping her. “Oh god Cassidy I love you so much.” He stop pulling out of her making her whine a little. He grab her making her lay on her back. He force himself back inside her once again. Y/n yelled his name out again. They both glanced into each other eyes.

Cassidy was trusting Y/n hard making her moan loud. She felt the strong emotional connection with Cassidy while he focused on her. “Oh Cassidy…oh you feel so good inside me. I don’t want this to stop please.” She begged him once again. Without one word Cassidy start to slow down while he lean in kissing Y/n on the lips. What they both felt together was the stars finally alone with one another. Their love has finally shown for each other. They both caress each other with love nether one will to submit. Y/n was already feeling herself getting close. She tap Cassidy hard on his arm. “Oh god Cassidy please… I’m coming I’m so close.” She cry out. Cassidy without thinking start to thrust harder, faster just so he too can come alone with her. “Hold on babe I’m getting close.” They both watched each other as they both hit their climax together while the sound of thunder was heard.

Cassidy look down at her with a smile on his face. “Please tell me you enjoyed that?” He ask. She responded “I love it baby.” She kissing him on the lips.

[chilling-in-the-dark]

The Superfam as Yandere’s Part 2: Jon Kent

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, kidnapping, and physical abuse. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.

As always feedback is welcomed.

You’d tripped and grabbed on to fourteen-year-old Jon Kent’s upper arm to catch yourself, and when your hand made contact, Jon felt the place you’d touched start to burn. Oh, oh. Oh shit, he thought when he realized exactly what had just happened, how is it he could know you for four years, and yet today was the first time you’d touched him.

After all, you were the daughter of Dick Grayson, younger sister to Mary Grayson. Your father was like another Dad to Damian, so of course, you spent a lot of time with him, and by extension, Jon. Damian was five years older than you, and though his real title was your uncle, he thought of you more as a little sister.

Damian was extremely protective, and Jon knew that even if he couldn’t help it, Damian would never forgive him for being your soulmate. So, he’d kept it quiet, only he didn’t need to, Damian knew and had come to the decision that so long as the Kryptonian didn’t act on the soulmate thing, then everything would be fine. Besides, Damian was busy enough with his own darling, he didn’t have time to worry about something that Jon knew better than to let happen.

To make matters worse, finding out you were his soulmate had brought up memories of Jon’s late mother. When she’d first disappeared, his father had told him that she’d been sick and that his mom was getting help, so if they were lucky, she’d be home with them soon. Jon had believed him, but as it turned out, his father was a liar, his mother wasn’t going to be back with them soon, no, she’d die in some medical mishap.

At least that’s what Clark had told him, it wouldn’t be until much later that Jon found out the truth, but that wasn’t to come not for a few years at least.

Suddenly, Jon had the urge to make you his and keep you that way. Jon hadn’t really had a conversation with his father since his mother died, maybe it was wrong of Jon to blame Clark, but he really didn’t care, his mother was dead, and his father had let it happen.

The possessiveness was because of Kryptonian instinct, at least that’s what the computer in the fortress of solitude had said, Jon would have asked his father, but he found himself avoiding home these days unable to look Clark in the eye without feeling some level of rage.

Jon fought his instincts for as long as he could, but when you were fourteen, and he was sixteen, suddenly he couldn’t anymore. According to his research into mate bonds, this was normal for someone in his situation, he was nearing the age of maturity, and it would start to affect his behavior with his mate. There was no fighting his instincts entirely, so he gave into them in small ways like lending you his jacket when a sudden cold breeze blew by, it helped him control the worst parts of him, the ones that really wanted to keep you by his side forever no matter the cost.

Jon loved the way you looked in his jacket it was like you were basically drowning in the fabric, but more importantly, he loved that it told the world you were his, but then he’d have to remind himself that you weren’t, that you couldn’t be, and that he couldn’t have you because that would be betraying his best friend.

It hadn’t taken Jon long to figure out you liked the slight accent growing up in rural Kansas had gifted him. He found himself playing it up slightly when you were around, he really couldn’t help it, the Kryptonian part of him knew you found it attractive, and it wasn’t going to let a chance to win you over pass him by.

It happened with other things too, like how Jon kept waring that blue flannel you said brought out his eyes, whenever he knew you were going to be around, and how he kept his hair in the cut and style he knew you liked. Sometimes Jon felt like a damn animal nearly shouting, hay look at me I’m healthy and attractive, want to spend the rest of your life with me.

If Damian noticed his friend preening like a peacock for you, he didn’t say anything, then again Damian had been busy with his wife, so he could be forgiven for it, and besides, with Damian busy you’d been spending more one on one time with Jon, and he was living for it.

So much so that Jon kept having to remind himself to slow down, he may have been sixteen, and more than ready to start dating, but you were only fourteen, and Kryptonian instincts be damned he wasn’t going to hurt you by going too fast.

Jon had sworn a vow to himself to keep you safe, no matter the cost, if it meant your safety then Jon would gladly die himself, heck he’d kill the whole planet if it really came down to it. You were everything to him, and in a way, how much his world revolved around you scared him a little. It would be easy to lose himself down that rabbit hole.

When Jon was eighteen he tried to quit you like a drug, avoiding you at all costs, by the end of the week he felt like he was dying, by the end of the month, Jon felt worse than any form of Kryptonite had ever made him. Even the thought of moving hurt, Jon couldn’t see straight if he wanted to, and if he was a guessing person, Jon would say he was running a fever too, judging by the fact that he couldn’t get warm.

Of course, Clark knew what was going on, so long as you were alive, Jon wouldn’t be able to stay away from you, or his body would start fighting him, and if you passed before the two of you had children, Jon would surely wither and die himself. The only reason Clark had survived the death of his wife was because a piece of her still lived on in Jon.

So, wanting to keep that piece of his wife alive Clark did the one thing he knew would save his son, he made up an excuse to leave the planet and called Dick, Clark had told your father about you and Jon as soon as he figured it out himself. Of course, Dick hadn’t been happy about a Kryptonian loving his daughter because the only soulmate bond they had record of was Clarks, and that hadn’t ended well. Though in the end, Dick had decided that he wasn’t going to stand in the way.

Sure, that might have been because while Dick had Mary wrapped around his finger, he didn’t have you because you’d seen with your own eyes how your father treated your mother behind closed doors. Dick wanted you out of the way because you knew far too much, so he didn’t even question when Clark asked you to go to the Kent farm. If you never came back, it would just mean Dick didn’t have to worry about what you knew, or how you could take his wife away from him.

You’d been concerned when Clark called and asked you to look after Jon while he was off-world. Kryptonians were supposed to be immune to earth illnesses, but when you looked at Jon, you started to question that belief.

You pressed your hand to Jon’s forehead to confirm what you already suspected; he was burning up. According to Clark, he’d already tried all of the human fever reducers he could find, and none of them seemed to work. So you’d had to settle for the old school method of bringing down a fever, a cold washcloth on the forehead. After you’d placed it on Jon’s head, he grabbed your hand, pulled it to his cheek and nuzzled into it, you could have sworn you heard him slur the word mine as he did so.

Jon said a lot of things like that for the first couple of days, and you weren’t sure if he meant them or if he was delirious from his fever, but you kind of hoped for the former because over the years you’d fallen in love with him.

Loving Jon made you feel like you were living in some teen soap opera, Damian used to be like a brother to you until you found out that he knew what Dick was doing to your mom, but he did nothing to stop it, and Jon was Damian’s best friend, that was prime drama material. Still, you’d decided that if Jon ever gave you a clear indication that he returned your affections, you’d take him up on it.

Only you couldn’t tell if feverish ramblings counted as a clear sign, on the one hand, he’d rambled for twenty minutes about how pretty your eyes were at one point, but on the other hand that had been when he still had a fever and kept calling water earth juice. So you should probably have discarded anything he said during his entire illness, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Jon had been better for a few days now, and you really should have gone home, but this was a nice break from your life in Gotham. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were only sixteen, you might have never gone home.  As it stood, you were still under eighteen, and eventually, you’d have to go home, but today was not that day. Until Clark came back, you were going to enjoy your little domestic heaven with Jon.

“Breakfast smells good,” Jon mumbled as he stumbled down the stairs, obviously still half asleep. You hadn’t expected Jon to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist as you cooked, but he did. It was at that moment that you decided to throw caution to the wind because you just didn’t hold someone like he was holding you if you didn’t have feelings for them.

You turned around in Jon’s arms and wrapped your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, the kiss was perfect just like everything else about the person in front of you. Jon would have been content to stay like that forever, but unlike him, you needed to breathe, so he didn’t fight you when you pulled away from the kiss.

Jon wasn’t sure what had come over him as you pulled away, but all he could think was mine, mine, mine, mine, to the point he found himself growling, “You’re mine.” As he pulled you right up against him.

“I’m yours,” You confirmed, as you pulled him in for another kiss, If you’d grown up in a healthy family the blatant show of possessiveness might have freaked you out, but you hadn’t, so honestly you found it romantic. Red flags might as well have been green lights to you, and in a way, you were lucky you’d fallen in love with Jon at least he wasn’t like Dick. Jon would never hit you like Dick did your mother.

It was later that night that Jon explained the whole soulmate thing, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly content as he slept because he had you in his arms.

It was a week later when Damian showed up, he’d been worried about both you and Jon, he was concerned about Jon because if you weren’t back, that meant there was a possibility Jon wasn’t improving. Still, Damian was also worried about you because what if Jon had gotten better and wasn’t letting you leave. Damian had seen how well those supposed soulmate bonds, worked out in the end.

Out of all the scenarios Damian expected to find, one of them hadn’t been you, and Jon snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. Damian had never felt so betrayed, his best friend and his niece together, he wanted to puke.

You smiled as you curled up into Jon’s side; part of you hoped that Clark would never come back because you’d been happier than you had been in years. That is until Damian kicked the door in and charged Jon with a sword and a shard of Kryptonite. Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of Jon, and in turn, Jon threw himself over you, shielding you from shielding him.

Damian found Jon’s willingness to die for you admirable; it still wouldn’t be enough to win him over, no it’d take a lot more than that, but maybe he was worth a chance. Damian put the Kryptonite away into a special lead-lined pouch on his utility belt after he’d done that Jon felt his strength return.

Jon shoved you behind him and glared at Damian. “If you ever hurt her, I can and will end you, do you understand me Kryptonian,” Damian said as he placed the tip of his sword to Jon’s throat.

“Yeah I do, and I would never hurt her, I love her.”

“Your father said the same thing about his wife, and yet he drove her to suicide.” Damian proclaimed venom dripping from his words.

After learning the truth about his mother's death, Jon sent you off with Damian, he called you every day only to ask you to return a week later, as soon as you set foot on the Kent farm Jon dropped down on one knee and proposed. You gladly said yes, and with your parent's permission, got married.

You never questioned why Clark hadn’t returned from space, and it was a good thing you hadn’t because Jon didn’t feel like explaining that his father had returned, but he’d died not long after.

Had Jon killed him? It was possible because, after all, it would have avenged his mother and secured a beautiful, peaceful life for the two of you. All you knew is that after you were married, Jon mostly retired from superheroing. Only going out when absolutely necessary, because he was content to be a farmer for the rest of his life, so long as you were by his side.

A/N I’m not even sure if Jon came off as Yandere in this tbh, Jon in my head is a much softer Yan then the rest, so overall, my usual amount of skin-crawling creep factor isn’t here, but shrug emoji. Also, Yes, Conner was supposed to be next, but that didn’t end up happening.

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@yanderepeterparker​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @prettyafghan @neon-phosphorecsent​