#warming up before continuing commission hell yeah

[azaracyy]

it's finally the best season, folks reference under the cut

from 1borzoigaming at twitter

[brokenpieces-72]

Recover-

CoD Hybrid AU | Navigation

Note: This is a continuation from Sick Day and a spin-off, so none of this actually happens, but it does include @diejager ‘s reader character Hunter and is inspired by the AU created by @bluegiragi

You eventually do recover, your hunger returning to normal. Johnny is relieved and hugs you when you come shuffling out of your room.

However you’re still tired and weak. Hunter had given you your flu shot which basically put you out of commission for almost a whole day. The rest of the team is leaving for a mission, and finishing with gearing up. Hunter would stay behind to help keep watch over you. They aren’t taking any chances with your safety. You find Johnny in his tact gear. You’re wearing one of his hoodies so it’s oversized, but warm.

“Johnny?” You say, your voice returned somewhat. He turns and big brother mode kicks in again.

“Aye, back to bed.” He orders.

“Are you leaving soon?” You ask, not obeying. Not the first time he’s gone on a mission without you. You try to occupy your mind with helping on base or doing your hobbies. This time is different and you don’t know why. Seeing your big brother off feels important. Johnny sighs and picks you up in a bear hug making you giggle before setting you back down.

“Yeah I am.” He says.

“Do you want help with your collar?” You say before yawning. The collar he uses for coms. Usually he lets Simon do it but if it puts you at ease he doesn’t mind. You do your best and make sure it isn’t too tight. Once you finish you wrap your arms around him tightly. You make a small noise

“Aye… I’ll come back I always do.” He says trying to soothe you.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you too. Keep the hoodie on, it’ll help.” He says. He gives you a tight hug, before carrying you back to your room. “Be back soon.”

Your door shuts and you wait, text Macho a bit, and continue to wait. The mission is going to be a few days or so. Hunter keeps you company, and you keep them company as well. You're patient. You don't have a choice.

Hunter does some training of their own with you, providing you with more insights into each of the hybrids. You’re feeling plenty better by now, just tired. You’re eating much better too. Hunter gives you some free time, running time to go to explore the wilds around base. It’s freeing, and seeing the spirits of other animals roaming around brought an odd sense of peace.

One day you go out and find a few rabbits hopping around each other. You giggle as they hop over each other, and chase around trees. You start to sketch them when you hear something overhead. Your head flicks up at the sound of propellers, and you saw two choppers overhead. You don’t hesitate to take off running as fast as you can, startling the rabbit spirits. You’re in full tilt, vaulting and leaping over any obstacle in the way.

Once you get close to the landing pad your excitement changes to something else. There are medics moving quickly and stretchers being laid out. No. No it can’t be. You run harder, crying out for your team, seeing damaged wings, and roughly bandaged limbs. Ghost hears you crying out, and acts fast. He’s quick to catch you, moving through the other soldiers and reaching you first.

As you reach out Ghost catches you, getting to your level. You can smell the blood on him, hear him trying to give you orders but you don’t listen. You’re fighting him as much as possible, desperate to reach your team. What the hell happened?! You’re calling for Johnny and König, but Ghost is just trying to keep you from running in. You’re tough, and you don’t make it easy, as you try to shove him away. It’s useless though as he just puts his arms around you, and holds tightly as you start crying. You keep calling their names, waiting for someone to respond with something, anything. Your fight weakens as emotions take over. You can’t lose them now. You just can’t.

Ghost doesn’t let go until everyone is back inside, and even then he lets you cry it out. Your face buries into his shoulder. He’s worried about Johnny too, and everyone else. Crying and running in isn’t gonna solve anything. He doesn’t need to be with them if you’re out here sobbing and fretting over what you have no control over.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He says. “They’ll pull through.”

You continue to soak the fabric of his uniform with your tears. Simon isn’t the most tender of people. Never has been really. But you’re hurting and afraid. He lets you settle down for a bit before letting you go.

“Deep breaths.” He reminds you, holding your head to focus on him. You sniffle and nod, taking deep unsteady breaths.

“They’ll be in post op soon. Price’ll tell you what happened when he can.”

“Yes sir.” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat. Ghost gives a half smile under his mask. He stands and walks with you inside. Your tears are still visible, and he thinks for a moment.

“Hey. You ever try to catch fog?” He asks.

“N…no.” You reply, confused.

“I tried to but I mist.” He says. It takes you a second but you smile at him.

The mission had fucked up in many ways. Price nearly got his tail torn off. Rudy would have been a thrall himself if Alejandro hadn’t taken most of the bites. König had to fight a blood rage, with Horangi getting caught in the crossfire. Gaz got tangled up with some sirens which didn’t go nice with the number of feathers that had been ripped out. Soap wasn’t fairing much good himself, having plenty of injuries from silver bullets. Plenty of bite marks amongst them. You watch from the doorway with Ghost behind you, hands on your shoulders.

Ghost feels a sense of guilt. He was there, and should’ve done more. Right now he knows you feel the same sort of guilt, wishing you had been there.

Hunter is tending to Rudy when a couple other medics shout for them. You hear growls from both Johnny and Alejandro. Ghost holds your shoulders a little tighter, as you try to take a step forward. You can’t see much, but there’s definitely some struggling, you can hear the bed rattling and creaking from the two men trying to fight something. The noises you hear shift and change from human to beast, mixed with panicked and commanding shouts.

“Come on kid.” Ghost says, having to pull you away from the scene. You don’t fight this time, only lean forward to see as much as you can before more soldiers file in to help. You finally look away once Ghost starts leading you down the hall. The noise is muffled as you walk away. It gets quieter and quieter an until you can only hear the sound of boots on the floor.

You sit in the locker room while Ghost gets out of his tactical gear. You sit on the bench where you can’t see him, and thankfully no other soldiers were walking around. Once Ghost finishes his shower and gets changed he comes out with the balaclava on. You’re quiet, more quiet than usual. He sits down next to you.

“Don’t fault yourself for not being there.” Ghost reminds you.

“I’m not… but… what happened?” You ask.

“Shit hit the ceiling. We thought it was only supposed to be thralls and instead we were faced with far more than we could account for. There were creatures in blood rages, which threw us off. König got out of hand as well, I think someone stuck him with something. Thankfully he calmed, but keeping him from destroying everything and everyone wasn’t fun. Honestly kid, if you were there it would have been more difficult.”

“I could’ve helped König.” You argue. Ghost sighs.

“Yeah you could’ve… or you could’ve passed out from sickness.” Ghost says. You know he’s right. You don’t want him to be but he is. Without asking you lean against his arm.

“Do you like him?” You ask, not looking at Ghost. Ghost takes a moment to process the question.

“Yes. I do.” He says. You look at him, and you can see he’s struggling as well. It’s not as obvious.

“You did everything you could.” You tell him. The way you say it almost sounds like a question, even if you don’t mean it to be. He doesn’t have anything to say in response.

“You hungry?” He asks instead. You nod and he takes you to get something.

“Is it quiet?” You ask from the counter, looking around the kitchen. Ghost hadn’t taken much notice, focused on making you some food. Simple sandwich would do fine. Now that you mention it, it was strangely quiet. He was aware of some leave from other soldier but not that many. Surely not all of them were needed at the infirmary.

He offers you the plate, saying it was probably nothing.

Ghost joins you on the counter knowing the cooks would give him a hard time later on about it. You see his scarred face under the balaclava, and stare until he turns his head towards you.

“You can look I don’t mind. The mask is just a comfort thing.” He says.

You eat your food, trying to focus on Ghost than what was going on. It would be okay. You suspect Ghost is trying to distract himself the same way. The two of you sit at the counter and you kick your legs a little. You hear a message over the PA system.

“Attention! We have an emergency in the medical wing. Rouge Hybrids! Repeat! Emergency in the medical wing! Rouge Hybri-fuck!” You and Ghost share a single look before getting up and rushing to medical wing. You half expect it to be Soap or König, but you are soon proven wrong. At least partially.

After shoving through doors with Ghost close behind you, you come across the bodies of two soldiers. You rush to them checking for a pulse, asking if they can hear you. No pulse, and even worse, there were blades stuck in their vest. Ghost approaches the other body, which looks like it’s been clawed into and torn apart. He suspects König or Horangi, until you speak up.

“Ghost… are these…” you hold up one of the blades and something drops in Ghost’s stomach. They weren’t blades, they were feathers. Kyle’s feathers.

“Take their vests.” He orders. You don’t question it, and work quickly to remove the soldier’s vest. Ghost keeps watch, but doesn’t for long, when he sees what cut off the announcer. Price stood at the end of the hall, eyes vacant, and body slouched. In his hand was a charred corpse, or rather his claws were inside of it. Ghost’s eyes widen as he steps back in shock. You freeze in place your focus on your captain’s bizarre state. His head turns towards the two of you, as he lets go of the body. When it doesn’t fall from his hand being so deep he slams it down on the ground. The sound is enough to make you snap back into focus. You had to go, and now. You get up and grab for Ghost’s arm, tugging.

Simon steps back, taking a quick glance at you. He makes sure you’re behind him as Price moves closer towards you. His eyes once vacant were now very focused, and on you and Simon.

“Price? Price!” Simon yells at the captain. Price doesn’t say anything, just keeps moving closer. His wing stretches out, still ragged from the mission. It’s a threat, a warning. You start to smell smoke.

“Ghost!” You shout, and Ghost is moving quicker, turning and shielding you, shadows forming around you and his as fire is blasted at the both of you. Ghost looks towards the door, ready to pick you up and run. He notices something in the small window, that makes him look for another way.

“Close your eyes.” He orders, and you obey. You feel yourself being picked up and rushed out of the room. You feel something sharp drag across your arm and Ghost grunt in some pain as he keeps running. You don’t let go, and you keep your eyes squeezed shut. You hear Ghost muttering names, and you even hear some familiar noises. You hear voices you should recognize but something is wrong. Something that makes your blood freeze and your body stiff. You hear some sounds of a struggle from Ghost, keeping you close with one arm, and fighting with the other. You hear some squelching noises before he continues, having to stop a few times.

It feels like an hour of the horrible noises and sounds, concealed by the darkness of your own eyelids. He finally reaches a room where he shuts the door tight and is able to lock it. You recognize the scent of tobacco and smoke as he sets you down on the desk. He checks the door again, ensuring it was locked tight. You’re trembling when Simon looks back at you.

His clothes are torn in places, and you look down to see your arm was scratched. He checks it thoroughly, unbothered by his own state. Nothing serious, a simple cut, with some blood. Blood.

Something pounds on the door to Price’s office. Fucking hell, there’s no other exit. You look at Ghost awaiting orders but he honestly doesn’t know what to tell you. Ghost points to you and then points under the desk. You know what to do. Ghost makes his way slowly to the door, before he opens it. He’s ready for anything, but relieved it’s Rudy falling through. Ghost tenses shutting the door and summoning shadows, ready if Rudy tries something. Rudy is coughing and panting, looking exhausted. He still has bandages on. Slowly he turns and moves backwards seeing Ghost ready to strike.

“What did you say about my mask in Las Almas?” He asks. Rudy takes a minute to steady himself, and Ghost is nice enough to give him a chance to breathe.

“You would fit in well.” He answers, and Ghost offers his hand to help him up. “I came to help when the announcement came on. When I saw the damage…”

“What happened?” Ghost asks.

“I’m not entirely sure. Alejandro started having these seizures, and then Soap started having them too. They got me out of there so they could focus on them. As for the rest… as soon as I saw Gaz on my way back there, I made a run for it. The cadejos have taken a lot out of me already, seemed the safest option.”

“Whats wrong with Gaz?” You ask popping up from your hiding spot, making Rodolfo nearly have a heart attack.

“We’re not sure. I have a feeling those bullets were more than just silver.” Rudy explained, once he steadied his heart rate.

“I got shot, and I’m fine though.” Ghost comments.

“Maybe cause you’re not alive?” You suggest. Simon considers it as a possibility. Then you look at Rudy. “But why doesn’t it bother you?”

“Still mostly human. The cadejos are ghosts.” Rudy tells you. That makes some sense. Your mind then goes to the rest of the team.

“What about Johnny?” You ask. Rudy’s face looks unsure and grim.

“I don’t know Mija.” Rudy admits. The room is eerily quiet, and there’s no sound outside. Even you can't pick up much.

“What of the human soldiers?” Ghost asks. Rudy shakes his head. That’s all Ghost needs. If there were any still around they were either fighting for their lives or hunkering down the same as the three of you. You come out from behind the desk, and sit on top of it while Rudy and Ghost wander and pace around the room. The burning question among the three of you.

Now what?

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[bitterbutblue]

xueyi!!

in your arms tonight ☆ xueyi x reader

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

~ xueyi hurt/comfort + fluff because god knows this girl needs a BREAK omg she and hanya r just going through it...

how are u all doing! i hope u liked the tingyun/fugue angst i had a lot of fun writing that one.. remember me 1999 episode 4 will be out some time next week, so stay tuned!

song: soren - beabadoobee ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

One of the few things Xueyi never found herself able to even process the idea of was love. After being punished, practically reliving a living hell, she might as well consider herself barely human. No, she's not even barely human. Her heart is synthetic, a piece of plastic that can be destroyed over and over again but as long as she stays with the commission she has to continue feeling like this- like her body is her prison.

Yet every time you kiss her cheek, shoulder, neck, hand, anywhere, she feels herself begin to melt. Her body she once hated was a body you worshipped like none other- the way you touched her was so warm, so welcoming. She found herself craving for your touch because it made her actually feel for once something other than dread or pain. When you say her name, she feels her heart that she once despised beat faster. She feels what she never thought she could ever feel in this life time.

When you kissed her for the first time, some part of her actually melted in your arms and she felt some part of her become some part of you that day. Her lips were cold against yours, but all you could focus on was the way her breath hitched slightly and how she froze a bit. The way her hands hesitantly moved to rest against your hips as she pulls you in closer, an eagerness within her you had never seen before. She pulls away with a the first smile she's shown since she's been put in this body. A smile that you want to keep forever close to your heart, a smile that makes you want to kiss her into oblivion.

That was the day you knew you were in love with her, and there was no getting out of it.

That was the day Xueyi vowed to work even harder, despite her hatred for her job, because all she wanted was to spend eternity with you.

"I really think we should get a cat."

She looks up at the sound of your voice, raising an unamused eyebrow.

"A cat?"

"Yeah." You nod, moving to sit down next to her on the couch. Xueyi continues flipping over the documents as you lean your shoulder. She can't show you exactly how she feels, she can't explain that this body is a limit to everything in her life but she feels her heart warm up and her body lighten slightly. She feels more human, just from the touch of your hand.

"Why cats?"

"I like them."

She doesn't say anything, not really knowing what to do or say as you further move to snuggle your head in the crook of her neck. She has grown used to your actions and if anything, you already remind her of owning a cat. Needy, cuddly. Overly affectionate at times.

"I see."

You pout at her response.

"You don't want a cat?"

"I want whatever makes you happy." She shrugs lightly.

You just let out a soft hum in response.

"You make me happy."

Xueyi freezes slightly, unsure how to fully respond in that moment. What is happiness? Is that what she feels whenever you kiss her? Is that what she feels whenever someone just mentions your name? Maybe the lightness in her chest is happiness, the fluttering in the cavity of wires and bits and bobs where she shouldn't feel such giddiness but she does.

"It still confuses me how you can blush."

"Huh?"

She snaps out of her thoughts, looking over at you with a mildly confused expression.

"What?"

"Your face. It's pink again."

Xueyi looks away, quickly reaching up with one hand to touch her cheek. It feels warm to the touch again. She's still unsure of how her body functions but according to you this is a human reaction. And knowing that she can react like a human makes her feel a bit calmer inside.

"I like it. Pink suits you, you're adorable." You mumble as you press kiss to her jawline. She feels a lurch in her chest, as if the motors are going haywire. Every time your lips press against her synthetic skin she feels like she's going slightly insane, as if her body was failing to process whatever was going on.

"Thank you." Is all she can mumble out, and you laugh to yourself at the response.

"Gods, you're adorable." You whisper, pressing a kiss to her neck. She doesn't understand why she gasps softly, or why she feels the need for more as move to straddle her lap, kissing down her neck. There's a lot she doesn't understand about herself, there's a lot she knows she used to hate but doesn't anymore. But the one thing she's sure of is that she wants all of you.

"Xueyi?"

She lets out a soft hum of acknowledgement, wrapping her arm around your back as you lay next to her, resting your head on her bare chest as the covers keep you both from the cool winter nights.

"Did you know you could feel like this?"

She tilts her head to the side.

"Like what?"

"Like... love? Did you know you could fall in love?"

The question has her pondering slightly. She didn't think she could feel the way she used to feel anymore until you, and she's never been more grateful.

"No, but I'm glad I can, to an extent." She responds quietly, feeling your finger trace shapes upon her skin, tracing each little groove on her synthetic body that holds it together. "I'm glad I've met you."

You look up at her, and she can feel herself falling again at the look in your eyes. Who knew a simple look could convey words that neither of you could form in the moment, but somehow was able to understand each other completely?

"Do you want to get married?"

The question comes out of the blue, tumbling out of your mouth like an unstoppable boulder going down the hill. It comes out of your mouth like desperately, as if it was a question you had pondered for too long and you just wanted to let out as soon as possible. She feels the same caving feeling in her chest as when you first kissed her, when you first told her you love her.

"Married?"

Her own voice sounds shaky as she searches your eyes for an answer, for your answer to your own question. Your eyes stayed glued onto hers, looking for the same. Neither of you knew the answer to the question, what you truly wanted was still unknown even to yourself and she can see that in your eyes but what she could also see was the overwhelming love.

"Baby?"

She doesn't understand why you suddenly seemed to grow worried.

"Xueyi, are you okay?"

"Yeah?"

"You're crying."

It's only when you point it out that she realises her face is wet and her eyes are stinging slightly. Crying. A human response to an overly emotional trigger, a response she shouldn't be able to show as she is not in a human body. So why is she crying?

"Darling, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head, not wanting to worry you because she doesn't know either- all she knows is that she feels a tornado in her chest and she feels too much that she feels like she shouldn't be able to comprehend but she can. She understands it all despite it being so foreign and it feels like home. It feels like you.

"I love you."

Your gaze softens at her words, the first time she's ever said them out loud to you was in the sanctuary of your bed in your home.A home you've managed to make her feel safe in for the first time, a home she wants to return to. When you kiss her, she just holds you close. No words could convey what you were feeling and she knew she wouldn't be able to convey much either. But she knew she wanted you, for as long as she can have you.

She can't ever really tell you how she feels, she can't write a poem like those authors on the streets that show off the emotions they can feel. She can't tell you how you mean the world and more to her because she can barely even get herself to smile when she's happy but she would try forever to get you to see how much she truly cares for you. Even if it means going to lengths she never did before.

So she just texts you one day:

Come to the kitchen.

You were worried when you got that text, leaping out of your chair to dash down to the kitchen, afraid that something had happened. Was it something you did? Did she want to talk? You couldn't help but overthink- it was hard with Xueyi. The walk was only thirty seconds or less, but you felt your panic grow in each second passing.

"Xueyi, what's wrong-?"

You were quickly cut off when you see the sight in front of you. Xueyi stands in the kitchen in her oversized hoodie that she took from you, holding a black little kitten in her arms with round red eyes. You couldn't help but let out a gasp, rushing up to her and the kitten as you look down at the little creature in her arms.

"What? How did you-"

"You wanted a cat."

The smile on your face when she said those words made her realise it was really all worth it. She never understood the need for little living creatures but seeing the way you grinned and bent down slightly to coo at the cat, her face relaxed slightly from her usual emotionless scowl to a softer expression- the closest she can show to emotion.

"It looks like you."

She furrows her eyebrows at your comment.

"How can a cat look like me?"

A soft giggle escapes from between your lips, she's fallen and long gone now.

"It just does."

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: A Deal with the Lodge

This bonus story takes place after the Aftermath bonus chapters (Part 1 and 2.

I also want to incorporate a little something something from the GOT story line in which characters from that show reflect on the Targaryen history (which is kinda inspired by Andrzej Sapkowski's writing style from the Witcher book series).

-----King's Landing: Approximately 300 years after Aegon's Conquest--------------------

"They say theirs was one of the greatest love stories ever told in Westeros," Cersei Lannister casually speaks as she sips from her cup of Westerosi strong wine, "and like a foolish girl, I once believe it."

"Who?" Jaime Lannister questions, not quite sure what has gotten his twin sister in such a mood. "The Lady of Larks and the Rogue Prince," Cersei tells him, nodding towards the painting hanging over the mantle, depicting a bird, a lark actually, with wings spread in the middle of the painting as a red dragon surrounded the lark.

"No one knows who originally had that commissioned, nor do they know the artist" Cersei explains, "Robert wanted to have it burned as it contributed to the symbols of what he had come to despise. But it has been one of the most widely interpreted paintings in Westerosi history." "And how so?" Jaime asks. "Some believe the dragon, prince Daemon, is embracing the bird, the Lady of Larks, protecting her and defending her from those who would wish her harm. Others believe, this is the prince watching her, keeping her in a cage...keeping her from escaping his grasp. No one truly knows the nature of their relationship, and probably never will...but it doesn't stop historians from trying."

"What do you believe?" Jaime decides to ask. "I think, the prince tried to tame the Lady of Larks," Cersei answers, "keep her in a cage so she would never leave his sight. But birds who have known true freedom do not do well under such conditions. As soon as the cage door closes they suffocate and die, and even if they survive long enough to finally escape...

------------the Herbalist Hut-----------

Your breaths came in shallow huffs as your fever continued to burn and your body shivered from the cold. You remained in the bed, more blankets and a fur covered you to keep you warm as Geralt took a cold wet cloth and placed it on your forehead.

The man couldn't understand it; the potion he gave you should've worked, and it looked like it was going to, hell, you had even managed to sit up on the bed one day and spend the rest of it on chair and get some food in your belly.

But then you took a turn for the worse and seemed even worse off then you were before. Even with all the herbs at disposal, you were not getting better. At this point, all Geralt and Jaskier could do was remain at your bedside...and get your affairs in order.

You open your eyes, fever still raging as you see the two men stare at your side, "Ge-Ger...Ja-Jask...," you wheeze out. "Please don't speak, sister," you hear Jaskier insist, "you need to rest...you need to get better yeah?" You hear the distress in your brother's voice, much as he tried to hide it, but you knew the truth of it all; you were dying, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do to stop it. You didn't know if this had anything to do with your miscarriage, or if you had subconsciously lost the will to live...or maybe both. But you didn't want to die, you wanted to live and see your daughter one more time.

You want to say more, there were so many things you wanted to say to both men, but you didn't have to strength. So many unspoken things, so much hurt, and so much of everything that you couldn't find the words in your fever induced state.

You close your eyes, still breathing...still living for the time being.

Geralt had said nothing during this time, remaining stoic as Jaskier started to choke on sobs he had been holding back during this time. "Geralt," Jaskier says as tears fell down, "is there nothing we can do?" Geralt looked away, not wanting to say what everyone was thinking. "Geralt, she's...she's my sister, she's already been through so much, and now...how can it end this way?"

Yennefer walked in, a bag of herbs in hand, "I was able to restock what I could," she says, "We'll grind and brew all this and then..." the mage looked to see the state you were in, and the grim looks on Geralt and Jaskier's face. Yennefer fell silent, knowing what was coming. "We've done all we can," Geralt mutters, "we can do no more." "...No....no....no, she...she can't," Yennefer shakes her head, tears falling, and denying the reality of the situation, "She was getting better, she was going to make it, she...no, I won't let it happen."

Yennefer kneels by the bed side and mutter the same incantations she had before with hopes they work this time around. "Yen," Geralt calls out, but the mage refused the listen, determine to save you from the edge of death, "Yen, stop it! Yen!" He pulls Yennefer away. "Yen," he says once she calmed a little, "it's over...there's nothing we can do anymore." "You are going to give up so easily?" Yennefer scoffs, "after all the trouble you went through to get her back." "I'm not!" Geralt insists, "I...I just know what is to come. (y/n) she...she's dying and..." he turned away, unable to fully express his feelings in words, but a single tears had managed to escape, and Yennefer knew how much he was hurting inside, feeling like he had failed, "I should've come for her sooner," he admits, "maybe then she would not..."

Yennefer nods, knowing Geralt had not even made his peace.

The mage felt she needed to do something; she knew how much this meant to Geralt and Jaskier, and she cared for you too, especially when she learned of the true nature of abduction at the hands of the Rogue Prince. And now, because of that man, you were in this condition. It seemed nothing could be done to save you.

No, Yennefer thinks, this could not end like this.

Much as she hated to admit it, Yennefer was going to need help in order to save your life...and she was going to need to do this without Geralt or Jaskier knowing. So she waited for both men to rest from their vigil, but she should've realized it was not going to happen, knowing that both were sitting and waiting for the inevitable. So she cast a small spell to put them to sleep, making it look like they both fell asleep from exhaustion.

--------------King's Landing: 300 years AC------------------

"Hmm....hmmmm...mmmhmmm...yes quite sophisticated if I might say."

"You don't even know what you're looking at, Bronn," Tyrion Lannister deadpans as he goes over the books for the Crown's expenditures. "I don't have to know," Bronn of the Blackwater, "I just need to think I know, that's how you fool these Highborn types." "Yes, Bronn, that is exactly how it works," Tyrion says absentmindedly, more fixated on the books.

"It is quite a nice painting, I will say that," Bronn genuinely comments, "although...I've never seen any ladies around here with the pointed ears." Tyrion looks up to see the painting the man in question was looking at, "Ah, I see you are admiring a portrait of the great Francesca Findabir, an elven mage...and some may the most beautiful of her kind." "The fuck is an elf?" Bronn scoffs. "They were beings who were once said to inhabit this world," Tyrion explains, "long before the First Men came to be. They were characterized by their point ears, their longevity, and their overall beauty. Their cities were said to be as beautiful as they were, but when humans came to this world, and before they became more widespread, the elves destroyed and buried their cities, going into hiding with the hope those same humans would eventually go away." "Well...their plan clearly failed," Bronn humors, "Still...can't deny they certainly must've been beauties...I should like to come across one someday, see if their tits are anything like women's ones." "That may take a very long time," Tyrion humors, "they were said to have left this world a long time ago, but not before destroying everything they owed. This portrait..." he gestures to the painting, "is actually a replica. For all we know this is not Francesca at all. In fact, any portraits and paintings acquired from the Continent of many of their famed mages and heroes of old are said to be questionable in terms of authenticity." "I don't follow." Tyrion gestures for Bronn to follow to show him more, "this one," he gestures to the portrait, "the Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg; was once said to be the most beautiful of mages. This one, Cirilla Fiona Ellen Rhiannon, the Empress of Nilfgaard and Queen of Cintra. And this one..." he gestures to the painting of the Lark and the Dragon, "this one is supposed to depict the supposed lovers relationship of the Lady of Larks...and Daemon Targaryen." "Some relationship," Bronn scoffs, "the bird looks almost trapped in the dragon's embrace." "Not everyone agrees," Tyrion says, "but more to the point, any and all paintings of these people from the Continent were destroyed some time after their deaths and any that were recovered at all...well it is the best we can hope for."

"What exactly is this story between this...Lady Lark and this Targaryen?" Bronn asks. "Oh where to begin," Tyrion says, humor in his tone, "even to this day, there is still much debate over its true nature." "All the more exciting," Bronn insists, "get on with it, I want to know."

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

In another part of the Red Keep Sansa Stark sat down taking in the fresh air...or what would be considered fresh air here in King's Landing. She never knew when she was going to be alone next time so she wanted to savor this moment while she could. No Lannisters, no cruel king to torment her, and no sign of the Hound to point out her shortcomings.

While in contemplation, Sansa turned her gaze to a portrait hanging on the wall; the Stark girl recognized it as one of few paintings she's seen when she first set foot in King's Landing with her father and sister. The Lady of Larks. Her story was actually quite renown; a Continental woman who came to this place nearly 2 centuries ago, sang her tales of that strange place across the sea, how her voice captivated the infamous Rogue Prince and the romance that ensued. The Septa had once taught her and Arya this as a precautionary tale to warn the girls of the dangers of thinking with their cunny instead of their head.

Sandor Clegane told her a different version of the story, that the Lady Lark was the one who was ensnared by Daemon's Targaryen's charm, and when she was in his grasp he refused to let her go, trapping her like a bird in a cage. Sansa recalled the look on the Hound's face when he made this analogy; she knew what he was thinking. Clegane had liken Sansa to a little bird, she wondered if he likened her to the Lady of Larks who was first lured in with charms and promises of a man only to be caged in by his cruelty...just as Sansa was trapped in a cage by the likes of Joffery Baratheon.

"The Lady of Lark was a fool," she recalled Joffery having once said, "she clearly had something good and she threw it all away. If I were the Rogue Prince I would've slit her throat where she stood like the ungrateful cunt that she was."

Now Sansa could only wonder how the Lady Lark handled her situation. -----------present: a secret location on the Continent------------

Yennefer carried you in her arms, doing her best not to disturb you too much.

She honestly didn't know what she was thinking, but she didn't know where else to turn to. You were dying and there was nothing Yen could do...but maybe there was some who do something about it, one of the connections she may have at her disposal courtesy of some old friends of hers from Aretuza prior to the dissolution of the Brotherhood.

Yennefer spoke the code in the Elder Speech to announce her arrival and to assure that she was one of them, and sure enough, the people she needed to see appeared on the scene.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Phillipa Eilhart addresses, "or more specifically look what the thing the cat dragged in has dragged in." "Fuck off, Phillipa," Yennefer huffs, too exhausted to match wits and words with the sorceress before, "I...I need to speak with Francesca Findabair. It is a matter of life or death." "Oh? Only Francesca?" "Her or Ida will do, this requires an elven sorceresses' touch," Yennefer insists.

You huff out short breaths, bringing both sorceresses' attention to you, "is this who I think it is?" Phillipa asks, recognizing you, "I had thought all this time-" "Phillipa, now!" Yen exclaims in a tone that must be taken seriously, "She's dying, all because of a man, and if you know who she is, you damn well know who that man is." Phillipa nods, the wheels turning in her mind already, for as much as she sympathized, she sought an opportunity from this act of desperation on Yennefer's part.

"If what you say is true," the Redanian mage speaks, "if this truly is a matter of life and death...then am I to assume the Lady of Larks is dear to you? Much so that you would do anything to save her life." "Phillipa-" "You already know what the Lodge wants, what it needs, Yennefer," Phillipa interrupts, "you know. If this girl means that much to you, then you know what must be done, what deal must be made." "You're asking me to save one at the expense of another." "I'm asking you how willing you are to see that the woman the man you love deeply cares for will live to breathe again."

"If you won't do this out of the goodness of your heart, then do it for the Lodge," Yennefer says in a low tone, "isn't this why the Lodge of sorceresses was created in the first place? Because we know deep down that men are not fit to rule, especially where matters on chaos are concerned? Because of those men, the Lady of Larks lays before you dying and only a woman's touch can save her." "A convincing case," Phillipa admits, "still, this is not an opportunity I cannot pass."

Yennefer knew this was going to happen as this was a conscious subject when she was invited to become a Lodge member on their second meeting ever. This was not quite like the Brotherhood that had more interest in maintaining the status quo; these sorceresses were ambitious and had plans of their own to carve out their own place at the table of world powers and rule as their equals, if not above them. And in order to do so, they needed one who possessed both royal blood and magic...and the Lodge already had a candidate in mind since it's inception, all thanks to that stunt Yen pulled with Ciri following the events on Thanedd.

Yennefer realized now she was reaping the consequences of her actions as a result of her own recklessness. She made her bed...now she needed to lay in it.

Without saying nothing, giving one last look at your dying state, she turns to Phillipa and nods, "we have a deal." Small smile, not smug but more sympathetic, Phillipa has Yennefer collect you and the mage opens a portal to take you to Francesca, the one mage who had a chance at this point to save you.

--------------Somewhere in Slaver's Bay: 300 years AC----------------

"Have you ever heard the story of the Lady of Larks, Khalessi?" Ser Jorah Mormont inquired of the woman in question.

"I know of the story," Daenerys  Targaryen admits, "Viserys used to tell it to me all the time. The Great Romance between the Lady Lark and my forebear Daemon Targaryen. The Lady of Larks was a gifted troubaritz, a voice so beautiful the larks would stand silent to listen. The Rogue Prince was so captivated that he scorned his own wife to be with the Lady of the story. They even had a child together...that is until she was seduced away by a mutant from the Continent, the famous White Wolf."

"Is there anything else Viserys told you of them?" Jorah asks. "Not really," Daenerys admits, "what more is there to know?" "The people in Westeros may see theirs as a great romance," Jorah tells her, "but the Continentals don't quite see it that way."

"How could they not?" Daenerys huffs. "They for the most part believe the other version of the tale," Jorah answers, "they believe the Rogue Prince was the one who stole the Lady of Larks away. Stole her, defiled her, and then took their child away from her. Do you know the name of the child they bore?" "The Princess Aemma Targaryen, Daemon's first born," Daenerys answers, "but...I don't understand how this could be. They sound like completely different stories. Which...which one do you choose to believe?"

"I think...that the truth lies somewhere in the middle," was Jorah's answer, "but we may never know what truly happened." "What became of the daughter of the Rogue Prince and the Lady of Larks?" Daenerys changes the subject. "That to this day remains a mystery," Jorah says, "all we know is that she disappeared shortly after the Dance of Dragons."

"Tell me the story then," Dany insists, "both versions. I should try to discern the truth for myself, however I can."

Bonus Masterlist

[obxsummer]

Revelations // Ghost of You

summary: obx's annual bonfire is here and for the pogues, that means throwing punches and shotgunning some beers. except, this time there's vicious arrows, sarah's back on the cut, and you're dragged back into your own personal hell.

warnings: suicidal thoughts, angst, panic attacks, cursing, the usual

a/n: i love me some angst baby WHOOP WHOOP

navigation -- series masterlist

Hushed whispers were hard to avoid while you moved from table to table at the Wreck. Sure, you had grown used to avoiding the negative comments as best as possible, but Ward Cameron was dead and the island was reeling over it. You knew the whole story wasn’t out yet but it was soon to come, that wasn’t hard to miss. School was the same, rushed whispers and odd looks in the hall that had you hiding behind the boys more than ever.

You were doing your best to keep everything together but it was hard to get back on your feet after being torn down for so long. You could tell the Pogues were doing their best to get you and John B back into commission. Kie was pulling you out of bed most days, especially keeping you together at work. JJ held you at night, never questioning your tears. Pope was tiptoeing a little bit, but you appreciated his simple actions like packing lunch for you to take to work, or the sudden upkeep in your favorite snacks. You friends were pulling together when you needed them and for that, you’d be forever grateful.

Pope had been given permission to Denmark’s diary that was recovered which continued to give your group clues as to where to go next. The warm afternoon air danced across the porch as you lounged across the couch with your feet in Kie’s lap. The beer in your hand was empty and you didn’t question where they had suddenly appeared from. 

“This diary proves that both the gold and the Cross of Santo Domingo were on the Royal Merchant,” Pope discovered as he handed the diary over to Kie.

“Why didn’t we find it in the well then?” JJ asked as he flipped his lighter between his fingers before rolling over to face you guys. “I mean, if Denmark was able to get this, like, bedazzled cross off of the merchant to shore, why didn’t he just hide it with the gold?”

“Because it was too big,” You offered as you reached up to grab the lighter from the boy’s fingers to hold in your own. 

Pope nodded in agreement. “He had to hide it someplace else. Right before he was hung, Denmark Tanny said he buried the treasure at the foot of the angel.”

John B, Kie, and Pope delved into more questions that didn’t really have answers. You zoned out, watching the silver metal in your hand move with your wishes, a bright flame flickering now and then as a distraction. JJ must’ve gotten bored with it before he hopped up and interrupted the conversation. “You know what always helps me figure shit out? Smoking beers and drinking weed. The ideas just pour out of me. If we just sit here, and try to figure this out, we’re gonna get nowhere. But if we get creative and go to this bonfire tonight, maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

“Well, I just got disowned by my parents, and I’m an official member of the I-have-nothing-to-lose club.”

“Pope?” The two boys had a mini staring competition before JJ was rushing to explain his idea further. “Look, look. Think about how much you could think if you just gave your brain a rest.”

Pope hesitated for a moment as the trio listened in eager anticipation. “Okay, fine.” Excited bursts followed his statement before all eyes fell on you.

With a groan, you shifted to lay on your side so you could see them. “I don’t know guys.”

Kie tapped your legs anxiously. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun! We can just have a few drinks, chill on the beach. It’ll be a nice, easy evening.”

“Yeah but the Kooks are gonna be there,” You whined as you pouted slightly. “That’s mood killer enough.”

“Come on babe,” JJ pleaded as he stood directly above you, finger poking your nose gently. “You know you want to.”

You kept eye contact with him for a second and truly pondered the option. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell them no, but as hard as you tried to get yourself out of the rut you were in, it was proving difficult. You knew going into a crowd wouldn’t help that feeling go away, but you also didn’t want to disappoint them.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

--

Your stomach was in knots as you sat on your bed later that evening. Kie had laid out an outfit - some simple jean shorts and a cute top. You stole one of the boys’ flannels from the kitchen chair, knowing the air would get chilly. Plus, not that you would admit it, but it made you feel better about going anyway. Not that they needed to know that.

“There you are.” JJ’s smile was unmissable as you walked onto the screened in porch where he was smoking with Kie. He could tell you were nervous and wanted to do his best to help as much as he could.

“Hi.” You returned the gesture before sitting next to him and snatching a drink from the cooler in front of you. “Where’s JB and Pope?”

“Bullshitting on the Pogue,” Kie explained as she waved towards the water. “I’m really glad you’re coming with us tonight. I think it’ll be a good change for you.”

You nodded, still feeling uncertain but you could feel the weight on you lift slightly. This was supposed to be fun, and if John B could pull himself out of bed to do it, you had no reason not to. You knew it would take a little more than usual but you wanted to be back to normal and leave this funk behind you.

“Come on, let’s go get them.” Kie reached down to grab a few spare drinks before leading the way down the dock towards where the two boys were lounging on the boat. Neither of them glanced up at your footsteps which led you to believe they didn’t even know you were there. 

JJ’s finger slipped into your belt loop to tug you closer in comfort before tossing a beer in the air without warning. “Hot potato, hot potato, hot potato two!”

Both John B and Pope sat up with the intrusive flying cans and attempted to catch their own. “Oh shit!”

“I need another one!”

“Hey!”

“I’ll take that.”

“Alright,” You laughed at their antics before gently throwing an unopened can to your brother. “What are you guys doing down here? Having a good cry?” You pulled yourself up to sit on the wooden railing, kicking your legs lightly as you gave them a teasing smile.

John B flipped you off and shotgunned his drink while Pope scoffed, “Cry?”

“Cry?” Your brother repeated the word again once he finished. “What are you talking about -- we don’t cry.” You rolled your eyes at his dismissive behavior but it was painfully obvious he had been crying not too long ago. 

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Kie told him.

John B looked away from her and out towards the water. “You think she’ll come around?”

“Yeah, dude,” Kie answered instantly. “She’s one of us.”

Your brother’s frown shifted into a smirk as he messed around with his hair. “Sarah’s a Pogue. She’ll come around. Yep. You know, she’ll come back to me. Right. You know, I was just thinking about it. I’m gonna do a backflip.”

You gave him a weird look as he pointed eagerly towards the water. “You’re lying.”

“I won’t do it?”

“You won’t.”

“You got any money?”

“Hold my beer that you already dropped.”

“I wanna see you do it!”

John B didn’t wait for another comment before flipping off the side of the boat into the water below. Various cheers rang out between you, JJ, Kie, and Pope as he rose back to the surface. You knew John B would bounce back relatively fast after the situation the other day. You were glad he could, but it wasn’t hard to miss the fact that he was putting on a brave face for everyone.

The bonfire was already massive when you guys finally got there. Kooks, Pogues, and a handful of tourons crowded the area and music was rattling your ears the second you hopped out of the van. Your eyes widened in surprise as you let JJ guide you along as he conversed with John B about Sarah.

“In the meantime, shotgun, right now. Just like the old days,” JJ interrupted whatever rant John B was on to lean down and grab three beers from the case on the ground. He handed one to you and dug for a couple more to shove into his pockets for later.

“Hey, derelicts!” The yell came before a somewhat empty cup was being tossed towards you. You winced as a few drops hit your skin and redirected your gaze to where a brunette girl was staring at the three of you intently. You recognized her as Rachel, a girl from your school that literally never spoke to any of you outside of now. 

JJ took one look at your face and knew it was time to move before you let out your aggression on the girl in front of you. “There she is. That’s you. We’re out of here.” JJ pushed the can into John B’s chest before grabbing your hand and guiding you away from the two.

“Fucking hell,” You grumbled once you found a spot up on the concrete wall to sit. The bonfire burned below you where more people were crowded around. You didn’t hesitate to pop a hole in your can and shotgun it back in hopes that it would lessen some of your anxiety.

“Shit, babe. Already pissed?” JJ raised his hands in defense when you gave him a sharp glare. “Sorry, that’s on me.”

You shook your head and leaned against his shoulder, pulling your leg up to your chest. “No, I just… will never get used to people doing shit like that with you two. Couldn’t be me.”

“No,” JJ laughed but you could tell he wasn’t making fun of you. “It’s not you, but you don’t have to worry about that with me anymore.”

You couldn’t tell if you were overthinking but you looked over at him with curious eyes. JJ never scared you, and you were never afraid to show him exactly what you were thinking. “What’s that mean?”

JJ noticed his slip up and quickly downed his drink before facing you. “Look, um. I mean, shit. Come on, Y/N/N. We’ve been straight up flirting for like two weeks now, and let’s be honest. I…I, you’re everything for me, okay? And I’m sorry if that terrifies you but I have to tell you. I know you’re going through it right now and I’m willing to hold off, if-if you’re even interested but-”

“JJ.” You took his hesitation as enough of an answer and placed your hand on his cheek to get him to look at you. His eyes were wide in anticipation, causing a small smile to form on your face. “Shut the fuck up.” In two seconds, you had your lips on his. In four, his hand was on your waist after the shock wore off. After eight, people noticed and broke into noise which finally broke the two of you apart. 

You knew your cheeks were warm with the attention focused on the two of you and dug your face into JJ’s shirt sleeve. He, however, thought it was the funniest thing ever and raised his arms in the air as an expression of a win. 

“What the hell!” Kiara’s voice pulled you back into the limelight as you looked down at her. Her mouth was wide open in a jaw-shattering smile. “About time you two! Holy shit, Pope!” Her hand tugged his shirt sleeve aggressively even though he was already watching. 

You tossed back with a middle finger before ignoring her as she continued to freak out. Your eyes scanned the crowd briefly to see if John B was in sight before you landed on him. He was next to Rachel, the same girl from earlier and to your shock, Sarah Cameron was standing in the conversation. 

Deciding that could wait for later, you finally met JJ’s gaze again to see him staring at you adoringly. “What?” You laughed slightly at his awestruck expression. “Are you gonna say something?”

“Pleasebemygirlfriend.”

With a laugh, you grabbed his hand in yours and nodded. “That’s obvious, J. But I’m not saving you when John B decides to kick your ass.”

“I can take him!” He fired back instantly and puffed his chest out in effect. “I’ve got it. Don’t you worry.”

Shaking your head, you faced back towards the bonfire below you and returned your head to his shoulder. Sounds of arguing had you turning to see Topper now by Sarah’s side, the three of them shouting at each other. Phones began popping up to film and that was enough to send your heart racing. 

You and JJ took off down the stairs in a split second, bumping into Kie and Pope along the way. You skidded to a stop in time to see Kelce shove himself in between Topper and John B, yelling insults as he did. “Whatcha gonna do, John B? Kill me like you killed Sheriff Peterkin? Huh? Do something!”

Your brother flipped around with such veracity that you could’ve missed it in a blink. His fist connected with Kelce’s cheek and knocked him back before Topper was suddenly back in the mix. You stared with wide eyes as JJ and Pope didn’t hesitate to throw themselves into the fury of hands. 

“Move!” Your shout had people turning as you began to push your way towards the altercation with hopes that one of the boys would chill out if you intervened. 

“Bitch!” The returned call had you looking to your left in fury to see Rachel push Sarah to the ground intentionally. 

With a newfound rage, and a misplaced aggression ready to burst, you flew towards her. “Hey Rachel!” She barely looked towards you before your hands landed on her shoulders and shoved her back, watching as she collided with the concrete beneath her. “Don’t fucking touch her!” Glancing down at Sarah, you offered her your hand to help pull her up. “Are you okay?”

The question was left unanswered as Rachel got up with a new attitude. “What the hell? Whose side are you on?” Her leg kicked out against your hip causing you to tumble to the ground. You hissed as your hands scraped against the concrete. 

With a groan, you were right back on your feet. You didn’t hesitate to push yourself into her personal space, eyes glaring intently. “First of all, she’s my friend, so watch who you put your hands on next time. Second of all-” There was a split second between your words before you threw a nasty punch to her cheek. The crowd around you gasped in shock as she stumbled back. “Stay the hell away from my brother.”

Turning sharply, you moved straight back to where the boys were still throwing hands. Your fingers latched onto the collar of Topper’s shirt before you yanked back aggressively. He choked momentarily, hands leaving John B’s throat as he was thrown off balance. He looked up, ready to get into another fight with whoever stopped him before he realized it was you. “Y/N, get out of here before you get hurt.”

“Topper, I spent months locked in the same house as Rafe,” You sneered as you stepped between him and John B. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, and don’t talk to me about getting hurt.”

With a snide glare, Topper was brushing blood off his cheek and collecting Kelce from Pope and JJ to scramble away. Yelling continued from both sides of the island as they all argued with each other while you busied yourself with collecting John B from the floor. JJ, Kie, and Pope tumbled into the two of you before you all took off towards the van. 

—

The adrenaline was still pumping when you all finally pulled up at the Chateau where the lights lit up the yard.. 

“Well, that was a little unexpected,” JJ commented when he came back from grabbing drinks. You were still in the passenger seat, feet up on the dash as you left the door to hang open with fresh air. John B was crumbled into the back corner of the van, a cold beer can pressed against his already bruising face. Kie was behind you on the bench with her back against the driver’s seat, eyes intently watching your brother. 

“Was it though?” She asked rhetorically as she took a drink from JJ. She looked exhausted, probably still coming down from the rush. 

Pope was in the driver’s seat with his head resting against the steering wheel. Reaching over, you gently grabbed his shoulder to shift him back before your fingers redirected his chin. His left eye was swollen from someone’s hand colliding with it. He gave you a half-assed smile as you handed over a cold beer can for him to put on it. 

“Hey, maybe she’ll come around,” JJ tried to encourage John B as best as possible. His fingers reached into the doorway for you to catch on your own. You wanted to curl up with him on the couch and just go to bed after everything. 

“It’s like everything that happened to us didn’t matter,” John B whispered quietly. You closed your eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of the still presenting shaking from the fight.

Fingers tapped on your thigh for you to open your eyes again. “Who got you all banged up, pretty girl?” JJ brushed a few loose pieces of gravel and dirt from your busted knee and the side of your leg. You hadn’t even noticed the injury in the chaos but the burn was starting to settle in. 

“Oh my God, you guys missed it!” You could practically hear the smile in Kie’s face. “After JJ and Y/N got done making out-”

“Making out?!”

“She rocked the shit out of Rachel! Like ass on the grass and everything,” Kie finished as she looked over to you. You rolled your eyes at her explanation, ignoring your brother’s frantic questions in the background. 

“That’s a bit dramatic…”

“No, no. It was awesome. She was all ‘don’t fucking touch her’ about Sarah and then BOOM ‘stay the hell away from my brother’! Pretty badass if you ask me,” Kie recountered, mocking your voice in quotations. 

JJ’s gaze met yours as you gave him a half-smile, his hand grabbing yours as his thumb ghosted over your bruised knuckles. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You let him pull you from the van and into the house. Your knees weren’t that bad, but they looked pretty gnarly since you hadn’t had a chance to clean the dried blood and dirt from them. A quick wipe down with a wet towel and they would be fine.

“I hope I didn’t overwhelm you at the party,” JJ spoke quietly as he tried to clean the scrapes as best as possible. 

You were sitting on the counter, leaning against the cabinets with your hands out to support you. “Not at all, J. I think it’s been coming for a while now. We just needed a push.”

“Yeah,” He laughed slightly with his reply. “I meant it all though. I love you.” He stood back up to his full height, tossing the dirty paper towel in the garbage before stepping between your legs to push his arms under yours on the counter. “Meant every bit of it.”

You shifted, hands coming up to rest on his cheeks as his arms moved to wrap around your waist. “I love you too.” The affirmation was met with a strong kiss as he pulled you closer. JJ felt like home in every way possible. Ever since he pulled you out of the Camerons’ house that night, you associated that feeling with him. That rush of comfort, peace, warmth. It was all him. 

“Oh, so this is what Kie meant in the van.” John B’s voice interrupted the moment as you both turned to look at him. “Gross, on my counter too.”

“It’s as much your counter as mine,” You contradicted as you took JJ’s hand to hop off the surface. “But yes, this is what Kie meant in the van. I hope that’s okay.”

John B gave you a wild look at your ask. “Why are you asking me? I don’t give a shit.” You gave him a deadpanned look. “Okay, I do give a shit. Just please don’t end up like me and Sarah, okay? It was hard enough to see you after everything with the Camerons and I can’t do it again.”

“Deal,” You agreed with a smile.

The three of you grabbed more drinks before heading outside to join Pope and Kie by the fire. Plopping in a chair between your brother and JJ, you grabbed a skewer to roast a marshmallow on before leaning for the gooey snack to be warmed up. 

“I’ve had more black eyes in the last month than I’ve ever had,” Pope joked as he cracked open a new drink and took a seat in the bag chair next to JJ. 

The blond boy next to you laughed. “That was building up for years. Rumble in the jungle.” He tried to pull his marshmallow off only to grimace when he burned his finger. Shaking your head at his carelessness, you sat back and pulled your legs up on your seat once you deemed your marshmallow cooked enough. 

“Hey, did you really stick up for Sarah?” John B sat next to you, a flannel now over his t-shirt to keep the chill air off his skin. 

You gave him a side glance and continued making your s’more. “Of course I did. I know you guys are going through it but she’s not a real Kook.”

“Right.” John B didn’t want to admit it, but when you blew up on him on the beach before the cops showed up, he feared your relationship with Sarah was shattered beyond repair. That would’ve been a nightmare for him. Sure it was hard to convince Kie in the beginning to give the Cameron girl a chance, but if you and Sarah hated each other, that was the worst case scenario to John B. “I just want one bite, that looks-”

Too focused on JJ’s battle with his marshmallow, you didn’t have time to defend yourself from your brother completely stealing your perfected s’more. “What are you doing? Bro, stop!” You smacked John B’s shoulder in retaliation as he licked the remainders off his fingers.

Turning to your boyfriend, JJ was quick to move his messy one out of reach. “You’re not having any of mine.” You gaped at him over the fact that he wouldn’t even spare you a bite when yours was just stolen in front of your eyes.

“Dude, come on!”

“Don’t dude me! This is my s’more!”

You made the move to attack the boy next to you until he caved but John B’s hand latched on your flannel and tugged you into your seat. “Hey, hey. Shh, somebody’s here.”

Silence fell across the five of you as you locked eyes with JJ. “If it’s Rafe…” You trailed off, expression dropping to one of full fear that had him climbing out of his seat. “Do you have your gun?”

“Oh, now you want the gun!”

“J!” You hissed as you grabbed his sleeve. “Seriously?”

“Shut up!” John B hushed you as he started to walk towards the source of the noise. “Hey, who’s out there?”

“You Kooks better not try anything!” Kie called out as she stepped over the log she had been sitting on to follow him. JJ grabbed the metal pole off the ground that they had sharpened to poke the fire, leaving you and Pope to bring up the end.

“How y’all doing?” A man stepped around the corner who you recognized as Limbrey’s guard dog from the other day. “Lovely evening we’re having. Look, I uh, I don’t hold a grudge with any of y’all, alright? But this can go hard or this can go easy. You know what I’m here for.” He made a show of patting himself down and spinning so you could see there were no obvious weapons. The five of you stood silently after he had finished his monologue, which was apparently annoying to him. “Let me give you a little demonstration. You see that swing right there?”

Eyes focusing, you realized he was talking about the swing directly in front of you and JJ. Your boyfriend didn’t flinch at the rhetorical question, instead keeping silent as the man continued. “I’ve got the best bow hunters in the Army Rangers with me. Hidden.” 

JJ hummed in supposed belief and placed his hand on the right rope that held the swing up. The dude let out a whistle and there was instantly a sharp noise of an arrow that sliced through the left rope, inches from your arm before it lodged into the tree next to you. Choking on a gasp, you stepped away from the weapon that had become a little too close for comfort. 

“Now, they’re out there. They’ll stick you just as soon as I say so,” The man continued before he turned to approach Pope. You saw JJ shift in front of you, the metal bar in the air to attack before another sharp whistle rang out and landed inches from his shoe. “Ah, ah, ah. We clear?” You frowned as the man reached out to lessen JJ’s defense stance. 

The tension shifted as Pope reached into his pocket where the key had been hiding. He took a second to look at it before closing his fist around it tightly. “This key belongs to my family.”

The guy turned around to face where you, JJ, Kie, and John B stood behind him. He let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m losing my patience with you, Pope.” He put his fingers in his mouth and prepared to let out another whistle until your friend shifted to hand the object over. The man grasped it quickly before pointing in Pope’s face.

“You did the right thing, kid. Knowing when you don’t have a choice is an underappreciated talent. You be safe.” He turned to leave, not forgetting to make a sarcastic comment at JJ that had you sending him a sharp glare as he disappeared out of view.

When the yard was clear, Pope let out a deep breath. “I am so sick of this shit.” He didn’t wait for anyone’s response before he left you all behind to go hide in the Chateau. You watched him go with a pang of sadness. 

JJ threw the metal pole down in a fit of anger before stomping towards the fire that was still burning steadily. You crossed your arms over your chest in a self-hug as you watched the scene in front of you. This rollercoaster of up and down was never easy, but you just hoped at some point here soon, there would be a win for all of you.

After giving it a minute, you moved forward to crouch in front of JJ. “Hey.” You gently pulled his hands from where they were holding his head so he would look at you. “Wanna go to bed?” Giving a silent nod, he let you pull him up from his seat. You gave John B and Kie a tight lipped smile before walking towards the house. 

Pope had already settled on the pull-out in the light of the TV. You two shuffled quietly across the wooden floor into your room before closing the door as quietly as possible. JJ pulled his shirt off and jumped on the bed as you ducked into the attached bathroom to brush your teeth and change into some comfier clothing. You couldn’t believe how much had happened in such a short time of the night, but you could tell you needed to sleep on it to process.

Having JJ in your bed wasn’t entirely new, and you tried not to think about it too much when you walked back in to see his bare back turned towards you. After flipping the light switch off, you crawled into the open spot to face him with your fingers gliding across his smooth skin. You pressed a small kiss between his shoulder blades before tucking your left arm around his waist and curling into his form.

You could just hope when you woke up in the morning, this would still be real.

--

It was still very much real the next morning when you woke up to the sunlight in your room and JJ’s arm holding you tightly to his chest. It didn’t take long before everyone in the house was up and moving to relax on the porch, various remainders of breakfast food lingering around that you would pick up later. 

JJ had flopped on the couch first, leaving you to crawl on top of him to continue to steal his warmth despite the hoodie you were wearing. He didn’t seem to mind and let you lie on his chest while his hands clasped on the small of your back. Your eyes were heavy while he conversed with the boys, and once Kie placed a blanket over the two of you, you threatened to dive back into slumber at any second. 

The sound of the screen door opening kept you from doing so as JJ called out a greeting. You shifted to see Sarah clambering her way across the wooden deck to stand in front of you. You had to admit, you were surprised to see her on your side of the island so quickly after the bonfire.

“Shouldn’t you be on Figure Eight with your little group of polo players? Or did you break up with Topper?” John B’s attitude was obvious and it made you roll your eyes. 

“He’s just a friend.”

“Just a friend,” John B scoffed at the explanation and barely spared a look at her. “Seems like you got a lot of friends, Sarah Cameron.”

“Yeah, and it seems like you’ve got some of your own too!” She quipped right back. You were glad she was comfortable to still come around regardless of her relationship with your brother.

Knowing he was in a losing argument, John B sat up straight. “Alright, what are you doing here?”

“John Booker!” You groaned at his shitty attitude and flipped him the middle finger so he would shut up. He dismissed you with a returned flip off.

Sarah wasn’t too phased by the negativity and ignored him. “Actually, I’m here for Pope. I think I found the Island Room.”

--

There wasn’t much of an explanation needed before you were all climbing into the van with your destination set on her house. As the group delved into conversation at what they had found so far, you couldn’t bring yourself to add any input. 

Going back to the Camerons’ house meant going back to Rafe and it meant putting yourself back into that headspace that you were still trying to escape. You didn’t know if you were able to do that anymore. The world had been chipping away at the foundation you had built your whole life and you wondered when it would crack under the weight of everything else. 

When John B pulled up to the back patio doors, it took everything in you not to throw up your breakfast. You could practically hear the screams echoing from the windows the second you laid eyes on them. Tugging your jacket closer, you let JJ grab your hand to lead you along, opting to close your eyes in hopes that you could just follow his guidance and not have to relive the memories.

The creeks of the house around you were chilling and you could tell by the surrounding silence that nobody else was home. Letting out a breath, you froze the second the light wasn’t visible anymore and with your luck, JJ’s hand dropped from yours. 

“Woo!” He whistled in astonishment. You stopped cold, someone running into your back as your eyes snapped open to see the old grandfather clock against the wall ahead of you and the all-too-well known door to the left of it. Your friends followed Sarah’s lead into the room across the hall, leaving you to yourself.

“This place still freaks me out,” John B’s comment wasn’t missed and based on the proximity of his voice, you could tell he was the one who had bumped into you. He came to stand in front of you, observing the wallpaper that haunted your nightmares to this day. “You okay?”

He grabbed your elbow, shattering the trance you had placed yourself in unintentionally. Blinking quickly, you tried to keep the tears from falling and recenter yourself, convince your mind that you were safe, but it was hard when everything was so dark and crowded by the memories. Rafe’s voice was echoing in your head, Ward’s angry shouting, and just pain.

“Y/N?” John B placed both hands on your shoulders as he recognized the panic in your face. It took a split second for it to click. If he felt weird being in this house, he couldn’t imagine how you felt. He blinked and suddenly, you were kids again and you were crawling in his bed because of the tropical storm raging outside. Your dad never understood how to support you as well as he did with John B, so the older brother mantle carried a lot of weight between the two of you. 

John B always took care of you when you were kids and when your dad disappeared, the roles swapped and you took the lead. He got careless without the responsibility - careless and he took it out on you, which was the worst part. You didn’t blame him, rarely got mad, and all he did was leave you behind. He let you go through the worst part of your life by yourself and never once did you think he was coming to help you. 

“Hey, hey, hey, shh.” John B cradled your head into his chest as the glass walls you attempted to put up shattered to pieces. The sob you let out was heartwrenching as the two of you slid to the ground. John B pulled you closer as you clenched his shirt in your hands. He could tell you were struggling to breathe through it all and it broke his heart to see you like this. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I gotcha.”

You knew he was talking to you, you could feel him, but everything was numb. Your ears were ringing, chest heaving but you couldn’t get a single gasp of air in your system. Everything hurt and you knew if you opened your eyes, it would just hurt worse because it was real all over again. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay. I’m sorry,” John B apologized as he held tighter. He knew he failed you and he hadn’t even bothered to apologize. He felt horrible - what kind of big brother leaves you to fend for yourself when you need him most. 

JJ’s form came around the corner, his eyes dropping to the ground when he saw you and John B. The distraught look on his best friend’s face sent him into a fit of concern as he dropped to the ground in front of you. “Hey, Y/N, baby. What’s wrong?” You didn’t even know JJ was there and the fact that you weren’t responding to either of them was even scarier.

“She’s having a panic attack,” John B tried to explain around your cries. The way you were grasping his shirt threatened to rip holes through the fabric and he wished he could do something to help you. Tears of his own slipped down his cheeks. He just felt so horrible knowing you were in this much pain over a situation that he put you in. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there. I should’ve never let this happen.”

JJ didn’t say anything, instead placing a hand on the side of your neck to try and break you out of the dizzy spell. He had only seen you like this once before, when the whole island was searching for John B and you didn’t see an ending in sight. He tried to think back to that night, how they were able to calm you down.

“Shit, shit, um.” JJ was trying to keep himself from panicking as he met John B’s gaze. Both of them were no use if they freaked out at the same time. “You gotta get her to unclench her hands a-and then she’s gotta open her eyes and see where she’s at but-but I don’t know if that’s gonna help her, dude! Clearly it’s where we’re at that’s freaking her out!”

JJ’s voice wavered in and out of your head and you could hear bits and pieces if you tried. A few seconds later, you felt someone tugging your hands from John B’s shirt and fingers intertwined with yours to prevent you from closing your fists again. The white burning pain in your head slowly loosened up and you felt a coolness against your neck. Slowly, the words started making sense and you could hear the boys talking. 

“There you go, we’re right here. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

A gulp of fresh air made its way into your lungs as you finally willed your eyes to open. JJ was kneeling in front of you, hands holding yours tightly. Once he saw you were coming to, he slowly let go to place a hand on your thigh. It took you a moment to recognize what had happened before you closed your eyes for a second to rub them aggressively. 

John B was still behind you, one arm holding you tightly as the other pressed a damp washcloth against your neck. You could feel his hand shaking with the rush of panic you had just caused. Letting your head fall back, your body finally relaxed, overcome with exhaustion. 

“Shit,” You mumbled as you let out a deep breath. “Sorry, that… I didn’t mean for that to happen.” A small drop of water hit your face and you blinked to see John B’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You shifted to sit up so you could refocus your breathing and see him better. You knew you had freaked him out and you felt horrible to think that it was your fault.

“I should’ve been there,” He choked out as the tears became heavier, his hand holding your wrist tightly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. And I wasn’t, and that’s my fault. I’ll never make it up to you, I know that, but I want… I want to help, so you’ve gotta let me help. Please.”

Seeing John B so upset over you was a weird feeling. You both were extremely protective over your friends, and of course you looked out for each other. Either way, you weren’t used to people telling you to lean on them, you were always the one they leaned on. And you were fine with that, it was bearable, but in moments like this, you realized how heavy you were on yourself.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered as you leaned against the wall behind you and pulled your knees up to your chest. Tears were light on your cheeks as you glanced around, convincing yourself to keep breathing as you observed the hallway surroundings. “It’s just… being back here makes it all real all over again. I-I didn’t think it would hurt this bad but um...” 

A small hiccup left your throat as you processed another memory. JJ’s hand slid across your shoulder blade to lightly massage your neck, his fingers brushing across your jawline in comfort. You had barely opened up about what specifically happened when you were with the Camerons, but clearly they could guess enough to piece it together. 

“I just see myself, trapped in there again and again, and I didn’t think anyone was coming to help,” You admitted as you tucked your face into your knees. “I was terrified, and I thought you were dead, and I just wanted it all to end. It felt like everyone just forgot I existed. I didn’t even get a chance to say bye. I got out once, and then it was so much worse. And then JJ comes to get me and you’re home and I felt like shit. I come home and you’re all excited and having a good time and it’s like I didn’t even matter.”

It was hard to share how you really felt, especially with the two people who mattered most to you, but you had to be honest. It hurt to come home and see everyone celebrating without you, and it felt even worse that JJ was the only one who bothered to come help you escape. You never held it against them, just glad to be back with your family but you knew if it were any of them, you’d be there front and center trying to do anything you possibly could.

Both boys collided with you at once, wrapping you into suffocatingly tight hugs once you finished your explanation. You clung to them, the three of you crying together in a hallway that had held so much of your lives in the span of a year. You knew things would never be the same, but from here, you could all focus on helping each other heal and move on.

“Okay… did we miss something?” Pope’s voice interrupted your peaceful moment causing the three of you to look up into your friends’ curious eyes. They had all piled out of the room to see your cuddle puddle on the floor. “Do we need to have a group therapy session?”

A teary laugh left your throat as you released John B and JJ from your hold. They were quick to stand up and bring you with them as you all got to your feet. You shook your head and forced a smile while you grabbed JJ’s hand and leaned into John B’s side. 

“Let’s get moving, we can’t let them get ahead.” Kie pulled the attention off you, something you were grateful for as you let them all pass before following along. 

There was an unspoken conclusion to your conversation, something you knew would come up later to be adjusted when you didn’t have ears listening in. As you walked with your hand in JJ’s and John B’s arm around your shoulder, you knew everything would work itself out eventually. In a perfect world, you guys wouldn’t be going on crazy adventures that prolonged your closure, but it’s a Pogue life and it’s always unpredictable. 

--

navigation -- series masterlist

[aidanrgallagher7]

After The World Has Fallen~

Pairing Five Hargreaves × The Reader

Chapter One: Still Alive

New Story Summary: You are an assassin for the Handler during the same time that Five Hargreaves is. You two grow close and got engaged to be married. However one day, you are sent to go on a mission and your briefcase gets broken during a struggle with the enemy. You got stuck in a timeline with no way to get back to Five. Until suddenly, you are sent back to the Commission to find it abandoned except for two people inside of the rubble; Five and his accomplice. After the two of you reunite, you have to find a way to save the world from oblivion. Together.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: nothing too harsh, some angst, fluff here and there, cussing..

"It's nice to see you again, really."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How the fuck did I get here?" You say to yourself as you blink your eyes a few times to make sure that you weren't hallucinating. You are back at the Commission building. However, it is not how you remembered it. You standing in front of the fortress, but it is currently crumbling before your very own eyes. "What the hell happened here?" You force yourself to walk closer. Your knees begin to shake as you walk towards the doors; opening them, and walking through the broken building. You are freezing from the blizzard outside. Quite literally shaking. Giving the fact that you were in a warm area before you ended up back here, you were not dressed for this climate. You cannot believe your eyes; the floor is covered in bricks from the walls and the ceiling collapsing, no one in sight, it was as if there was an apocalypse that just swept through this place you used to work at and call home.

"How is this possible?" You whispered to yourself as you continued walking. Then all of a sudden, you hear a door opening from upstairs. Your senses heighten, and you rush towards the sounds. "Hello?!" You call out, but no answer. Are you hearing things? When you find the slightly cracked door, you open it fully to reveal two people standing in front of you.

Five "Y/n?"

"Five?!"

Lila "Who the hell are you?" She asked you, quite stern.

"I can ask you the same question-?"

Five "Long story Lila-that we don't quite have the time for." He looks at you again, making eye contact with you that you thought that you would never get the chance to have again, "it's nice to see you again Y/n, really." He offers you a kind smile, that makes his friend standing next to him surprised.

"What is going on?"

Five "How much do you know?"

"Nothing." You start to panic and Five notices. He walks closer to you but you stop him, "wait just-wait." He pauses, "are you real?" Lila snickers, making Five turn around and give her a nasty look that makes her stop instantly, "i don't know what is real anymore-!"

Five "Hey-hey, I'm real. You are real. This is real. Look, I don't know what you went through and I know that you don't know what I went through, but we are both here." You slowly nod, "But Y/n, we don't have much time to talk right now."

"Why, what is going on now Five?"

Five "I don't know fully yet. That is why Lila and I are here. And I am guessing you have been trying to get back here for quite some time now, haven't you?" You nod again, "yeah.."

Lila "Okay, what is this chemistry here because i hate it."

Five "Lila, I do not have time for you snarky little comments alright..?"

"We used to do missions together. Then i got lost and i haven't been back since."

Lila "Wait, you were in the Commission too?" You nod, "Why don't I know you then?"

Five "She got stuck before you were even a part of the Commission Lila. Remember, I am much older than you?"

Lila "Oh shit, right. Sorry. So, you are his age then?"

"Yes, we are the same age. After numerous attempts to get back to the right timeline, I got myself stuck into my younger bones-if you will."

Lila "Shit.."

Five "Okay, enough chit-chat, we need to keep going." He grabs your hand out of habit, and takes you along with him and Lila. You don't think twice about him holding your hand, given the fact of how close you and him were by the time you left, it's second nature to hold onto one another for comfort.

"Where are we going?"

Five "To find the leader of this whole thing. Maybe they will have the answers on how to fix this."

"Fix what?"

Lila "Seriously? Look around you! The whole building is collapsing-"

Five "Easy Lila!" He snaps, "don't forget how you felt when you got stuck." Her eyes gloss over when she thinks back on all of the emotions that she felt; desperation, fear, anger, sadness.. "Raise your voice at her again and I will make sure that you will never speak again, understand?"

Lila "Look, I'm sorry Y/n..but I'm just frustrated and I'm taking it out on you instead of Five." He clenches his jaw, "which I normally do, but you are new so I instinctively went for your throat..sorry 'bout that."

"Well thanks for the half-assed apology Lila. It's nice to meet ya too." You walk closer to her and offer her your hand, to which she takes. Five looks at you with pure admiration. He missed your sarcasm, your whit, your cockiness, your kind heart, your temper, your smile, your everything. If he can admit that to himself.

Lila "mmm, i like her."

Five "Good, i like her too. Now, can we please cont-" you cut his sentence short by running into his arms and crumbling in his touch. His warmth yet coldness from the cold air engulfs you, his scent-makes you extremely emotional. He doesn't know what to do at first because you have been gone for so long for him, but soon enough he holds onto for dear life. Lila disappears for the both of you, it is only him and you in the crumbling building where thr two of you met.

Five inhales deeply, "I've missed you Y/n." Hearing those words, made your heart feel like it is beating again for the first time since you left.

"I've missed you."

Lila "okay, i am so not used to seeing you be soft Number Five." You can feel his muscles tighten at the interruption, "it is kind of nice to see you be a human being and have actual feelings.."

Five "Wow Lila, is that a compliment?"

Lila "Yeah, why not?" He looks at you when you break the embrace, and smiles.

Five "Let's go save the world."

"Wait what?"

...

Meanwhile, Five's paradox psychosis is getting worse and worse. You remember all of the symptoms when you read the rule books back in the day. God, that seems so decades ago-shit-it probably is by now. Even though you can notice him struggling, he never let's go of your hand. You have tried to walk before him, but he does not allow it. It is a feeling that you have missed.

Lila "Looks like we need identification." Five looks at the door and walks up to it without any hesitation and the code screens his eye to identify him. To all of our surprises, the door unlocks and opens for us to walk into.

Lila "Looks like you are the key." She says before she walks in first.

"Why did it open for you?"

Five "I-I don't know.." you walk ahead of him this time as he takes a moment to think. What you all find is even more puzzling; a long tube in the middle of the room with a disfigured man inside of it. You look back at Five and his psychosis seems to have dissipated. But why?

Five "So this is the founder huh?"

Lila "Y'know, I expected more than just...can." You ignore her comment and step closer to the body, only to realize something that you were not expecting. You look at him and he looks at you, knowing that something must be wrong here.

Five "This can't be.."

Lila "What is it?"

Five "It's me." Lila starts to burst out laughing but you get infuriated. He is the founder of the Commission but he couldn't bring you back?

"You have anything you need to say to me?" You say with your arms crossed over your chest.

Five "If I am the founder, I have no memory of it."

"I call bullshit-"

Lila "Me too!"

Older Five "We were never too bright were we?" After a few moments of the  conversation, Five is boiling. The Founder tells you all that the reason this all is even possible is because of a kugelblitz. That is why you came back to the Commission, this is why the world is ending, etc. It was all making sense. Unfortunately, the Founder tells you that there is no way of stopping it and saving the world this time, leaving Five trembling and fuming all at once.

Five "Listen to me, you ass-i just spent the last twenty days, running around, saving the world from apocalypses..and all i wanna do is go out and buy a 1970's Corvette Stingray-"

"Five.."

Lila "Yeah, take it easy on him Number Five."

Five "Lila, this is between me and myself so stya out of it. Thank you." You let Five go on his little outburst, until the Founder takes his last breath. Five, understandably, asks Lila to leave the room. He needs to grieve but also, he needs to talk to you and explain what he cannot explain.

"What the hell is going on Five?"

Five "Honey, I do not know. All I wanted to do was come here for a solution and now I am being told that I can't do anything to save the world from oblivion."

"And that you are the Founder-"

Five "Yeah, that too." He says with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, trying to give him some relief from all of the tension that he is feeling.

"Well at least I know why I came back now.." He takes a deep breath and he realizes that one thing did come out of all of this; he has you back.

Five "I never thought that I would see you again."

"You and me both. I lost hope of coming back to you a long time ago.." his eyes become glossy, "that is why when you tried to hug me earlier I stopped you, I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe that you were real again."

Five "I'm real, for now. Until we all become nothing-"

"Okay, can you not!" He chuckles as he walks towards you.

Five "Okay, I'm sorry, I had too."

"But I always dreamed of you. One day, you would find me. But it turned out to be the opposite."

Five "Now I'm the lucky one." He rests his forehead on top of yours, "but hey, at least if we can't stop this whole thing, I'm glad that I get to spend the rest of the time I have left with the one I love." You feel your eyes start to burn as well as your throat. Your emotions are too overwhelming; your confusion, you happiness, your love, your sympathy, your fear, the terror.. but all you can do is look into your person's eyes and all that fear goes away.

"I love you too much, y'know that?"

Five "I do." He kisses your forehead and you two turn around to see that Lila heard all of that. "Oh come on!"

Lila "I wish that I had a camera.."

Five "Well, I am sure that you will find a way to tell everyone about what you saw Lila."

Lila "Oh, you are damn right I will."

Five sighs, "Time to find a way back home, ya ready?"

"As ready as I can be." He takes you hand again and you smile for the first time in years. Yes, the world is on the cusp of oblivion, but at least you have Five back. That's all that matters to you. The same goes for him as well, that..well.. you will learn all about later.

Lila "Alright, we gotta go now. It's now or never." The building was about to collapse completely.

Five "Alright honey, let's get you home." Before you knew it, you are falling from a ceiling of a hotel building and a group of people are surrounding the three of you.

Diego "Five-Lila, where the hell have you two been?!"

Luther "Wait, who is this with you?" Five stumbles to get up from the floor and once he does, he gives you a helping hand.

"I've always hated doing that, Hi! I'm Y/n."

Five "My fiancé."

@dyor @s0ftd3m0n @itzel17

@qualitymugghostrebel

@oh-chuck-help-me @cocoa-creampuff @asphodelshare

@lilablosom @jellytoru

@natsgaygf @stxrrylunatic

[mara-xx217]

You Got Exactly What You Were Looking For- The Clown x You (Dead by Daylight Commission)

The first of two wonderful commissions for @barcodeboyz

You really were just curious to see if you could drink the shit the Clown threw at survivors. Guess you bit off more than you could chew… You were still proved right, though.

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Drug/Alcohol Use, Drunk Sex, Anal, Slight Humiliation

Work Text:

   A joke. Not a bet, but a joke.  

   “Who here thinks the Clown can’t even get it up anymore?”  

   The majority said “No way in hell!” but you? You said “Yeah… I think that he can! And I bet he’s got the biggest dick out of anyone here!” The others laughed and cringed as you wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion. Yeah, it was a joke and a shitty one at that. It made everyone laugh and then it was forgotten within minutes. 

   “Hey, do you think that shit the Clown throws is actually alcohol? Or is it just some bullshit the Entity has cooked up?” 

   “Hell if I know. Why are you asking me? Wanna get shit-faced for something?”

    “HA! I wish… Maybe the Entity will gift someone some booze at some point.”

   “Why don’t you ask the Clown?” Someone ribbed you. You curl your lip in disgust.

   “Uh, fuck no. I’m good thanks.” They giggled at your expressed disgust. 

   “Hey! Next time we’re at that Asylum, let's raid his caravan and see if there’s anything to drink!” That is a horrible idea.

   “Yeah, sure! I’m in!” 

    You’re a fucking idiot…  

   Against you’re better judgement, you didn’t wait for the subsequent trial to take place. You were curious and couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of getting totally plastered at camp with the other survivors.

   What are the odds you’re caught? Dude probably spends all his time getting wasted and sleeping. Or jerking off. Or all the above in varying orders. You giggle to yourself. “Biggest dick…” Yeah right!

   You became uneasy as you approached the Clown’s caravan. Maurice is still gone… No surprise there. You swallowed your fear and continued your approach. It’s fine. He’s…probably drunk! Yeah! A-And asleep! Your shoulders relaxed slightly, but your heart continued to hammer in your chest. If he’s there, I can just leave… say he chased me off… No one would think otherwise.  

    CREAK CREAK CREAK

   You cringe at every step you take up the caravan steps. The entire thing shifted subtly under your weight. Yeah, okay… this is the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had in your entire life. Second thoughts crept down your spine. You peered through the murky window of the door. 

   Empty? It was hard to tell. Your hand was on the knob but you hesitated. Something made the decision for you.  

   The door creaked open with the slightest pressure applied to it. Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass, but you quickly regained your composure as you saw no one was waiting for you on the other side. 

    Ha… of course. It’s… fine! Probably…

   You take a step inside.

   Dark, cramp, and smells terrible. It was a little different from what you were used to, but you simply shrugged it off. You were more focused on the task at hand.

    “Hmmm… where- Ah ha!” You triumphantly hold up your prize: a bottle of (assumed) unlabeled and unknown alcohol! Without waiting you pop the cork off (what liquor uses corks anymore??) and down several mouthfuls- 

   Before you choke and realize you made a terrible mistake.

   “UGH- what the fuu- uuhh…?” You blinked. Oh.

   Oh shit-  

   It totally blindsided you. You felt warm from the tips of your toes all the way to the top of your head. Not just warm, but dizzy too. The bottle slips from your fingers and cracks on the floor, covering your shoes in liquid.

    “Whoopsie… hehehe…” You felt the caravan shift underfoot, making you lose your balance and sending you careening in an unspecified direction. Your heels caught on the edge of a bed and you fell backward onto a plain mattress. 

   You nearly passed out on the spot. You couldn’t quite keep your eyes open, but couldn’t quite fall asleep either. You didn’t notice the caravan shift with approaching footsteps, nor the chuckle that broke the near-perfect silence. 

   You, however, did notice your entire body being shifted until your head was just barely hanging off the edge of the bed.

   “What? You break into my caravan and take a nap in my fucking bed? The hell’s wrong with you?” You slur a response. Even you don’t know what you were trying to say. All you know is that you’re warm and your pants have become uncomfortably tight.

   No, you couldn’t focus on anything for long. Even when clothing was shifted and something warm and wet was prodded against your lips, all you could do was grumble and turn your head to the side.

   Not that it did you any good. Your hair was roughly gripped and your head was straightened. Something slipped past your parted lips. 

   You cringed at the taste, but couldn’t muster the strength to pull away. The shallow movements suddenly became deeper, faster, rougher. Some of the haze that blanketed your mind cleared for a fraction of a second. You became hyper-aware of your current predicament. 

    The Clown was face-fucking you.  

   Your throat spasmed in an involuntary cough as your gag reflex was triggered. You grip onto his thighs as you screwed your eyes shut as he ranted about “-something, something, alcohol spilled, something, something punishment-”  

    Oh fuck- fuck, fuck FUCK YOU CAN’T BREATHE-!!!  

   He gripped your throat and pinned you down, preventing you from wiggling away. Not that you had the mind to do so. As gross as it was… it did turn you on… 

   You can’t remember the last time something like this happened to you. Getting drunk, face-fucked… maybe something more? You buck your hips into the air in a pathetic attempt to gain some friction from your jeans. You were already absentmindedly sucking him off. Wiggling your tongue, bobbing your head, and minding your teeth-

   Saliva floods your sinuses as you gag again. Tears blind you as you become desperate for air. You jump and choke on a moan as your own hard-on is palmed roughly. You can’t. No, seriously, you can’t fucking deal with this anymore…! Something needs to happen or- or you’ll fucking explode…!  

   Mercifully he pulls his cock from your throat, allowing you to take a much need breath of air. Before you recovered fully, you were yanked forward further, until your shoulders hit the floor with a surprised squeak on your behalf. 

   Heat pooled in your gut as your jeans- underwear and all- were yanked off and cast aside. It was as panic-inducing as it was fucking hot. You jumped as room temperature liquid was messily poured between your legs, streaming down your back and torso and down the back of your head and all over your face. It’s the same shit you drank-? OH FUCK!

   Thick fingers prod against your ass. There was little warming up before three fingers forced their way inside of you. UGH-?! Why is it so fucking warm?! You were so loose he could easily plunge from his knuckles to the tips of his fingers then back to his knuckles with little resistance. It didn’t feel right. You cringed and gritted your teeth as you felt your cock throb with need. Seemingly satisfied, the Clown pulls his fingers away all at once, leaving you feeling empty and your muscles clenching on nothing.

    A part of you didn’t expect it to just… happen. Like, there should have been more of a performance or something. And there would have been… if it hadn’t been so long since the Clown had gotten any action. Instead of making this a long, drawn-out show, he cut straight to the punchline and plunged his dick into your ass without warning. 

   Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the bizarre position you were pretzeled into. Maybe it was because you’ve been wanting a good fuck- you don’t know okay?! It hurt like hell and you couldn’t stop yourself from screaming so loud that your voice cracked. 

   You couldn’t even struggle if you wanted to! The Clown had you nearly folded in half as he held you from underneath the knees- Oh shit this is sO FUCKED UP- SHIT!  

   The human body can only bend and twist so much before shit starts to get weird. You shouldn’t be okay- no, you aren’t okay damn it! Y-You’re getting fucked and stretched in ways that shouldn’t be possible! It burns like hell and you have no choice but to coincide that you’ve needed a fuck like this for so, so soso sooo long…

   The Clown called you a whore- or maybe a slut?- for “squealing like a pig in heat” as he shifted his grip from your knees to your thighs. You could only pathetically babble in agreement as you squeezed his cock every time he thrusts into you. 

    Oh, shit- Shit shit shit shIT SHIT SHIT-!!  

   Too deep and too fast- FUCK! It hurts but you feel like you’re- like you’re about to-

   Heat crept down your spine as you felt the Clown throb inside of you. Oh god, is he-? YES HE IS OH SHIT-!!!

   You cried out as you felt warmth flood inside of you. The Clown grunted as you clamped down on his cock. A-Almost… just a little more- You were so close to cumming. You just needed a little more friction and-

   You were dropped flat on your back. His cock slid out of you with a barely audible pop! If you were sober, you might have cried from mortification. Slimy, wet- Did you ever have something so big before? But you weren’t sober, so you instead grabbed your own cock and tried to finally reach your own peak of pleasure. 

   A calloused hand snatched your wrist just as you began to tug. 

   “What? Not enough? D’ya need more?”  

   It was more a threat than an offer, but you couldn’t deny how your cock twitched for more…  

   Maybe you nodded… Maybe you returned to camp with a bottle of the Clown’s “get shit-faced off the fumes alone” happy juice. Maybe you returned with a sore ass. No one would be the wiser, and the “don’t ask don’t tell” policy most survivors abide by certainly worked in your favour…

    Guess you’ll have to pay him another visit sometime soon…  

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter Two: The Moonlight Phenomenon

Genshin Impact x F! Reader

Warnings: major Genshin Impact Spoilers! Possible grammar errors.

Tag list: To Be Added. (sorry it needed to be published!)

With the return of a mysterious archon, celebrations began! The night was filled with laughter, food, and memories being made. One person was amiss during the celebration, Mona still found herself unsettled and unable to be as excited as the others. An eerie feeling of unrest and anxiety has settled over our esteemed astrologist as our beloved heroes celebrate.

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“I’ve finally found you,” Mona’s intense astrology session was interrupted by a cheery high pitched voice.

“Hello, Seraphim.” Mona turned to greet the beautiful woman.

She nearly gasped as the woman walked in, her hair now styled and her eyes shining brighter than before, the mysterious tattoos seemed to have faded and though she was still striking she looked far more human than before. The Celestial Archon merely smiled at the woman’s surprise and stepped towards her, hand out.

“We should talk, my child. Fate had brought us together, an astrologist with a water vision instead of a celestial vision is strange enough.” The woman was calm but not cold as Mona took her hand.

Mona was warm as the gentle archon interlocked their fingers and led her to the corner of the room, sinking down into a comfy chair and pointing at the one next to her. Disappointment creeped up in the astrologist as her idol released her hand. It was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a soft flush across her cheeks. Mona was wholeheartedly captured by the mystery goddess.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” The bright eyes goddess sighed, “That my arrival in Teyvat has stirred up some trouble.”

Mona frowned slightly, “There was already trouble, your sudden appearance is not the cause of it.”

“That’s good, but I still feel that my presence is going to stir the pot a bit. I am connected to all the stars and spaces of this world, I can feel and see things so deeply and I am well aware that there are challenges coming. It’s annoying in some ways.” Her eyes were distant again.

Words were lost on Mona for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it was to feel so deeply, to constantly be overwhelmed by information and one’s connection to the world. Every piece of text written about the Celestial Archon was very vague. Information on the god of stars was hard to find and many details had been lost, yet one thing seemed to stay the same in ever piece of information Mona had consumed.

Even when the world was teeming with elemental energy and gods were far more common, the goddess of the sky, Seraphim, was an oddity. Before the Archon war, Seraphim was a lone wolf being without many ties. The last god of stars kept to herself and had no desire to interfere with the other’s problems, despite knowing so much of them. It was incredibly lonely and sad.

“You said it’s strange that I have a water vision,” Mona finally spoke.

“Yes,” The archon clicked her tongue, “Had I been around, somebody like you would’ve received a vision from me. However, you did not receive one of my visions and ultimately that should’ve impacted your abilities over astrology but it did not. You are quite the gifted character, aren’t you Miss Mona?”

Mona’s face was tomato red at the words of the beloved celestial archon, “I am honored to be complimented by the goddess of stars.”

“You’re very formal,” The starry eyed goddess laughed.

“Excuse me,” the two were interrupted by none other than the acting grandmaster, “I would like a word with the Lady of the Stars.”

Mona was hesitant, not wanting her idol to slip away but nodded and escorted the woman to the door. She was a bit dissatisfied with the conversation they’d had, wanting to know more and more of her long awaited god. The woman turned back to Mona, eyes twinkling, and embraced her. The normally level headed and somewhat haughty astrologist stiffened in shock but returned the warm hug. A sigh escaped Mona’s mouth, but she didn’t mind. The goddess was warm and something about her affection put Mona at peace.

“I am so lucky that somebody as beautiful and gifted as you awaited my return, Mona Megistus. Until we meet again, my darling.” The woman’s grasp around Mona tightened as she whispered in her ear.

The water mage watched as the strange goddess gracefully glided away with Jean. She was ethereal with the moonlight filtering in from tall windows, her skin illuminated as she hung on to every word Jean said. Even the confident and ever busy acting grandmaster found butterflies swarming her abdomen at the sight of the goddess. Jean felt as if she could be swept away by the young woman.

A part of Jean felt guilty for several reasons. As acting grand master, it was her duty to know about the citizens of Mond, it was her duty to work without personal emotions interfering, and her duty to oversee the safety of all the wind borne citizens. The Celestial Archon was challenging all of these duties. It was only natural for an astrologist to be obsessed with a god of stars, and Jean had interrupted the conversation. The Dandelion Knight couldn’t help but feel an innocent sort of crush on the goddess, she was kind and beautiful and she really seemed to want to get to know everyone. Ultimately, Jean was also aware of the danger a new archon posed.

Even so, the beautiful knight couldn’t help but want to push all those thoughts aside and capture the attention of the goddess for hours. She shook off that thought, attempting to focus on her duty as Mondstat’s respected Grand Master. Jean explained the general politics of the city of freedom and the individual jobs of the knights of favonious. She even went as far as to explain the adventurer’s guild and the recent trouble with Storm Terror. The Celestial Archon hung on to every word, nodding and asking occasional questions.

Jean took the time to explain the place they were in, a place between Mondstat and Liyue, and the teleport points that marked both countries. She was diligent and had already prepared some documents for the 8th Archon, maps and other things needed in the world. Jean had even communicated with others to ensure each safe place for the archon was marked. The allied domain was the middle ground, but Mondstat welcomed the new Archon with a living place and much to do. Liyue had also prepared a small home in the city for her.

The archon stared in wonder at the map. The knights of Favonious had prepared a room for her in their own head quarters, even the esteemed Tycoon had set aside a room. Wangshuu Inn welcomed her and Liyue Harbor gave her quarters close to Rex Lapis. Small notes were written for her, both Xiao and Diluc noted the stars were best seen from where they were while the traveler and Paimon had starred their favorite places to eat.

“Ah, Master Jean.” The Goddess spoke slowly, bowing.

“Please, Seraphim, there’s no reason to be so formal!” Jean’s voice rose nervously, “You are an archon after all.”

“Yes, that’s true. You do not serve me though, please refer to me as my chosen name. Formalities aren’t my taste much.” The Archon remarked bashfully.

Jean nodded, rose dusting her cheeks.

“I,” The Archon sighed, “Really need an open space so I can, uh, deal with my weapon situation.”

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit Jean.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Jean babbled nervously, “Here let us go out to the cliffs, it should be okay, right?”

“Mhm,” The goddess followed the knight to the exit.

Aether and Paimon were also by the exit, turning at the sound of approaching foot steps. Aether grinned and waved at the Celestial Archon, she waved back and beamed. Paimon immediately took off, throwing herself into the Archons arms as the woman giggled. Jean’s face was priceless, attempting to process how this small otherworldly creature could just tackle and archon without shame.

Aether and his companion followed the two women, curious about the weapon another archon would wield. The group made their way to the edge of the cliff, the stars seeming extra bright and the moon full. The goddess lowered herself, feet on the lush grass and put her hand forth, palm out. Swiftly, she struck the air in front of her with her pointer finger, an unfamiliar constellation connecting at each point.

“Return to your master, Destroyer of Divinity.” Her words were clear and calm.

The constellation burst into a ray of white light, Aether covered his eyes as Paimon whined. Darkness fell again and he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight in front of him. The goddess held a long weapon close to her body, above her shoulder was a large opalescent curved blade, below the hip on the opposite side, another shimmering curved blade could be seen. No weapon in Teyvat was even similar.

“I-Is is that a scythe?!” Jean sputtered.

“Aha, well yes,” The goddess blushed at their reactions, “Destroyer of Divinity is an unusual weapon, meant to slice through dimensional and spatial barriers. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Aether stood, mouth agape, “Even its name is terrifying! What the hell?”

“Ahahaha,” the archon continued to laugh nervously, “Well, its existence is basically to bring judgement from the heavens upon those deserving so yeah it’s a bit intimidating.”

Aether nearly screamed. How could she say something so casually?

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The traveler was feeling a bit nervous, as anybody would if an Archon decided to tag along for their daily commissions. Paimon and the Celestial Archon chattered away as Aether spoke to the Katheryne in Liyue. It did not help that the three had left before the others awoke and the Celestial Archon had left a note declaring it as a “friendly date.”

The last thing Aether wanted was to piss off literally any of the adepti, the Geo Archon himself, and even Jean who had taken a very noticeable interest in the goddess. A cloud seemed to look over the blonde but Paimon didn’t notice. The eighth Archon gave the teenager a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to ease his nerves. Only one thing could make the situation worse, and unfortunately that particular thing was heading straight towards Aether.

“Let’s run,” Aether grabbed the startled archon’s wrist and dragged her to the teleport point nearby, ignoring the calls of a certain troublesome individual.

The archon chuckled, “I didn’t know daily commissions would be so exciting!”

Aether smiled sheepishly and let go of her wrist, trying to focus on which commission to start with. He was distracted by a sudden commotion, people yelled out as a hooded figure darted past the trio. Liyue Harbor’s guards thundered after the thief, knocking the poor panicked goddess off her feet.

The eight archon shut her eyes and prepared for the impact of the fall, but was yanked back by a pair of strong arms.

“Hey, girlie. Hold still.” A charming voice said.

The goddess watched as the lanky ginger haired man moved forward and shot an arrow, narrowly missing all the guard and hitting the suspicious character in the back. Aether’s eyes were filled with shock and panic at the sight of the man. Immediately, the goddess side stepped away from her hero, on high alert.

“Now,” He turned to her beaming, “What exactly is such a beautiful young lady doing with this kiddo?”

Her starry eyes met his azure eyes, “I’m just a new adventurer from Mondstat, learning the ropes from the best.”

“Hmm?” His gaze was questioning, “Well then, I’m Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers. We should definitely get to know each other.”

The goddess moved to Aether in a quick swift movement. Suddenly, she wanted very much to escape Liyue Harbor. The Fatui were trouble, the goddess was new to the era but even she knew that they were dangerous. It was one of the first matters addressed at her arrival. She no longer knew the Cryo Archon, and this Tsarita sounded troubling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed voice chimed in, averting the red head’s attention.

A shorter man with a large hat and ominous aura stood behind the tall harbinger. Aether tensed up and the goddess wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the trio made their escape at the expense of Childe. The older harbinger was chewing the younger man out for flirting and wasting time, both harbingers bickered as the traveler and his companions fled.

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on trying to get laid you, fool.” Scaramouche scowled, still ripping into his subordinate. “Especially not that woman, even from a mile away I can tell she’s trouble. You’re a harbinger not a host, get your shit together, Tartaglia.”

Childe smirked, looking down on his superior, “So you noticed her, too. I wonder what someone like that is doing with my favorite traveler.”

“We should alert the Tsarita of that girl,” Scaramouche mumbled, avoiding the earlier comment.

“I actually agree,” Childe’s eyes narrowed, “I was hoping to see for myself what she is, but that kid stopped me of course. There’s something strange about her but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I can charm it out of her?”

Scaramouche slapped his comrades back, “Let’s go you useless fucking playboy.”

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Wangshuu Inn looked beautiful and the aroma of food was far too enticing. Aether sighed as he watched his small, chubby companion chase after the eighth archon. The woman was supposed to be divine, yet in some ways he reminded her of a puppy or a kitten. She was somewhat moody with her affections and spacey like a kitten may be, and still somehow clingy and energetic like a puppy.

Luckily for the two, Aether had a commission from Verr Goldet. The blonde tried to maintain composure as he saw a familiar dark haired yaksha speaking with the Inn Keeper, not wanting to admit he’d accidentally led the Fatui straight to the Archon. The traveler watched in fascination and amusement as Verr’s face twisted from composed to horrified when Xiao was knocked over by the goddess. The conqueror of demons merely grunted and stood back up, clutching the ethereal woman to his chest.

Xiao’s eyes were cold as they met Aether’s, clearly annoyed with the boy, but his expression softened at the yawning goddess in his arms. Once again, the traveler was overcome with curiosity at her behavior. Only moments ago the woman was bubbly and hyper, now her eyes were fluttering and she was snuggling up to one of the most dangerous beings in Teyvat. Without a word, the tattooed man spun around and carried the goddess upstairs.

“I’m here for your com-“ Aether began.

“Who was that?!” Verr Goldet burst out, “I’ve never seen Adeptus Xiao so damn agreeable. What just happened? Is this a dream?”

Paimon giggled, “He loooooves her! That person is the one we told you about before! Even Xiao can’t be in a bad mood around her, it’s amazing!”

“Oh,” Verr blushed at Paimon’s words, “She’s that person? No wonder he’s been so restless.”

“Wait, restless?” Aether questioned.

Verr Sighed and beckoned the two to a guest free area. The two followed her into a small back room, exchanging glances. The boss lady pulled out an old book and brushed the dust away. Aether and Paimon peered down at the book, puzzled by its appearance. It was a dark leather with carvings of the moon and clouds on the front.

Carefully, Verr flipped the book open and turned it to the two. Paimon shot up, shrieking. The book looked like a book you’d find in a library but was strange. Instead of ongoing text, the pages had scraps and pieces stuck on the pages with various notes scribbled around. Verr turned to the first page, placing her middle finger at the beginning text and giving Aether and expectant look. The traveler leaned down and began to read the text.

“The moonlight phenomenon: Legend of Liyue.

It is said that there was once a ruler of the stars, one who ruled over the sky as the Gods rule over our land. When tides of war overcame Liyue, Rex Lapis sought out the monarch of the sky to form a contract.

Seraphim granted Rex Lapis the moonlight phenomenon. Liyue’s skies were never to dim even on the darkest of nights, the moon and stars would remain as guides for Liyue always. It is said that this contract assisted in bringing the evil gods to their doom, the sky illuminating the way to victory for Liyue and all of Teyvat.”

Verr flipped the page as Aether exhaled trying to wrap his mind around the strange passage.

“The Contract: Seraphim and Rex Lapis.

The circumstances of the moonlight phenomenon still remain unknown. It is an ancient mystery that many still attempt to solve, what exactly did the Geo Archon barter for his people?

Nobody knows, still. However, the most common theories are that the contract has not been fulfilled or that there was no contract to begin with. Many believe that Rex Lapis and Seraphim were secret lovers, and this was Seraphim’s gift to her beloved. Others hypothesize that Seraphim’s wish was never fulfilled, as her death sealed the victory for The Seven Archons.”

Aether shuddered. People in Liyue believe that The Celestial Archon died in the Archon war? Verr flipped to a page in the middle of the book.

“Liyue’s Priestess Seraphim

It is said that a woman with eyes vast like the galaxy beyond and mysterious astrological powers once enchanted all of Liyue.

Seraphim, the last Celestial wielder was Liyue’s last hope. Though she is not honored as an archon, she is known vaguely as a priestess. The woman who captured the attention of the archon’s themselves and was adored by the Adepti. Few remain, but Liyue’s legends claim that the priestess of the stars was the lover of Rex Lapis, the lover of the Vigilant Yaksha, or the lover another adepti.

Even fewer discuss the devastation that occurred when she fell from grace. Her death was the catalyst of the only known battle between Liyue’s very own Archon, The Anemo Archon and his people, and the Adepti. A lesser known battle that almost forced both Mondstat and Liyue into Civil Wars.

When the dust settled, all that stood was the full moon. Many Adepti still honor the priestess under the moonlight by fighting evil spirits and demons.”

Aether’s eyes widened at Verr. She solemnly shook her head as the traveler’s face fell. Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli, Venti, all of them suffered so terribly. It was confusing to the boy that every text described the Celestial Archon as deceased. His head began to hurt from the information. Verr sighed and led him back out.

“Once you finish commissions, why don’t you two stay here? I’ll prepare a room for you,” The boss was sympathetic.

Aether grimaced but nodded, leading Paimon out to finish their duties.

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Somewhere in the shadows of Wangshuu Inn crept a Fatui agent, slipping away as the traveler set out. The shadowy figure grinned at the piece of paper in their hand.

“Protected by the traveler and the Adepti. Master Childe will be interested in this,” His eyes were dark as he approached his fellow Fatui agents, “She could be very useful to us, this (Y/N).”

The suspicious shadows began to slink away, overcome with desire to inform their boss of the new information. Only a few feet away, a strange creature ducked down to avoid being seen by the agents, fidgeting.

“The angel is here!” The creature shrieked as the cult like group left it’s sight, “(Y/N) will be ours.”

[marauderundercover]

Late Night Trips (Day 3: Bats)

This is a continuation of Day 2. Read it here

Marinette walks around the Halloween section of the store, giggling into her phone.

“I don’t know why you’re so against it!” She teases, adding a bag of bat window clings to her little basket, despite Jason’s grumbling on the other end of the phone.

“Because the vigilantes are known as the Bats, M. Just feels weird for our windows to be covered in tiny bats.” He grumbles, and she snorts, glad that he can’t see the way her face reddens when he refers to the windows as theirs. Sure, he hadn’t officially moved in, but he stayed at her place more than the manor lately. She loved it.

“Okay, Jay, if it really upsets you that much, I won’t get them.” She promises, taking the bats back out of her basket. She really did think they were cute though, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“We could get ghosts or pumpkins instead.” Jason suggests and she grins, switching the bats out with the ghosts.

“Hmmm, the ghosts have top hats, so I’m definitely sticking with those.” She says. There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Jay?”

“Marinette, are you at the store right now?” He asks, and she can hear the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m at the little one down the street. I’ll be fine, Jason.” She reassured him. She loved him, she did, but he got way too paranoid about her going out at night sometimes. Sure that was when more Rogues and criminals were active, but she could take care of herself. Which she clearly showed him last weekend when she punched that stupid Scarecrow in the face.

“I- please, M. Just, please be careful.” He says, not lecturing her like he’d half expected.

“I will be, promise. See you when you get home.” She says. He worked nights most of the time, but she was still able to see him since she kind of made her own hours when she was working on commissions. Or, she just stayed up all day and night. It was honestly a coin toss.

“I love you.” He says, and her smile widens.

“Love you too.” She says, hanging up and heading to the registers. She quickly checks out and leaves, pulling her jacket closer as she steps out into the cold night. That was the only thing she didn’t love about Gotham. The cold. Once the sun was down, it was like it was winter, no matter the time of year. Sighing, she continues her walk back to the apartment, careful to make sure she stays aware of her surroundings. Sure, she could fight off a mugger, but she didn’t necessarily want to. She just wanted to get home and half a nice cup of coffee. Or hot chocolate. Something warm. She hums under her breath, almost to the apartment, when the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Immediately, she tenses. She starts to move a little faster, grimacing as she hears the footsteps behind her quicken as well. Of course the streets are empty. She’s the only one stupid enough to actually be out this late. Crap. She yelps in surprise as the person- man, she realizes- that had been following her grabs her wrist and twists her around.

“Come on sweetheart, doncha wanna spend some time with me.” The man says, tugging her close and letting his reeking breath pour over her face. She grimaces.

“No thank you.” She says, trying to tug her wrist away from the man. His eyes narrow and his grip tightens, more than she’d been expecting. He turns them so that they’re just inside the alley instead of on the open street. Oh hell no.

“C’mon babe-” He starts before she cuts him off with a punch in the face. He groans in surprise and stumbles slightly, still not letting go of her wrist. “If that’s how ya wanna be.” He says, his eyes darkening. She huffs and drops her bags, bringing her knee up and kneeing him in just the right place. He doubles over and lets go of her wrist. Now having both hands, she’s able to grab him (he’s too busy groaning in pain) and ram his head into the wall. He crumples almost instantly and she lets out a huff. So maybe Jason was right and she shouldn’t go shopping so late at night. But he didn’t have to know about this, right?

“Are you alright ma’am?” A voice asks. She whirls around, her fists up in defense until she sees who it is. She sighs and relaxes her posture.

“Hello Nightwing. Um, yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She says, glancing at the man on the ground. “Though, I’d feel a bit better if you had something we could tie him up with.”

“Of course. Robin?” He says, and she blinks in surprise as a hero who couldn’t be older than fifteen steps out of the shadows. Obviously she’d done her research on the heroes, but she was still a little taken aback to see a teenager in costume again. She just nods at him in thanks as he pulls out...zip ties? And cuffs the man’s hands behind his back.

“You were quite efficient in taking the man down. We approached just as you got out of his grip.” Robin says, and she smiles awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, there were villains in Paris when I was a kid so I had to learn some basic self defense.” She says, not telling them everything, but not exactly lying either.

“Still, you know it’s really dangerous to be out this late at night, right? Even for someone who took down Scarecrow as well as you did.” Nightwing says and she flinches back, frowning.

“Uh, sorry, that day is a little fuzzy. Were you there?” She asks. Sure, Red Robin could’ve just told the others, but the look on his face? How he said it? Makes it seem like he’d actually seen the fight.

“No, but we watched the body cam footage from Red Robin.” Nightwing says with a wide smile.

“Mon Dieu.” She mumbles, shaking her head. She could tell Jason that some of the Bats thought she was a good fighter, but then she’d have to admit what happened tonight. And she really didn’t want him to worry any more than he already does.

“We will assist you in getting home once the police arrive to pick up this cretin.” Robin says, and she puffs her cheeks out, trying to figure out a nice way to tell them ‘thanks but no thanks’. If they had to wait around for the police, there was a chance Jason would be home by the time they got there.

“I’m sure I can get home just fine by myself.” She reassures them, and Nightwing frowns.

“Probably, but it would be kinda rude of us to send you along after something like this and not make sure you made it home safe.” He says. She sighs.

“Look, is there any way you can follow from the roofs or something? If you guys escort me home and my boyfriend is there, I’m gonna have to look at him and tell him he’s right and I shouldn’t go to the store late at night and he’s gonna panic and freak out that I could’ve been hurt which is super sweet, but then he’s not gonna be overprotective for a week and that makes it hard on him because then he doesn’t concentrate at work and I know he thinks I don’t notice but every time I get hurt, he comes home from work hurt and I know it’s because he’s distracted and I hate seeing him hurt and-” She rambles, only stopping when Nightwing puts a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise and she winces in apology.

“We’ll trail you, but you should still probably tell him.” He says softly, and she frowns, nodding. This was gonna suck.

---

Marinette waves at the roof of the building across the street before walking into the building and heading up to the apartment. She can hear the low hum of the tv, letting her know Jason is already home. She takes in a deep breath before unlocking the door and walking in.

“Hey M.” Jason calls from the couch, a smile on his face. She smiles back, silently noting that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He was either fighting with his dad again, or something went wrong at work. And now she was about to drop the whole ‘I took down a guy who tried to yank me into an alley’ thing on him. She sets her bags on the table and kicks her shoes off before walking over and sitting on the couch, instantly curling into his side. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes and she relaxes.

“You okay?” He asks softly, and she sighs, sitting up and looking at him, wringing her hands together.

“So, don’t freak out.” She says, and he frowns. “Um, you were right about the whole shopping at night in Gotham thing.” She says, thankful that he seems to understand immediately.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, eyes scanning her, pausing on her wrist. She frowns. Her wrist was definitely currently hidden by her sleeve, how did he know it was bruised? She sighs and pushes her sleeves up, grinning at him awkwardly.

“Just a little bruise.” She says, and he frowns.

“A little- Marinette, that bruise is all around your wrist. Are you sure it’s not broken?” He asks worriedly.

“I’m sure, I know what broken bones feel like. I’m a clutz, remember?” She teases, smiling softly at him. She breathes a sigh of relief when he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He shifts so that he’s practically laying on the couch, moving her so that she’s laying on top of him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He mumbles. She rolls her eyes, burying herself into his chest.

“I’m fine, Jay. I won’t go shopping so late next time. Besides, some of the Bats showed up.” She says, giggling at his scoff.

“As if those idiots did anything.” He snarks.

“I mean, Nightwing and Robin both commented on my fighting skills.” She teases, laughing as he reaches up and turns her face to look at him.

“M, Marinette, love of my life, what exactly did Robin say?” He asks and her face heats up at how easily he calls her the love of his life. Did he mean it?

“Uh, something about being efficient in taking the man down?” She says, finding it hard to think with how intense Jason’s stare was. He laughs, a wide smile on his face.

“Ya know, Robin is supposedly the least easily impressed. Apparently he can be a bit of a pain.” He says and she grins before laying back down.

“Well then, at least we know I can take care of myself.” She says, feeling him sigh. He doesn’t disagree though, just kisses the top of her head. Warm and safe, she slowly drifts off to sleep.

---

BONUS

Jason smirks as he walks into the Batcave the next night.

“So Demon Spawn, my girlfriend is an efficient fighter?” He asks. Damian scowls.

“Shut it, Todd. Just because I think she is an efficient fighter does not mean that I believe you are.” He says and Jason snorts. “Don’t laugh Todd, I truly believe that she could knock you on your ass.”

“Language, Little D.” Dick says, walking in with his suit on, but mask off. “He does have a point though. I think she could probably hold her own against any of us, even for a couple minutes.” Jason just grins widely. Oh yeah, his girlfriend was a badass.

Next

***

Taglist: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess

[archived-kin]

you braid your favourite fire boy’s hair (and get indirectly confessed to, maybe)

note from kin: some of you may say that diluc is too calm and stoic to be an arsonist but i refuse to believe the man hasn't set a tiny bit of fire to kaeya’s house at some point or another

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, diluc, aether (mentioned), venti (mentioned)

pairing(s): diluc/reader

warning(s): none! (except, like, hair brushing and stuff? i don’t if that counts but i also don’t know what sort of trauma people have so,,, here’s the warning just in case)

genre: fluff

“How do you even manage your hair?”

Diluc shoots you a look over the bar as you lean forward on the counter. “What are you talking about?”

It’s another one of those nights where Mondstadt and the area around it is pretty quiet. Normally you’d be out doing commissions or just general favours for the public with your adventuring buddy Aether and his friend (pet? guardian fairy?) Paimon, but he’s been in Liyue for the last week or so helping Zhongli run some errands, and likely won’t be back for another few days. He had asked you whether you’d wanted to come with him - the two of you make a dynamic duo like no other, after all - but the last time you’d spent time with Zhongli, you’d ended up having to pay about ten thousand Mora in terms of expenses on his behalf. You love the guy, but he really grinds your gears with his inability to comprehend how basic currency works sometimes.

So off Aether had gone to Liyue, though not without promising to bring you back a Starconch or something in return for your offer to patrol his area for him in his absence, and you had stayed behind in Mondstadt, promising to let him know if anything about his missing twin sister comes up while he’s gone.

As much as you’d like to (mostly for poor Aether’s fragile sense of self worth), you can’t say it’s been a particularly difficult week without him in terms of work - you miss your friend, of course, but there haven’t really been any outstanding attacks in the area that you didn’t manage to take care of within the hour. The lack of disturbances also means that Mr Darknight Hero over there hasn’t had much to do either, so he’s spent most of the past few nights behind the bar - which means, of course, that you’ve been coming is much more often than usual to see him.

Angel’s Share is a bar by trade, so of course it’s open all night to any gracious patron looking for something to drink. More than often it’s full, being one of the more renowned taverns in the city, but today is a day of rest, and so Diluc had closed up shop about half an hour ago.

Why are you still allowed in Angel’s Share if it’s closed, you ask? Well, obviously it’s because Diluc likes you so much!

No, that’s a lie - while you’ve always thought of Diluc as a close friend, you’re more inclined to believe that Diluc himself is only letting you stay here past closing time because he owes you for helping him out with a particularly overzealous Abyss Mage that had gotten a little too close to the city gates yesterday.

Still, you can’t help but hope that there’s some other reason behind his lenience...

“Hair’s hard to take care of, and you have a lot of it,” You respond matter-of-factly, dipping a biscuit into your mug of tea and shoving it whole into your mouth. Much like Diluc, you prefer to abstain from alcohol when you can - ironic, considering you’ve spent so much time in a bar recently. “I’m just curious. What do you do with it when you go to sleep?”

He shakes his head with a quiet scoff and returns to polishing an empty tankard. “I don’t do anything with it.”

“What, so you just leave it in a ponytail all the time?”

Diluc looks up to see you shooting him a scandalised look. He sighs, evidently not particularly willing to put up with one of your moods this late at night. “Of course not.”

You relax a little, only to stiffen right back up when he continues, “I take it down to wash it.”

“You—” You take a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself, setting your elbows on the table and pressing your hands together as if praying to Barbatos to save this poor man’s hair-ends. Finally, after a moment of silence, you ask, voice hushed, as if afraid that the answer will be too much for you to handle, “How the hell is your hair still so pretty?”

Diluc pauses in the middle of putting his freshly-polished tankard away. He takes a long while to formulate a response - whether because he’s nonplussed by the gormlessness of your question or something else (because he’s flustered, maybe? You know better than to hope in vain, but you can’t really help what your idiot of a heart does to your mind).

Finally, though, he mutters in reply, “Pretty?”

Your hand hesitates in the middle of reaching for another biscuit from the plate sitting next to you. Diluc doesn’t sound offended, but you know better than to assume that he isn’t. You don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with calling his hair pretty, but maybe it stings his ego as a man or something?

“Uh, yeah…?” You curl your fingers around your warm mug and pull it towards you, staring determinedly down at its contents to disguise your growing nervousness. “I mean, well, it always looks really healthy and soft and glowy and stuff…”

Well, if he wasn’t offended before, he probably is now. You mentally cuff yourself around the head, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t let yourself get loose-lipped just because you’re so relaxed in the homeliness of the tavern. It doesn’t matter how comforting the warmth of the mug in your hands is, nor does it matter how fuzzy just being in Dilic’s presence makes you feel - you need to watch what you say.

But then you see Diluc move out of the corner of your eye, and you look back up to see him standing much closer than he was before, a smile tugging at his lips. You can practically feel your heart screech out of pure surprised joy as he reaches out and gently brushes his knuckles against your cheek.

“Thank you,” He murmurs - do you dare to hope that you hear affection in his voice? - and pulls away as quickly as he’d come close. “I appreciate it.”

You aggressively force your breathing to even out as he moves back to his work, going about his usual duties of making sure all the bottles on display are tightly shut and squeaky clean. Surely the fact that he willingly initiated contact with you - and such intimate-feeling contact at that - must mean something? Diluc has never been the type to be physically affectionate with friends, not like Kaeya, who you’re pretty sure has kissed about half of his entire friendship circle, or Lisa, who has absolutely zero qualms about giving a stranger a bone-crushing hug if they need one. Even if this only means that he considers you a closer friend than the others, though, you can’t help the delighted flutter in the pit of your stomach.

Diluc’s touch has far more power than you’ll ever admit - brief as the contact was, it’s sent such a rush of adrenaline through your entire body that you somehow muster up enough courage to abruptly ask, “Would you mind if I braided it?”

Diluc pauses again. You watch him in anticipation as he slowly turns around to look back at you. “...why would you want to do that?”

“Uh—” You struggle to come up with a decent reason that won’t make you sound like a lovesick fool, and eventually settle on, “I just think it would look nice?”

Diluc stares at you in silence for so long that you begin to think that you’ve lost him completely with your out-of-nowhere request. Then, however, he gives you a curt nod. “Go ahead.”

You barely catch yourself in time to prevent your shock from showing on your face as Diluc moves out from behind the counter and sits down in the seat beside you. “...uh?”

“Go ahead,” He repeats, reaching up and untying his hair from its low ponytail. It tumbles over the back of the chair in messy waves, reflecting the light of the fire so precisely that it almost looks like it’s glowing in the dim lighting of the tavern. “I assume you know how, since you offered.”

It takes you a moment to do something other than stare in pure dumbfounded surprise, but once you snap out of your mini-trance, you nod hurriedly and get to your feet, reaching in your pocket as you do so. You’ve made a habit of carrying around spare hair ties and a foldable wooden comb ever since you and Aether had started working together - his hair comes undone from its plait a lot in battle, and it’s always all matted and tangled in the morning if he lets it down to sleep - which means you won’t have to fumble about for an hour trying to comb’s Diluc’s abundance of hair out with only your fingers.

Diluc is sitting as prim and proper as ever in his chair as you hesitantly move around to stand behind him and - after a long, uncertain pause - begin to brush his hair. His back is ramrod straight, which doesn’t look comfortable at all, but you suppose that whatever works for him is fine.

“That feels nice,” He murmurs quietly as you carefully tease out a knot. Your hands freeze for a moment, then silently continue with their work. “You’re good at this.”

After a pause, you reply, equally quiet, “I get a lot of practice.”

He hums in reply, and the deep rumble of his voice almost seems to fill the room. “...with Aether, I presume.”

You nod, then realise he can’t see you and hurry to give him a verbal answer. “Yeah.”

There’s a long silence between the two of you. You continue to work your way through Diluc’s abundance of hair, painstakingly spending far too long combing out each tangle and kink out of fear that you’ll hurt him if you get too rough.

You don’t know how much time has passed by the time Diluc finally speaks up again. “You spend a lot of time with him.”

It’s a statement, not a question - but you can’t blame him for phrasing him that way. It’s well-known around the city of Mondstadt that you and Aether have been partners-in-crime ever since the two of you had bonded over nearly being stampeded by a swarm of hilichurls and working together to kill them all. It’s odd that he’s bringing it up now, though… you wonder why.

“...well, I do, yes. We are adventuring partners…”

Diluc inhales and lets out a soft sigh. You don’t miss the way that his shoulders tense up slightly. Another long silence passes, and he finally murmurs, “I might be a little jealous.”

You freeze again. Did you hear him right? Did Diluc really just say what you think he just said? He’s… jealous?

You don’t even have time to try to formulate a response before he starts speaking again. “The two of you are always out exploring together. It’s rare that we get to see each like this.”

“...hey, now…” It’s not often that you’re unable to find words - you’ve always had a sharp tongue. Right now, though, it feels like they’ve all dried up in your mouth. “What are you trying to say…?”

Diluc pauses. Then he lets out a soft chuckle - one that has no right to have the effect on you that it does. “...nothing. I just mean that it’s nice to be able to spend time together like this.”

He doesn’t continue, and you take that as a sign that this particular stretch of the conversation is over, and return to carefully separating his hair into segments. Your hands wobble imperceptibly as you do so, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Diluc sighs and lets his shoulders relax as you start pulling the locks of hair over each other into the beginnings of a long braid, carefully tugging it closer to the base of his head so that it looks a little neater. You’re not sure whether you want to go for something similar to Aethar’s plait or something more intricate, but considering the hour, you’d probably be better off keeping it simple. You wonder briefly what colour ribbon would look nice against the deep red of his hair, but quickly shut the idea down - it’s already a wonder that Diluc is letting you do this, and you don’t want to push your luck.

(You don’t know this, but, though his face is calm and composed, Diluc is so hyper aware of his stuttering heartbeat that he’s sure you can hear it. He almost wishes you would use more force with your hands, if only so that he can feel the movement of your fingers more clearly - there’s something therapeutic in the way they weave through his hair. He could almost fall asleep there on the spot, so soothing is your presence and the warmth of the fire, but he wants to talk longer.)

“Hey,” you begin, suddenly feeling that the quietude is more awkward than comfortable. “If you’re ever free, uh… I’m sure Aether wouldn’t mind if you came out on an expedition with us. There are some rumours about an Oceanid popping up in Starfell Lake…”

Diluc makes an indiscernible noise in response to indicate that he’s thinking about your question. You wait with bated breath, only to feel disappointment drop in your chest like a rock when he shakes his head, shifting the incomplete braid in your hands.

A moment later, though, the pressure disappears as he says quietly, “I’d much rather go with you alone.”

“Oh…” You breathe out loud before realising your mistake. You resist the urge to slap your hand to your mouth to shut yourself up, and instead hurry to rectify yourself by continuing, “That sounds good.”

Diluc chuckles again. “You don’t sound particularly enthused by the idea.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” You shock even yourself with just how indignantly loud your voice gets. You hasten to quiet yourself, continuing much more mutedly, “Um— I mean, I’d love to.”

You can’t see his face, but you can almost hear Diluc’s soft smile in the way he speaks. “Then it’s settled. I’ll take a look at my schedule and let you know when I’m free, alright?”

You can’t help but feel an enormous grin pulling at your own mouth. Well, can anyone really blame you? You’ve just discovered that your unrequited feelings for Diluc might not be as unrequited as you’d initially thought! It’s almost too good to be true - as if you’re dreaming. It’s like the two of you are one of those couples in Venti’s songs, the ones that he likes to play after a good hour of so of drinking, staring meaningfully at you at the end of each… line…

Wait a minute…

A flame-haired noble with a stare as cold as ice, who does his duties by day and hunts evil at night? An adventurer with no roots left at home, who clings to action so as to not feel so alone? The longing stares across a busy room, the late nights thinking of a face so dear, the romance waiting to blossom and bloom, the hopes and wishes that they would stay here?

Son of a hilichurl! That cheeky bard really wrote a song about you and Diluc - and you somehow hadn’t noticed!

“What’s wrong?”

You jolt out of your train of thought as Diluc turns around to look at you. The faint concern on his face is enough to send butterflies spinning through your stomach. Stupid heart. Am I really that weak for this man? “Huh?”

“You haven’t moved in a while,” He says by way of explanation, gesturing to the end of the braid that you’re still holding. “Is there something bothering you?”

You stare at his face - at the deep red of his irises, the flutter of his long lashes, the strands of red hair framing his face, the faint freckles on the slope of his nose. You breathe out a quiet laugh. Perhaps there will never be a time when you can tell him the true extent of how you feel about him, but this will certainly be a start.

“No, nothing at all. So, about tomorrow…?”

[panda-noosh]

something gained {george weasley x reader}

  words: 13.8k

  summary: you’re a beater on the slytherin quidditch team, so naturally, george weasley is your worst enemy.

   genre: fluff

   notes: masterlist - ask me about commissions! - enjoy my good pals. 

----

  the crowds are loud this morning.

   much too loud for a nine am rise, in your opinion, though you appreciate their enthusiasm. the bellows echo through the changing rooms, rattling the walls, poking at your nerves like a teenager prodding a zit.

    you sit on the floor, your back against the wall. around you, your team buzzes, making battle plans to defeat gryffindor, but you can barely hear them over the paired chorus of the chants outside and your own heartbeat. sweat rushes to your palms, and you gingerly wipe them on your quidditch gear.

    “we’ve got this one in the bag,” marcus flint says for what must be the seventeenth time since you first laid eyes on him this morning. “they’re not getting away this time. if we have to get violent, we will.”

   “and start the season off with a disqualification?” you pipe up. “wonderful game plan. very well thought out.”

    “it’s you who needs to listen up the most, l/n. you’re a beater - i want to see you causing damage.”

   you roll your eyes. “i cause damage every bloody game, flint. you don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

    flint’s lips curl into a frown, his dark eyes glaring at you. you refuse to meet them, instead picking up your beaters bat from the side and getting to your feet.

    “the match starts in two minutes,” you point out. “are we gonna keep talking shit or are we gonna get out there and beat gryffindor?”

    much to flint’s dismay, it’s your tiny little speech that seems to get the slytherins riled up. they cheer, stampeding from the changing rooms, each giving you a warm clap on the shoulder on their way past. flint stays behind, glaring daggers into your head.

   you nod at the open door. “after you, captain.”

    and so, despite the hidden rivalry you and flint have with each other, you walk out onto the quiddich pitch together. the cold air immediately sets you off, a feeling of dread settling in the pits of your stomach; it’s always been easier to play in the warm weather, when the risk of rain is minuscule and you don’t have to worry about obtrusion's. now, however, the sky is overcast and threatening. frost coats the grass beneath your feet. you have to rub your hands together to bring feeling back into them.

    the gryffindors are already there, as you expected. oliver wood stands tall in the centre of the field, his team crowded around him. they all look so confident, a feat the slytherin team have yet to master; your people walk onto the field with heads held high and shoulders drawn back, but the tension between them is always so tremendously obvious that it takes away from the confident aura they’re always trying to convey. it’s not something you’ve ever tried to fix, because there’s only so much you can do.

   you and marcus wade to the centre of the field, giving each other a brief nod before taking your places, marcus right in front of oliver, and you stood by his left shoulder. 

    madame hooch addresses the two captains, ordering them to shake hands before the game begins. as soon as she blows her whistle, you kick off and soar into the air.

   the cold is immediately a disadvantage. it whips at your cheeks and claws at your throat until your eyes are watering, definitely not a good thing when you have to keep an eye out for a two ton flying ball coming right for you.

   you do what you’ve always done, though, and fight through it, blinking the tears away at any moment you are given. as the match progresses, however, those moments get few and far between, the tension rising between the two teams.

    you stop paying attention to the score board, because you have to. already your mind is racing, focusing on a million different things at once. you have to keep an eye on all the gryffindor players, make sure you know where they are so you can knock them from their brooms - and you do. with the skills of a world cup player, you pummel the gryffindor players into the ground one by one, repeating the process when they clamber back onto their brooms.

    “doing well, l/n!” flint cries, whizzing past you at lightening speed. you give him a thumbs up, distracted for only a second, but it’s a second too long.

   you know of the weasley brothers, the beaters on the gryffindor team. they’re good. they come from a family of decent quidditch players, and their childhood training shows through. you’ve played them a handful of times, and they’ve always been equal competition.

    they take your distraction as an opportunity.

    the bludger is whizzing towards you before you can even drop your hand back to your brooms handle. you hear it, the screech as it races in your direction. you cry, slamming your hands into the front of your broom in any attempt to do a downwards dodge, but the bludger catches the rear end of your broom and sends you spiralling towards the ground. 

    your feet slam into the mud and you stumble. pain spears through your ankles and legs, making you whimper, but the anger and determination chases the feelings away, increased only when lee jordan calls out, “gryffindor scores!” over the loudspeaker. 

    you growl, low in your throat, and remount your broom. you kick off with renewed vigour, heading straight for the weasley twins. they circle the pitch, darting to and fro with a synchronisation you and the other slytherin beater could never emulate. it makes you mad. it makes you so, so mad, because this is a competition, and how are you ever meant to win a competition if your team won’t even cooperate? 

    “oi! goyle!” you yell.

    goyle spins in midair, scowling the minute he meets your eyes. “what the hell do you want? we’re in the middle of a match!”

    “i want you to do your fucking job!” and just to demonstrate your point, you slam your bat into a bludger heading right for goyle’s distracted mug.

   he whirls back around, gets ready to scream at you, but you’re already whizzing towards the centre of the pitch. the crowd is louder than ever now, but you have to ignore them, you have to keep going, you have to do some damage, just like flint told you back in the changing rooms. 

   your arms ache. your ankles throb. your fingers are numb, wrapped around the handle of your broom, but you push past all of it. you become a monster, unrestrained as you chase after the bludgers, catching them with your bat, speeding them at gryffindor flyers with a ferocity you have never before showed in a match. 

     one of the bludgers smacks george weasley right in the face. you hear his nose crunch from halfway across the pitch.

    you punch the air. “take that, asshole! woo!”

    the game continues, brutal by the end of it. your nose bleeds when oliver wood catches you with his arm; you get a free hit for the penalty, though, so you’re not even mad. george weasley’s own nose is broken, dribbling blood throughout the remainder of the match. multiple players have nose-dived into the grass.

   but at the fifty minute mark, lee jordan has to grudgingly call out, “draco malfoy has the snitch, the little pest-”

    and that’s the game over. a win for slytherin - first win of the season.

    you zip to the floor to an immediate group hug. it’s uncomfortable, with none of the slytherin players really knowing how to handle affection, but your own excitement chases away the awkwardness. you bundle draco into your chest, one hand in his hair, the other shoved in the air in a pose of victory that the gryffindors scowl at.

   you meet the eyes of george weasley. he cups his nose in one hand, holding his broom in the other, and never before have you seen such malice in someone’s expression. it sends excitement coursing through you. you give him a grin, a sarcastic little wave. he scowls, turns on his heel, and follows his retreating team back to the changing rooms, where they can wallow in their loss for the rest of eternity for all you care.

    ---

    in all your years at hogwarts, never before have you seen the gryffindors and the slytherins more hostile towards each other than they are after the match.

    you tend to stay out of house confrontations. you don’t see the point in them; you’ll play a little dirty during a quidditch match, but you won’t be caught dead sneering at any other houses on your days off. it’s pointless. it’s a quick way to get into some not needed trouble.

    but things are being taken a little too far now, and you’re struggling to keep your nose out of it.

    everywhere you go, a gryffindor has something to say. a puny little first year will yell insults at you as you walk to class. a third year will throw something at you in the dining hall. fellow fifth years will make it their life’s work to make your days a collage of living hells, just because your team managed to beat theirs during a quidditch match.

    “it’s getting quite ridiculous now,” you say into the fire, the head of your father bobbing up and down within the flames. “the match was a week ago, and the gryffindors still haven’t got over it.”

    “so quidditch is still as competitive as it was back in my day then, eh?” your father says, before breaking into a fit of coughing that you have learned to ignore over the years; he hates it when you bring up his peaked appearance, or the way his eyes sometimes roll into the back of his head without warning.

    “i suppose so,” you mumble. “i don’t know what they want me to tell them; i’m just the beater, for christs sake.”

   “hey,” your dad scolds. “everyone in a quidditch team is important.”

   “yeah, but i’m not the one who handed their arse to them on a plate, am i?”

   “you helped with the process.” your dad smiles, tilting his head a little bit; he looks at you like this sometimes, like you’re holding the world in your hands. you suppose it comes with you being his only child, his last remaining family. he is yours, as well, though neither of you ever talk about it. 

   after your mother died, it was just the two of you. at ten years old, you were too young to do much in terms of helping, but then you aged and got your acceptance letter to hogwarts, and for a long time, you were fully prepared to ignore it, pretend you never received it and get on with the faux muggle life you had been trying to settle into these last few years. however, your father has always been a smart man, and even after he started getting sick, he was always telling you to go ahead and do it - go to hogwarts like you were supposed to, like you had always dreamed. 

   and now here you are, miserable.

    “i miss you,” you say when the silence gets too much. you can hear his heart monitor over the crackling flames, and it puts you on edge. “how are things at home?”

   “oh, the usual,” he replies. “days are boring without you, love, but i’m cheering you on. you’re making me so proud.”

   you smile. “i try, dad, i try.”

    “well-”

   before your father can finish his sentence, however, the door to the slytherin common room bursts open. a group of three stampede into the centre - draco, goyle, and crabbe.

   you frown. “do you lot not see i’m a bit busy?”

    draco spins. his hair stands on end, and black soot covers his face. his eyes are startled but wide with a fury you have seen far too often on the young boys face - it still makes you snicker.

    your dad sighs. “i suppose i should let you handle this.”

   “talk to you later, dad.”

   his face disappears up the chimney, leaving you alone with the three panting boys.

   you stand, wiping your hands on your robes. “what happened to you?”

   “those bloody weasleys!” draco exclaims. “oh, i’ll get them. i’ll get them back, i swear to it!”

   you raise a brow. “the weasleys? you’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

   “well, who else?” draco gestures to his soot-stained face. “them filthy twins think they’re soooo funny with their little jokes, but wait till my father hears about this! they’ll be out of this school before they can even blink!”    

   you raise a brow. “is this about the fucking quidditch match?”

    “yes,” draco snaps. you can see the tethers breaking away, his temper rising as he trails his fingers through his hair, breathes heavily through gritted teeth. “of course it’s about the bloody quidditch match. them gryffindors wouldn’t know fair play if it hit them in the face; they just can’t accept that the better team won.”

    you bite your lower lip. it’s been days of this exact same behaviour, these childish pranks just because the gryffindors are mad that the slytherins finally had a taste of victory.

   it makes you mad.

   you curl your fingers into your palm, gazing down at the three younger boys as they pace back and forth, treading ash in their wake. you’ve never been overly fond of crabbe and goyle, but you’ve always looked out for draco - call it an older sibling kind of thing, but you’re always the one sitting next to him when he has something to rant about, always the one rolling your eyes and putting him in his place, because you’re the only person in the world he will actually listen to.

   your protective instincts flare up before you have a chance to stuff them back down again. 

    “i think i need to have a chat with the weasley twins,” you say.

   draco’s head snaps around. “what?”

    but you’re already grabbing your cloak, dragging it over your pyjamas. 

    “y/n, what are you even going to say to them?” draco demands. when you don’t respond, he groans and grabs your arm. “if they do anything-”

    “they’re not gonna murder me, draco.” you shake him off, offering a warm smile. “i might murder them, though. we’ll have to see.”

    draco doesn’t argue. he watches you go, open mouthed and exhausted. you crawl out of the slytherin common room and into the hallways, thankful that curfew has yet to appear - you can march through these corridors with as much anger radiating off of you as possible, and filch can’t say a damn thing.

   that’s exactly what you do, because your fury only builds the longer you walk. it’s one thing for you to be harassed in the corridors by angry gryffindors; you’re a fifth year, and you’ve been through this many times. it’s a completely different thing to go after draco.

   and you understand, of course, that draco malfoy is hardly someone who needs to be protected, covered in bubble wrap for fear of shattering. he’s a little shit, and you’ll admit that as soon as the next guy.

   but he’s like a little brother to you in the sense that he was the only person in the world who knows about your fathers illness, and he hasn’t told a single soul.

    you round the corner, and that’s when you see him. it’s one of the rare occasions the weasley twins aren’t joined at the hip, because as far as you can tell, fred is nowhere in sight. george stands - alone - at the top of the stairs, waving goodnight to a group of gryffindor girls. there’s a slight red tinge to his cheeks, like he’s been running through wind, and you hate how adorable it looks.

   you push aside this thought, replacing it with the anger settled in your system. you march right up to him, grab his arm, and shove him up against the wall with the strength built from years of being quidditch beater.

    he stumbles, eyes widening a fraction before he realises what’s happening. his hand doesn’t even stray to his wand when he sees you, which just makes you mad; you want him to put up a fight. you want him to do something, anything that gives you an excuse to draw back and punch him in the nose. 

    “l/n,” he sneers instead. “what a pleasant surprise!”

    “you really are a piece of shit. you know that, right?”

    he laughs. it’s so jovial, so easy.

   you hate it.

    you shove his chest, willing his attention back to you. “i’m being serious! why can’t you and the rest of your slimy gryffindors just accept the fact that you lost? just because you’ve been lucky with potter on your team, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from losing.” you lean forward. “which, just to remind you, is what happened - you fucking lost, so suck it up and deal with it.”

    george blinks. that stupid grin is still on his face when he says, “christ, y/n, i haven’t even said hello yet!”

   you groan, stepping away from him to trail your hands through your hair.

   george points, squinting one eye in your direction. “draco does that all the time. is it a slytherin thing?”

    “what’s your obsession with draco?” you spit. 

   “he’s a tit. never leaves my brother alone, so he doesn’t.”

   “and is ron not capable of fighting his own battles?”

   george scoffs. “oh, he is, but being the amazing big brother that i am, i like to take the burden off him sometimes.”

   you scowl. george grins.

    “pathetic,” you grumble. “all of you. absolutely pathetic. when the next quidditch match comes around, you’ll be forgetting all about this one.”

   “ah, but the slytherin’s won’t, will they? you lot will be basking in your only victory in three years for as long as you can.”

    you growl, lunging for him. george laughs, placing his large hands on your shoulders to keep you at arms length, and you’re honestly not even sure what it is you plan on doing - scratching his eyes out? punching him in the face? some muggle fighting tactics you don’t understand?    

    “this is adorable,” george comments, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a painting of Sir Edmund Christo hangs behind him. “isn’t this adorable, Christo?”

    you groan, step away from him, shocked at how angry he can make you in such little time. his eyes glint in amusement as he stuffs his hands back into his robes and says, “finished?”

    “go to hell, george weasley,” you spit.

   his eyes pop open. “oh, look at that! you can tell me and fred apart!” 

    “leave draco alone,” you growl. “or next time i’ll put my hexes to good use.”

    ---

   the threat was idle. you weren’t actually going to hex george, or any of the gryffindors for that matter. you love draco dearly, but risking expulsion for him was not something you were willing to do.

    nonetheless, george seems to take your threat seriously, as he leaves draco - and the rest of the slytherin quidditch team - to their own devices. at one point, you even notice him telling ron to stop glaring over at your dinner table, and ron actually listened.

    “this might be the first time in hogwarts history the slytherin and gryffindors haven’t been at each others throats constantly,” says blaise, taking a seat next to you.

    draco scowls, still glaring over at the gryffindors despite your previous scoldings. “it’s weird. i don’t like it. they’ve got something planned.”

    “okay edge lord,” you grumble through a mouthful of yorkshire pudding. “this is literally why we can’t have nice things; you ruin it with your pessimism.”

   “coming from you, that means nothing.”

   you slap the back of his head. draco swats your hand away.

    “look, we don’t have to worry about the gryffindors any more,” you continue. “it was one quidditch match - they can’t hold a grudge forever.”

    “quidditch is a serious game,” blaise says through a snicker, because he’s never understood the fascination, no matter how many hours you and draco spend explaining it to him.

       “serious, but not enough to start a bloody house war.” you tap draco’s hand. “now stop staring and eat your roasties; you’re starting to look desperate.”

   draco scowls, but prods his fork into a roastie nonetheless.

    but now your attention is caught, no matter how much you want to forget all of it. the gryffindors aren’t worth your time and attention. they’ve done nothing but make your life a living hell these past few days - most of your hogwarts experience, actually - so why give them even the tiniest bit of your attention?

    you glance over to the gryffindor table. george is already looking at you.

   it’s reflex when you scowl. your eyes meet his, and you remember the night before when he was laughing, teasing you for your anger, and with those memories comes a surge of fresh anger, all pointed directly at him. you wonder if he feels the same, if he perhaps shielded his own frustration with humour; you don’t know an awful lot about the weasley twins, but from what you have gathered, that seems to be a common theme. they play pranks, and they tease people, and deep down, they are most likely dying inside.

    dying because they lost a fucking quidditch match.

    you look away when george sends you a grin. “idiot.”

   draco looks at you. “huh?”

    “nothing.” you stand, brushing your hands down your robes. your dinner was finished a long time ago; you were only staying seated to make sure draco didn’t throw himself into further conflict - not after you smoothed things out the night before. “i’m off to the library for a bit. you-” you poke draco in the cheek. “stay out of trouble, alright?”

    draco stares after you; he knows what off the library really means, and you appreciate that he isn’t blabbering the truth to the entire table. you give him one final smile before walking off, heading straight for the slytherin common room.

   it’s empty when you clamber inside. slytherin’s don’t spend an awful lot of time in the common room - that means socialising with one another, sharing pleasantries, and none of you are particularly fond of that kind of thing. you don’t mind, hating the faux pleasantries yourself, but it also gives you free rein to use the fireplace whenever you please.

  you sit on your knees and pull your wand out. it takes a bit of memory power before you can utter the spell your dad has illegally been trying to teach you since you left for your fifth year at hogwarts, but you eventually manage it. your body shrinks - at least, that’s what it feels like - and before long, heat is clawing at your face, and you’re staring into the family living room.

   what used to be the family living room. now, it’s empty besides your dad, curled up in the arm chair, watching the muggle news. he doesn’t notice you at first, giving you the time to analyse his form without him putting on a brave face. 

    he looks sick.

   very, very sick.

    you swallow thickly. his hair is thinner today than it was yesterday, if such a thing is even possible. his baby bird bones are tangled upon the arm chair, covered by an exceptionally thin blanket that makes you hope with every fibre of your being that he has the heating installed, running at full blast. his lips are chapped, and his eyes are bruised from lack of sleep, and just seconds before he turns to see your head bobbing in the fireplace, he coughs blood into a light blue handkerchief.

    his eyes widen when he spots you. he quickly shoves the handkerchief into his back pocket, stumbles from his arm chair and drops to his knees by the fire.

   “y/n!” he exclaims. “goodness, you could have made a little bit of noise. i didn’t even notice you!”

    “hi dad,” you reply quietly. “how are you?” 

    “very well.” he grins, grabbing the thin blanket you suddenly despise. “i’ve been crocheting, finished this a few nights ago. i was thinking of sending it to you, but the owl isn’t back yet, so you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

   you force a smile on your face. it must be a family trait, all these forced smiles. “that’s great, dad. you’re getting good at those.”

    “yes, well, i’ve got a lot of time on my hands now that i’m not running after you.” he scowls, but it lasts only a second before his expression breaks into a grin. “but enough about me; how are things with you? hogwarts treating you good? are those kids still giving you a hard time?”

   “dad, we spoke yesterday. how much do you think has changed?”

   he waves a dismissive hand, dropping his chin upon a shelf made by his interlocking fingers. “each day is a chance for new experiences, my dear.”

    “i nearly got in a fight with one of the beaters from the gryffindor team.”

   your dads eyes widen. “love, what have i said about using violence as a way to solve problems?”

    “i said nearly!” you exclaim, folding your arms across your chest, and even though he can’t see your arms, you know for a fact he is imagining you in this very stance, so familiar from your childhood. “he’s a real pain in the arse, dad, you don’t even understand. he winds me up something shocking.”

   “who is this boy anyway?”

   “one of the weasleys,” you grumble. “george.”

   your dads eyes pop open. for a brief moment, there is a flicker of life back in his body, startling you. “a weasley? goodness, y/n, i remember that family well! molly and arthur were in my year at school!”

    “yeah, well, george and fred are in my year at school, and they’re a set of bastards.”

    your dad chuckles, because that’s what he does when you get like this; he laughs, and he shakes his head, and he pretends you have the potential to be a Hufflepuff, just like he was back at hogwarts. 

    “i’ve never met them personally,” he says. “but i’ve never met a bad weasley in my life; some could be a bit overbearing, but they always had good intentions, and i think that’s what matters.”

    “i don’t think george has ever had a good intention in his life.” you slump forward, propping your chin on your palm. “all he cares about is quidditch and making people’s lives a living hell.”

    your dad frowns. “oh, love, i don’t think that’s true. i think you’re just angry at him. what did he actually do?”

    “he’s been tormenting draco since the quidditch match.”

   “is draco your little successor?”

   you scowl. “draco’s a little shit, and i’ll be the first to admit that, but george and fred are just taking the piss now. the match was a week ago. they need to get over themselves.”

    he hums in response, looking thoughtfully into the fire. “well, i hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’re quite competitive when it comes to quidditch, too.” 

    “not that competitive. i’m not a sore loser, that’s for sure.”

    “listen, i’ve never been an avid quidditch player, so i don’t know what it feels like getting sucked into that environment, but i’ve seen you get into some pretty deep dramatics over it. maybe george is just doing the same thing.” he shrugs. “nobody likes losing.”

   you scowl; sometimes you hate your dads ability to make sense, to explain every situation like it’s the worlds fucking philosophy. huffing, you cross your arms and lean your head upon them, staring at your dad with a disproved expression.

    he meets your gaze and laughs, raising his hands in faux surrender. “i’m just saying, love. i’m happy you���re sticking up for draco - god knows that boy needs a friend - but i don’t want to be receiving any owls from your teachers informing me about your expulsion because you’ve got in some fight with a boy in your year.”

     “i can’t make any promises on that, dad.”

    he rolls his eyes, no malice in the action. “whatever. just be a little wise, alright? you’ve got exams coming up, and i don’t want you flunking over something like this.”

    the mention of exams makes your stomach churn; through all the drama taking place these past few days, you had forgotten all about the end of term exams, approaching much quicker than you’re prepared for.

    dad smiles, as if reading your expression. “you’ll do great, love. i know you will.” he glances over his shoulder, spots the clock hung on the wall before turning back to you. “you should get going. it’s getting late.”

    you raise a brow. “will you be alright on your own?”

    “i’ve been on my own for a while now, sweetheart - i’ll be fine.” he smiles, blows you a kiss before swiping his arms through the fires flames, sending you back to the common room before you can even blink.

   ----

    christmas settles amongst the hogwarts students, and exams are dangerously close.

   quidditch must be set to the back burner, a fact that leaves you slightly depressed as you wade through what feels like a hundred hours of classes you have no interest in. revision piles up around you, leaving with you very little sleep and very little patience.

   call it a slytherin thing, but the desperate need to succeed has overtaken your entire being these past few weeks. you haven’t even spared george weasley - or any of the gryffindors - a glance, too absorbed in spell books to pay attention to their continued jeers. 

    george doesn’t go near you.

   you find it weird, of course, but that tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you any time you think too deep into it. you have to remain focused on exams, and exams only, because you have not left your dying father on his own for so long just to come home with no O.W.L’s. you have to succeed for his sake, to show him these difficult few years have not been for nothing.

   you’re in the library with draco on this particular day. outside the high windows, snow drifts pleasantly from the sky, and you can imagine the quidditch pitch in that moment, beautifully blanketed with little snowflakes that you will have no access to, because you’re stuck in the stuffy library with a slytherin fourth year who wouldn’t know the meaning of concentration if it struck him in the face.

    “why are you even here?” you snap, just as draco makes another comment about a passing gryffindor fourth year.

    draco raises a brow. he’s leaned back in his seat, so casual, textbooks open in front of him, though he pays them no attention. you don’t think he’s even glanced at one since he sat down. “what do you mean?”

   “i’m trying to revise.” you tap the front of your potions book to exaggerate your point. “in case you’ve forgotten, our exams start in a week. i don’t have time to sit here and scowl at gryffindors with you.”

    “i never invited you to scowl at gryffindors with me.” he throws a pencil across the room, just missing a distracted first year. “i can do that perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

   you slap his arm down, giving him your customary grimace. “wind your neck in, draco. how many times do i have to tell you you’re not special just because you’re a malfoy?”

    he opens his mouth to respond, but takes one look at your deadly scowl and goes quiet. he huffs through his nose, folding his arms over his chest as he leans over his textbook and gets to reading.

    you join him, tracing your wand over the words that are failing to embed themselves in your mind. why you ever decided to take potions - with snape as a teacher, no less - will forever be beyond you, and one of the greatest mistakes you have ever made in your hogwarts life. nothing he says makes any sense, and although you’re in his house, he still derives great pleasure in seeing you suffer at the hands of-

    “malfoy! are you studying?”

   your head snaps up. draco joins you.

   walking through the doors, and the most likely suspect of the jeer, is george weasley.

   your heart barrels into your stomach, a fresh surge of anger coursing through you at the mere sight of him. he’s done so well keeping himself to himself these past few weeks, and seeing him now - right back to square one - makes you want to punch him in the face all over again.

   because he strolls towards your table with that stupid little grin on his face, the evidence of a smirk taking place upon his face, and you hate that it suits him so well. you hate that you can’t even bring yourself to deny his attractiveness, no matter how hard you try.

    you slam your textbook closed. “let’s go, draco.”

   “what does he want?” draco stands and calls over to the approaching weasley twin. “where’s your dumb little sidekick, weasley? got lost in the halls?”

    “oh, would you-”

   your protest is cut short by george’s laugh. “actually no. he’s got a revision class with professor sprout, so i thought i’d come in here and check on my favourite beater.” he looks at you, smiles. “got a minute?”

   “no.” you scoop your textbook into your arm and stand, grabbing draco’s collar. “let’s go, draco. one more wrong move from you, and mcgonagall might not be so nice.”

    draco thrashes against your grip, grabbing the table to prevent you from dragging him right past the grinning weasley and into the hallway. “what do you want with y/n?”

    george raises a brow. “why would i tell you?”

   “because i’m their friend, and last time i checked, you’ve done nothing but torment them since that bloody quidditch match.”

    you groan. “again with the quidditch match? i thought we dropped that ages ago!”

    “apparently malfoy here holds grudges.” george turns to you again, ignoring malfoy’s disgruntled protestations. “i literally just want to have a chat; no funny business.”

    “no funny business?” draco screeches. “don’t listen to him, y/n. anything he wants to say to you, he can say in front of me.”

    a burst of affection blossoms in your chest. you push it down, turning to draco. “i can handle this, mate. you just go and find pansy or whatever it is you do. i’ll catch up.”

   draco narrows his eyes, going still in your grip. “you’re sure?”

   “when have i ever not been able to handle myself?”

   he pauses. “good point.” giving george one final warning glare, he straightens his robes rather theatrically and strolls from the library like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just made a massive scene on your behalf.

    with draco gone, you and george stare at each other. he’s got these pretty brown eyes, a little wide, a faux play on innocence. you see right through him, though. you recognise the glint of mischief he does nothing to hide, dancing behind those pretty brown eyes.

    finally, he says, “got yourself a little body guard, have you?”

   “draco’s protective.” you gesture towards his discarded chair. “take a seat, i guess.”

   grinning, george sits. you follow his lead, scooching your chair back a little bit; you have no idea what he has up his sleeve, and you’re not willing to find out.

    “what do you want?” you ask.

   “i know you and i didn’t exactly hit it off when we first spoke,” he begins.

    “that’s not my fault.”

   he pauses. “i think it was, but that’s not why i’m here.”

   you scowl, folding your arms over your chest. “you were the one being a dick to draco; you started it.”

    “i started it? you were the one pushing me up against a wall! and not even in a good way!”

    “because you were-”

   “being a dick to draco, yes, i heard you the first time.” george shakes his head, trails a hand through his hair. “now you’ve got me off track and i haven’t even been sat for two minutes.”

    “i don’t want to hear any apology - i know you don’t mean it.”

   george scoffs, glancing at you without entirely looking up, which is a look you never thought you would find attractive, but here you are. “i didn’t come here to apologise. in case you didn’t catch on, i don’t think i did anything wrong.”

    “no, you never do.”

    “but, i did come here to talk to you about something. just something i heard on the grapevine.” 

   you pause.

   george smiles, but it holds none of his usual playfulness. this smile actually looks genuine, maybe even a little soft.

    “so i was walking through the corridors - all on my lonesome - the other night, when i came across the slytherin common room.”

    you blink. you don’t know what else to do, having no idea what he even means. 

   he continues. “the door was left open, which i thought was a little weird; usually them things just close over by themselves, and you’ve got all the passwords and protection spells and stuff keeping peeping toms out, isn’t that right?”

    “what are you-”

    “does anyone else know your dad is sick?”

   you honestly would have preferred it if he had just drop kicked you then and there.

    you stare at him, waiting for a punchline that very clearly does not exist. you can scarcely believe your ears, let alone come up with a decent response to such an obtrusive, confusing question. confusing only because you have no idea how he could have ever found out, no idea how he just managed to peek his head into the slytherin common room when every enchantment claims it impossible.

    george stares back at you, his smile still present. it’s still soft, like he’s trying to test the waters, but you see no kindness in it now. 

   you push your chair back, very nearly stumbling over its legs in your haste to get as far from him as possible. that grin fades, his eyes narrowing as he tries reaching for your robes, but you pull away before he can get too close.

    “you nosy little shit,” you hiss, voice trembling. “you nosy, disrespectful little bastard!”

    “hey, hey, hey!” he stands, palms up in surrender. “i’m not teasing, i’m genuinely curious! you never talk about it, so-”

    “i never talk about it because it’s nobody else’s business. especially not some filthy little gryffindor who thinks he’s owed the god damn world!”

    george’s eyes widen. “that was so uncalled for. i was giving you someone to confide in!”

    you laugh, bitter and harsh. it makes george flinch. “and you think that person should be you? after everything? go to hell, george weasley.” you turn on your heel, not even bothering to gather your textbooks, or your quill - you’ll get them later. “and keep your massive nose out of things that don’t concern you!”

    and before george can say anything, you’re speeding out of the library, trying desperately to halt the tears threatening to pour down your face.

   ----    

    “i don’t understand how he found out. how could the door just stay open?”

    you keep your voice down, terrified of the other slytherins hearing what you have to say; the changing rooms are already packed, people fighting over garments and equipment, marcus already mouthing off about the lack of preparation the team had for this game due to exams.

    draco sits beside you, knees pulled to his chest. he stares out at the open space, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in that thoughtful way he always does. his brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed.

   “it doesn’t make any sense,” he says at last. “the entrances to the common rooms have enchantments and all that stuff on them. sounds to me like he’s lying through his teeth.”

    “but then how else did he find out?”

   draco hollows out his cheeks and shakes his head. “beats me.” he turns to you then, slaps a hand against your knee. “but we can’t focus on that just yet. we have a match today.”

    you sigh, tilting your head back against the wall; your energy has long since been sucked out of you, a week straight of exams not leaving you in the best state, though the excitement of finally being back on the pitch drives you to stand and join the rest of the team.

    slytherin versus hufflepuff today; should be an easy enough win. 

    you mount your broom and get started as soon as the whistle is blown. 

   soaring through the air, your adrenaline kicks back in. for the time being, you are able to ignore the anxiety throbbing in the back of your head, focusing only on the task you have been given. a few hufflepuff’s are wiped out in as little as ten minutes into the match; the slytherin’s in the crowd are howling their excitement, jumping up and down with fists in the air. 

   you look down, meaning to wave at blaise as he jumps up and down in the stands, but it is not blaise your eyes immediately land on. 

   you spot the shock of red hair almost immediately, sitting in the stands with his eyes trained on you. you’ve seen him at these matches so many times - and why wouldn’t he be? a player on the qryffindor team, an avid quidditch player. why shouldn’t he be watching you play right now?

    despite this, his presence distracts you. 

   “y/n!” draco shrieks, before a bludger whizzes past you. goyle, the god send, just manages to knock it away before it slams into your ribs.

   you spin, gasping. goyle sends you a dark look as draco calls out, “you okay?” you give him a shaky thumbs up, take one final look at george in the stands before whizzing across the pitch, determined not to let your attention slip again.

    but he’s there. he’s there, and there’s no way you can ignore him after yesterday. that smile of his, those big brown eyes, his confusion when you lost your mind and started yelling at him. it just felt like the right thing to do, and even now - after having a bit of time to think about it - you’re still angry. what draco said was right - george was probably lying through his teeth when he-

    “y/n!”

    goyle isn’t on the ball this time.

    you spin just in time to get a bludger straight to the chest.

   it knocks the air out of you, sends your broom spiralling to the floor. your fingers - surprisingly numb - slip from the handle, and you crash into the grass, flat on your back. 

    “mother of god,” you groan, rolling onto your side as madame hooch blows the whistle for a time out.

    draco is first by your side, slipping to his knees. “are you daft?”

   “no, i’m winded.”

    “bloody hell.” he grabs your arm, rolling you onto your back. you stare at the sky, disoriented. “can you keep playing?”

   “yes.”

   “are you just saying that?”

    “probably.” with one hand curled round your middle, you push yourself up. draco helps you to your feet, hands you your broom, and before madame hooch - or madame pomfrey for that matter, who is yelling at you from the sidelines to go over for a check up - you mount your broom and kick off again.

    your entire body screams in protest the entire time, ribs burning, chest tight. it takes everything in your power not to slip into unconsciousness. black dots sneak into the edges of your vision, but you push them away and keep playing.

   you keep playing, but not necessarily well.

    you make a hit for a bludger with your bat, only for marcus to curse you out for nearly taking a swing at his head, instead. your broom spirals in all different directions, you suddenly unable to keep it under any resemblance of control. your hands tremble against the handle, eyes slipping, slipping, slipping-

    the whistle blows again. you open your eyes. you’re on the ground again.

    “someone get them to the infirmary!” madame hooch screeches. “the match will commense with the sub - where’s crabbe? crabbe!”

    “no,” you grumble. “no, i can play. i’m fine.”

   “you’ve just passed out, you idiot.”

   george’s voice startles you back to reality. your eyes snap up, meeting his just as he puts an arm beneath you and hauls you off the floor. 

    and you could protest. you want to protest, because george weasley - of all people - should not be the one carrying you to safety, but your chest aches, and all your muscles are on fire, so you don’t even move. you just flop against him, trying desperately to keep consciousness as long as possible.

   it doesn’t work out that way, though. the black dots take over your vision before you’ve even reached the infirmary, the last thing you see being george’s furrowed brows and worried scowl.

   ----

   you wake up to darkness.

    curtains drawn, a quilt tucked beneath your chin, body comfortable against a soft mattress, you’re half tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

   that thought is squashed when you look to your side and spot george sat by your bedside.

   he’s fast asleep, head drooped, arms folded across his chest. he looks peaceful, though his hair is mussed, like he’s trailed his fingers through it numerous times.

   you push yourself onto your elbows and glance around; you’re in the infirmary, your body feeling good as new with whatever spell madame pomfrey put on you. clearly she thought you needed the rest, as it is now pitch black outside, and the curtains around your bed have been drawn to separate you from the other patients.

    you grab your wand from the bedside table and whisper “lumos.”

    george jerks awake.

    his chair screeches against the floor, making you wince with the volume. it sounds particularly loud when you’re in a room with people fast asleep, and apparently george thinks the same way. he squints into the darkness, before his eyes pop open at the sight of you.

    “you’re awake!”

   “what are you doing here?”

    in all honesty, you don’t mean to sound so harsh. it just kind of happens, a reflex when it comes to george weasley.

   he frowns. “i came to make sure you didn’t choke on your tongue in your sleep. i know how you slytherins can get.”

    “what happened?”

   he settles back in his chair, regarding you with a tired expression, though his raised eyebrow and wild hair make him look oddly attractive beneath the pale wand light cast upon his face. “you don’t remember?”

   “i remember. . . bits and pieces.” you wince. “we lost the match, didn’t we?”

    george smiles. “it was bound to happen. hufflepuff still had a full team by the end of it, and i think diggory was using slytherin’s weakness to his advantage.”

   “but we had crabbe as a sub!” 

    “crabbe is god awful. goyle’s on thin ice. you’re the only beater on that team keeping things going.”

    you scowl, slumping back against your pillows. it’s not like you had desperately high hopes for slytherin to win, but the fact that it was you who forced the loss upon them makes you angry - and a little bit embarrassed. 

   you flick a glance at george. “is flint mad?”

    george scoffs. “who gives a shit what flint thinks?”

   “i do. he’s the teams captain.” you close your eyes, throw your head back. “he’s gonna give me such a bollocking when he next sees me.”   

    “you were a little distracted up there.” george leans forward. “what happened?”

    and then you remember.

   that moment, just before the first bludger was barrelling towards you. you’d spotted george in the crowd, that shock of red hair, and his eyes had met yours, and you just zoned out. it was uncontrollable; once it started, you couldn’t drag your mind away from it - the fact he was there, the fact he was looking right at you, the fact you kind of wanted to talk to him.    

    “it was nothing,” you grumble, awkwardly picking at the quilt covering your legs. “i just felt a little ill, that’s all; not really the day for a match, was it?”

    george scoffs. “i’ve seen you play brilliant games of quiddich in blizzards, y/n. don’t sit there and tell me a little wind put you off your game this time around, because i know it’s a lie.”

   you scowl, but make no attempt to correct him. there isn’t really any point when he’s looking at you with that grin on his face, an eyebrow raised, a silent dare for you to go against him right now.

   you look back down at the quilt. “i could have carried on playing, you know. i was fine.” 

   “you fell unconscious when i was carrying you to the hospital wing.”

    “that doesn’t mean anything. my body gave up because the adrenaline stopped, but if i’d have just carried on playing-”

   “you probably would have broken a few more ribs.” george taps your nose. “and we can’t be having that.”

   you swat his hand away, scowling. “i still hate you, you know.”

   his smile drops, and for the first time since you woke up, he actually looks upset. he stares at you, those doe-like, mischievous brown eyes forcing you to look away, because you can’t stand them for very long without getting all giddy. it annoys the hell out of you.

    slowly, he leans back, fingers clasped in front of him. “is it because of what i said about your dad?”

   you close your eyes. “i was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

   “but that’s it, isn’t it?” he pushes. “you think i was out of line for asking you about it. you think i was teasing you, or something.”

    “it’s not exactly far-fetched though, is it? you’ve dedicated your entire life to taking the piss out of people from slytherin, so why should i think i was any different?” 

    “because you are different.” george grits his teeth, like the words have caused him physical pain to admit. “i wasn’t - christ, y/n, i wasn’t making fun of the fact your dad is ill. i’m not that bloody cruel.”

    “with the way you treat draco? had me fooled.”

   george’s nostrils flare, lower lip disappearing behind his teeth. “are you and draco a freaking couple or something?”

   “no.”

   “then why do you feel the need to stick up for him every two seconds?”

   “because he’s my friend, george, that’s why!”

    george rolls his eyes, like the mere idea of draco malfoy having friends is unbelievable to him. 

   “what?” you push, leaning forward to meet his eyes. “why is it so difficult for you to wrap your head around the fact i’m friends with malfoy?”

    “because you’re so much better than him.”

    he says it like it hurts, teeth gritted, eyes refusing to meet your own. he says it like the walls are crumbling and this is his last chance to admit the truth. he says it like he hopes you don’t hear him.

    you stare, unable to comprehend his words, because they don’t really make any sense to you. “no i’m not.”

    george stiffens.

   you barrel on, suddenly passionate. “no, i’m really bloody not. i got sorted into slytherin for a reason, george, just like you and all the other weasleys got sorted into gryffindor. draco and i, we think alike. we deal with problems the same way.”

    “that’s bullshit,” george scoffs, finally looking up. “you keep malfoy in check, because you know the difference between right and wrong.”

    “i keep malfoy in check because i’m not an idiot. just because i stop him from doing daft things, doesn’t mean i don’t agree with his intentions.”

   george swallows. you watch his throat bob, the emotion slipping into his stomach, forcing that mask upon his face that you saw disappear for only the briefest of moments during this confusing conversation.

   finally, after a moment, george claps his hands to his knees and stands up, not unlike how your dad rises from his arm chair on his particularly bad days. all huffs and puffs, grunts of discomfort, bones creaking from lack of movement.

    “alright then,” he says simply. “i’ll leave you to it then, shall i? you can get back to - i don’t know - plotting doomsday or something.”

    you growl. “grow up.”

   he gives you a wave, sarcastic, over-the-top just to make you mad. you don’t humour him with a response, instead just watching him leave with your arms folded over your chest, anger seeping into every inch of your freshly-healed body.

    it’s crazy how he can do that to you so easily, how he can wriggle his way into your brain, convince you he has good intentions, only to leave you feeling angrier than when he first walked in.

   ---

   you get out of the infirmary that day, having fully healed thanks to madame pomfrey’s magic. you thank her, offering to send some flowers up to her room as soon as possible. she smiles and says, “just like your father.”

    you manage to avoid flint for most of the day. him being the year above you, it’s easy to miss him in the hallways, and you certainly have no classes together. however, you were a fool to think he wouldn’t be tracking you down any time he possibly could, because as soon as you sit down at the slytherin table that evening, he is right beside you in seconds.

    you glare at your mashed potatoes, speaking through gritted teeth. “don’t wanna hear it, marcus. really, really don’t wanna hear it.”

    “and we didn’t want to lose the match, but here we are.” he shoves your tray away; your food lands on the floor. none of the other slytherins look up. “you gonna explain to me what happened?”

    “why do i need to explain anything to you?” you shoot back, before gesturing to your upturned dinner. “get up there right now and get me a new plate, or so help me god-”

   “you’ll what? sabotage another match?” 

   your eyes widen. “sabotage? i didn’t take a bludger to the chest on purpose!”

    “explain your little performance with weasley then, huh?” flint leans forward, so close you can smell the peppermint on his breath. “has he finally got in your brain, yeah? managed to turn you against us. i don’t forget that your dad was a hufflepuff. and what was your mother?”

   you scowl. “keep my parents out of this.”

   “oh yes!” he exclaims. “a gryffindor! funny how that works, isn’t it? i can imagine you have a soft spot for the enemy, growing up with one and all that.”

    fury erupts in your chest. you stand, nostrils flaring, fingers curled into fists at your sides; so easily you could draw back and punch him, flatten him on the ground of the great hall in front of everyone. so easily you could make him pay for throwing your parents into this.

    but you don’t. you’re tired. you remember your dads voice, his silent plea for you to just take things easily this year. he isn’t well enough to handle any more trouble you may bring to his doorstep.

   and so, it’s with hesitance that you step away from the slytherin table. you lean down, lower your voice to an almost deadly whisper when you say, “i’d sleep with one eye open, you little shit.”

    you turn on your heel and start towards the door, starving but you don’t care. you have to get out of there before you lose your temper even further, before you banish the sound of your dads voice and make a mistake.

   ----

    draco finds you a few hours later, because of course he does.

    he probably heard all about your little altercation, and you have no doubt in your mind that it’s made him mad. you’re protective of him, but it works both ways, and draco has proved that on multiple occassions.

    the door to the common room bursts open, revealing a brief glimpse of the lunchtime crowd finally emerging from the great hall. you look up from your textbook, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light. draco stands in the doorway, nostrils flaring, eyes firm on you.

    your lips twitch, an attempt at a smile. “hello.”

   “what did he say to you?” draco demands. “if he said anything about your dad, y/n, i swear to-”

    “calm down,” you grumble, slumping into the arm chair. “you know how flint gets; he doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.”

   “yeah, well, he’s going to fucking learn, isn’t he?”

    you look up, because he must be joking. draco might be intimidating to some, but it all comes down to a name at the end of the day; he couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. he certainly couldn’t go up against marcus flint.

    but the rage in his eyes leaves little to the imagination about what he wants to do. he turns on his heel before you can even stand up, fleeing the common room in search of marcus flint.

   “draco!” you stumble up, dashing after him. “draco, stop. what the hell are you even going to do?”

   “have a little chat with him.” he picks up his pace, as if afraid you’re going to stop him. you have to start jogging, pushing past fellow confused students in your haste to grab draco before he does something stupid.

    but the world is plotting against you, it seems, as draco rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the slytherin quidditch team captain as he makes his way to his next class.

    both boys freeze, and for a moment, you think draco’s respect for the older man might just break through. for a fleeting, hopeful moment, you think draco will come to his senses and turn away before any real damage can be done.

    and then he punches flint right in the face.

   you cry out, stumbling over your own two feet in your haste to get to draco before flint - stunned and confused - can come back around. even draco seems shocked at his own actions, staring at his fingers with wide eyes, face paling.

    “idiot!” you hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him back, but marcus is already regaining his composure, looking at draco with nostrils flared.

   you raise a hand in marcus’s direction, trying in vain to drag draco behind you. “alright lads, lets calm down, yeah? we’ve got classes to get to!”

    “get out of the way, y/n,” marcus growls.

    “don’t talk to them like that,” draco snaps, lunging forward. you try in vain to keep the smaller boy from doing any further damage, but he’s determined, and you know how draco gets when he’s determined. he fights against your grip like a snarling dog, spitting curse words in flint’s direction, half of which you don’t even pick up on.

   you’re too busy staring at marcus, silently daring him to do anything.

   because, the thing is, marcus knows you just as he knows every person on his quidditch team. you’re the beater that keeps the team upright, the only one of the three beaters he can actually trust to win them a match. you’re the one he’s studied for years as you play the game by his side, and he knows you won’t take any shit.

    but either will he. that’s the beauty of being a slytherin. you know that as well as anyone.

   and that is why you can do nothing when marcus dives forward, malfoy having just called him some awful name, and grabs the younger boy by the front of his robes. he shoves you out of the way, your shoulder crashing into a passing first year. you hastily apologise, stumbling upright, trying to get between them as draco yells and makes a fuss, and marcus keeps so calm and collected, it’s almost scary, a scene you don’t know how to handle-

    marcus is pushed backwards.

    he falls on his back. you hear his wand snap in his back pocket, quills and parchment flying left, right and centre. draco stumbles, gasping for air, pressing a hand to his throat; his eyes snap to you, but you pay him no attention as you stare at george weasley, now standing guard over the younger malfoy boy.

    he glares down at flint, fingers curled into fists at his sides. the crowd stand shocked, some of them whispering “is that fred or george?” but you pay them no attention. your heart is racing. you’re so confused.

    marcus blinks. “what the fuck?”

   “why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” george snarls. 

    “i can handle myself, weasley!” draco barks, and that snaps you out of your reverie.

    you march forward and grab draco by the ear. he cries out, but you don’t pay attention to his pleas as you drag him through the hall, yelling out, “nothing to see here people!” over your shoulder. draco kicks and whines, but you’re furious - furious that he would put himself in such danger, furious that he couldn’t even finish the job he started, because george weasley - of all people! - stepped in to save his ass.

     you push draco into the nearest empty classroom you can find. “you idiot.”

    “he deserved it!” draco exclaims, rubbing the reddened tip of his ear. “jesus christ, y/n, let me help you! why do you let people like him get away with stuff like that?”

    “i don’t!” you bark. “i don’t let them get away with it, draco, because i handle it on my own! you don’t need to protect me!”

   draco scowls, folding his arms over his chest.

   you sigh, running a hand down your face. “you’re like a little brother to me, do you understand? if you get hurt one of these days, i’ll never forgive myself. it’s better if you just let me deal with things like this.”

    “why do you get to protect me all the time but i can’t protect you?”

   “because i can protect myself.”

    “or george weasley will do it.”

    you purse your lips, glancing over your shoulder as if george himself will be stood in the doorway; part of you kind of wishes he was. 

    “i don’t know why he did that,” you mumble. “he hates your guts.”

   draco scoffs. “yes, i’m aware of that. but i think it’s pretty obvious why he decided to step in.”

   you raise a brow, a silent question. 

    “that boy hasn’t stopped gawking at you since the first quidditch match,” draco explains. “don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. and also don’t pretend like he wasn’t the reason you got so distracted during the match against hufflepuff.”

    you blink, heat clawing to your face. of course it’s true - you never denied that to yourself - but hearing draco say it out loud, like it means something, makes your stomach curl. 

    draco chuckles, still rubbing his ear. “i must say, y/n, i’m surprised by your pick, but whatever makes you happy.”

    “george is...” you falter, the acidic adjective balancing on the tip of your tongue, just enough of a lie to leave you hesitant. “george is a. . . interesting character.”

    “all the weasleys are,” draco agrees. “but not all the weasleys have caught your eye, have they?”

   “shut up.” you fold your arms, biting your lower lip. “i don’t feel anything for george. nothing nice, anyway. he annoys me.”

    “he annoys you, does he?”

    “you know he does!”

    “i also know you’re getting very flustered right now.”

   you scowl, quickly turning away before draco can gather any more evidence of your true feelings through your appearance. “go to hell.”

    “tell me i’m wrong. tell me he wasn’t the person who distracted you during that match.”

    you open your mouth, ready to lie. you’re a slytherin. lying comes easily when it works in your favour, but you glance over your shoulder, and you spot draco’s raised brow and amused smile, and you remember that he is a slytherin himself, a slytherin who knows you better than anyone else in this damned school. he can read you like an open book, a skill he is clearly using to his advantage now.

   you grit your teeth, turning back around. “it was an accident. i just wasn’t expecting him to be there.”

    “the weasley twins never miss a game!” draco exclaims, a burst of laughter mingling with the words, like he can’t believe you’re even attempting to lie. “honestly, y/n, who do you think you’re trying to fool? the entire school saw how george reacted to you falling-”

   “how he reacted?”

    draco’s smile fades. “oh, of course.” he shakes his head. “of course, you wouldn't have seen him, probably wouldn’t have heard him, either.”

    you raise a brow, heat crawling up your face again. “what are you on about?”

    “y/n, when you fell off your broom that day, george bolted. he nearly gave colin creevey a bloody concussion, shoving his way through the stands. professor mcgonagall tried to stop him from getting on the pitch, but he wasn’t having any of it. even mcgonagall backed down when she saw his face.”

   oh.

   oh, oh, oh, that wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. not at all.

   the blood thrums through your veins, louder than it has ever been. you can’t respond, can’t even think straight, trying to remember that day and what happened during the moments before you fell head first onto the pitch.#

   but you remember nothing. you opened your eyes, and you were on the floor, and george was stood over you, calm as anything. not once did you think he may have actually went against the rules to get to you.

    “that doesn’t make any sense,” you mumble.

   draco raises a brow. “why doesn’t it?”

    “because george and i hate each other.” 

    and draco laughs. he laughs, head thrown back, loud and obnoxious. you stare at him, but you’re not even angry. you’re still in shock, overcome with a sudden need to find george and ask him about whatever draco has just tried telling you.

    because it can’t be true. george and you don’t get along. he’s the guy who hates draco, the guy who knows about your dad, the guy who does your head in more than anyone else in the world.

    he’s also the guy who carried you to the hospital wing when you were on the brink of unconsciousness.

   he’s also the guy who knows about your dad, yet hasn’t told a single soul.

    he’s also the guy who just saved draco’s ass, and maybe you’re thinking too much into it, but did he only do that because you made it so clear that draco is your friend?

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands through your hair. “oh, draco.”

   “oh, indeed,” draco replies, still grinning. “here i was thinking you were smart.”

    “i have to talk to him.”

    “yes, well, go ahead.” draco places a hand on his forehead. “i’ll stay in here until flint calms down; i’ll be fine on my own.”

     usually, you would ask him if he’s sure. you might not even leave, instead choosing to sit with draco, sharing sweets, insulting each other’s life choices.

    but right now, you don’t stick around long enough for him to change his mind. you whirl on your heel, pure adrenaline thumping through your veins as you throw open the door and dart out into the hallway.

     george is in class. he has to be in class, because that’s where you’re supposed to be right now.

    you dash down the hallway, no longer caring about the teachers walking back and forth, all of whom are probably wondering what on earth you’re doing out of class right now. you pay them no attention, instead making a direct line for potions, where you know george is currently seated, probably bored out of his mind.

    you halt at the window of the potions classroom and peek over the top of the sill. there he is, seated at the back, chin resting on his palm as he stares at nothing in particular. at the front, snape paces back and forth, slapping a wooden ruler against the blackboard, a noise you are all too familiar with. 

    you grit your teeth, wave your hands back and forth, anything to get his attention. finally, however, it’s fred who sees you, and his eyes - identical to his brothers - immediately widen, a grin appearing on his face.

    you point to george, and fred gets the memo. he nods, gives you a thumbs up before tapping george on the shoulder and pointing in your direction. you make a come here gesture, to which george raises a brow, motioning to snape at the front of the classroom. impatiently, you tap your wrist, signalling to him that this is the one chance you’re going to get to talk to him, and you need to do it now.

    george rolls his eyes before throwing his hand in the air. 

    snape pauses his lecture. “yes, weasley?”

   “can i use the bathroom, sir?”

    “you can wait.”

    “no, sir, you don’t understand. i had one of hagrid’s fish suppers earlier, and-”

   snape slaps his ruler against the desk. “i don’t want to hear it! off you go, but be quick about it. any catching up you have to do can be done in my classroom during lunch.”

    “you’re the best, professor!” george stands and all-but runs to the door.

   as soon as he’s thrown it open, you grab the front of his robes and drag him down the hall, to a place where neither of you will be heard by the potions master.

    george stumbles after you, laughing louder than you’re comfortable with when the two of you are skipping class. you shove him into yet another empty classroom, closing the door and casting a quick spell to lock it.

    you spin, and as soon as you lay eyes on him, the speech you had planned dies in your throat.

    you just stare at him, because that honestly feels like all you can do. you’re struck by how gorgeous he is, those brown eyes you have never ignored, the messy mop of ginger hair, the chiselled cheeks and lanky body. all of it combined makes george weasley him, and it’s enchanted you quicker and more unexpectedly than you’ll ever be willing to admit.

    george raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “is this important, or am i risking a detention with snape for no reason?”     

   you blink, suddenly aware that you did not plan this out as well as you probably should have. what do you even want to say to him? what point do you want to get across?

   george tilts his head at your silence, leaning forward teasingly. he’s still got that smirk on his face, the one you refuse to acknowledge, because he’s only doing it to annoy you, and he looks so good whilst doing it. 

   you scowl in response. “you know flint is going to kill you next time he sees you, right?”

    surprised, george recoils. “that’s what you wanted to say to me?”

    “i’m giving you a warning. i know marcus flint really well, and he’s not going to let this slide. you should probably start thinking about leaving hogwarts next year, just to give you a better chance-”

    “y/n, for christ’s sake.”

    you deflate. your shoulders slump, the energy seeping from your body in one clean swoop. you groan, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if doing so will push the stress and confusion from your brain.

    “i don’t know how to do this,” you grumble. 

    “don’t know how to do what?”

   “say thank you.” you drop your hands; george has stepped a little closer. you inhale sharply, ready to recoil, but those brown eyes of his keep you trapped.  

   he raises a brow. “you want to say thank you?”

    “i know you don’t like draco,” you mumble. “you didn’t have to stand up for him back there, but you did anyway. god only knows what would have happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in.”

    “he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” george shrugs. “but he’s still the year below us. flint should have handled things better.” 

     you nod, pursing your lips. it’s the gyryffindor mindset, a mindset you will never properly understand, but a mindset you grew up witnessing, because your mother always had the same one. whilst you were usually all for getting revenge, your mother always calmed you down by telling you that, sometimes, it was better to take the high road. sometimes, you needed to protect people weaker than yourself.

    “plus,” george is quick to add. “he pushed you. that was a step too far for me.”

    startled, you look up. “that was a step too far? you don’t even like me, george!”

    george’s smile slips. his brows furrow, pinching in the centre in a most adorable way. outside, students bustle back and forth, class ending; you’ll have to deal with snape, and so will george, but right now, neither of you really care. george just stares at you, and then he starts shaking his head, and then he’s laughing.

    you recoil. “what’s so funny?”

   “you really are daft,” he says. “absolutely daft in the brain.”

    “what are you talking about?”

    but he only continues to laugh, throwing his head back. he turns on his heel, hand inches from the door handle, ready to leave this conversation at that, but your eagerness to know more drives you to stop him. you grab his robes and pull him back, stumbling just enough to push him against the wall, your chest inches from his own.

    his laugh dies, breath catching in his throat as he stares down his nose at you. “not this again.”

    “what are you talking about, george?”

    he smiles. slowly, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your heated cheeks. you’re startled by the touch, half ready to pull away from him, but you stay frozen, trapped in his gaze.

    “i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “in fact, i think i’ve actually grown quite fond of you these past few weeks.”

   it doesn’t make sense. none of it makes sense. in your head, you replay the relationship formed between you and george, the constant bickering, the harsh words, the dire need to be as far from each other as possible - a need that was never met, because somehow, you always found yourself drawn to him, even when you convinced yourself he was the last person you wanted to see.

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands down his robes, flattening the creases you made in the material. he watches your fingers as they graze over the collared shirt he is wearing, lingering just by his stomach before you flinch away and step back, chewing your bottom lip.

    george grins again. he’s always grinning. you don’t want him to ever stop grinning. “you alright there?”

    you nod. “fine. why wouldn’t i be fine?”

    “i don’t know, but you look a little shell shocked.”

   you scowl.

    his grin widens. “there’s that look i’m so familiar with!”

   you roll your eyes. “go to hell, george weasley.”

    ----

     last quidditch match of the season.

   slytherin versus gryffindor.

   marcus is all but foaming at the mouth.

   you and george are making faces at each other from opposite ends of the pitch.

   draco nudges your arm as madame hooch goes through the rules. you glance at him, raising a brow in silent question.

    “stay focused, please,” he whispers, nodding at george who is busy giving goyle the middle finger. “i get you two are friends now, but this match is important to us. get your head in the game.”

    you scoff. “when have i ever not had my head in the game?” 

    draco raises a brow.

    you scowl. “that was one time, alright? i’ve got it this time. them gryffindors aren’t gonna know what’s hit them.”

    and so, the game begins. 

    it’s a dirty game. blood makes an appearance a few times. one of your hands get crushed by a bludger that goyle failed to block, so your knuckles are bloody throughout the entire match.

   and then there’s george.

    he circles you, singing ‘happy birthday’ at the top of his lungs. he smacks a bludger in your direction, but you dodge it and smash it back at him; it hits off the end of his broom, sending him swirling through the air. 

     he rises again, however, and joins your side. the two of you speed the length of the pitch, shoving and grabbing at each other’s brooms, laughing the entire time.

     “just give it up, l/n!” he jeers. “look at the state of your hand! there’s no way you can win this game now!”

    “piss off, weasley!” you yell back, before slamming your bat into an oncoming bludger, sending it straight for harry potter. 

    “oh, you cheeky git!” george exclaims, whizzing after the bludger to direct it elsewhere. you laugh, whizzing as high into the air as you can possibly go before madame hooch blows her whistle and scolds you. 

    the gryffindors start to struggle. you see it in the score board, how fast slytherin are catching up to them. harry is whizzing around like a madman, searching left, right and centre for the snitch that draco is also on the prowl for. you, however, keep your eyes on the bludger, every now and then diverting your attention to the ginger boy who keeps blocking your path.

    “you think this is a kids game, y/n?” he calls, snatching at the bristles on the back of your broom, yanking you back in a way that would usually deliver a penalty, but everyone’s eyes are on draco and harry, so nobody spots the discrepancy. 

    “oh, definitely not!” you yell back. “watch out, georgie; looks like goyle’s put himself into high gear!”

    you do a loop in the air, giving george no time to even process your words before the bludger goyle whacked in his direction crashes into his back, knocking him straight off the front of his broom.

   you would be lying to claim there was not a moment of worry, a moment of genuine contemplation to follow him to the ground, make sure he’s alright. however, that moment is short lived when george gives you the finger, clambers right back on his broom and continues the game with more brutality than you’ve ever seen him possess.

   you’re panting by the end of it, sweat dripping from your brow, seeping into the thin cloth of your quidditch robes. you’ve screamed yourself hoarse, throat aching and raw, but you manage to still scream victory when the final whistle goes off and lee jordan is forced to announce slytherin’s success over the loud speakers.

     you crash to the ground, immediately joining the group hug, draco in the centre.

    “that’s my boy!” you yell, ruffling his hair. “you absolute fucking legend, draco malfoy!”

    draco scowls, shoving your hand away. “don’t know why any of you are surprised.”

    you flick his chin before pulling him back in for a hug. 

    once the team celebrations are over, however, you turn your attention to george. you’ve been doing that a lot more often these days - looking for him in a crowd, wanting to share your joy with him, even when your joy swipes his own from right under his nose.

    you spot him in an instant, because - as always - he’s already looking at you. he’s scowling this time, but that doesn’t stop you from dropping your broom and skipping over to him.

    “we won! we won! we won!” you jeer, grabbing the badge on your robe and shoving it in his face. “see that, weasley? that’s the crest of a winner! that’s the crest of the best house in this fucking school!”

    george folds his arms over his chest, staring as you jump up and down in excitement. 

    he lets you continue until you tire yourself out. you laugh tiredly, pleased to see the tiniest twitch of george’s lips as he glares down at you. 

    finally he says, “finished?”

    “oh, don’t be a sore loser!” you throw your arms over his shoulders, because you’re tired and you don’t really care about anything right now. “tell you what; i’ll celebrate with you later on.”

    george recoils, arms still folded over his chest, making your embrace slightly uncomfortable, though you refuse to let go. “why would i want to celebrate with you?”

   “listen mate, take it or leave it; i have an entire team i could be celebrating with right now.”

     george stiffens. you lift your head, leaning your chin against his chest. he glares down at you, and before you can grasp what his intentions are, he leans down and pecks you on the lips.

    just like that. no explanation, no warning. the kiss lasts no longer than two seconds before he pulls away, breaks out of your embrace and says, “go celebrate with your slytherin friends.”

    he turns, starting up the field. for a second, you just stare after him, shellshocked, but then the scene replays in your head, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need to repay him.

    you dash after him, despite the ache in your legs and the exhaustion in your bones. you grab the back of his quidditch robes, spin him around, and it’s like he expects it - he drops his broom, stretches his arms out and catches you the moment you leap into his embrace and slam your lips to his.

   and it’s so strange, but so perfect, so relieving all at the same time. he holds you tighter, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck whilst you busy yourself with trailing your hands through his thick, messy, windswept hair. 

   behind you, you listen to draco groan out the words, “now?” but it does nothing to deter you from the moment. 

   you pull away first. “i’ve changed my mind.”

    panting, george says, “about what?”

    “you should come celebrate with me,” you reply. “i don’t want to celebrate with my slytherin friends any more.”

     george laughs. in the background, you hear draco telling the other slytherins to just head up to the common room - you won’t be there for another few hours. 

[fandomlit]

sharing (five hargreeves x reader)

requested by anon “Hiiiiiii I was wondering if you could write a fic with Five Hargreeves x reader and it’s the classic “there’s only one bed” thing 🥺 I know it’s cheesy 🥺 thank u”

summary despite you and five being absolutely exhausted from a mission, the commission sends you on another. and even more unfortunate, there’s an unpleasant surprise waiting for you two in your hotel room. (they’re both about 20 in this!!)

warning swearing

gif cred belongs to @fivehargrevs​

“at least they didn’t cut our budget this time,” you said optimistically, turning to five as he trudged behind you, looking absolutely miserable. after a grueling mission, the commission sent you both on yet another, and five was absolutely fed up with the handler’s persistence.

five spared a glance around, looking at the dim lights of the hotel. it was definitely in better shape than the motel you two had been forced to stay in the night before, but he didn’t find anything particularly comforting about his surroundings.

“come on,” you dragged, turning around and walking backwards so you could face five. he gave you a tired, deadpan look as he dragged his suitcase and the briefcase with him. “give me a smile.” he gave you the most sarcastic one he could muster, looking absolutely taunting and malicious. “not that smile.”

“y/n, you know how i love your optimism-”

“no, you don’t,” you laughed.

“but,” five said pointedly, “im gonna have to ask you, just for once, to be mad with me on this one. because if both of us are mad, maybe they’ll consider giving us a break.”

“you’ve met the handler, right?” you scoffed, stopping in front of the room you two were given. you dug the key out of your pocket as five let out an exhausted huff. “and... welcome to home for the weekend.” you swung open the door with a signature smile, but that dropped in an instant as you looked around.

“you’re fucking kidding me,” five bit. while the room was nice and clean enough, there was one big problem. there was only one bed.

“at least it’s air conditioned?” you offered, though there was no trace of your usual optimism on your face.

after he sighed, five looked over to see your eye beginning to twitch. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “now, that look? keep that up and we’ll get that break.” he closed your mouth for you and walked into the room without a second thought.

“i’ll sleep on the floor,” you sighed, shutting the door behind you and kneeling to set your suitcase down.

“like hell you will,” five scoffed as he shuffled his things around. you gave him a look. 

“you’ve been complaining this entire time about how exhausted and fed up you are,” you defended. “you deserve a bed for however long we’re here.”

“no, y/n, this is no time for one of your principled stands,” five said, crossing over from his side of the bed to stand tall in front of you. you stood up, hands on your hips, ready to defend your ground. “take the bed.”

“no,” you said, tilting your head. five took a deep breath, closing his eyes. more gently, you spoke, “you look exhausted, five.” he brought a hand up to rub his eyes and you continued, “take the bed. it’s big enough for your long legs to spread out and all that nonsense, okay?”

he sighed again, looking over at the bed. “i guess it is big enough.”

“exactly,” you said, dropping your hand down to rest at your side. then he looked over to you, and you knew he was up to something. but you didn’t have time to get defensive and sassy before he spoke.

“we could share it.”

you closed your mouth before you could let the immediate thrum of your heart make your decisions. five continued in your silence.

“it’s a two night mission. it’s a big bed, you’re a small person-” you raised your eyebrows at him. “don’t give me that look.” you offered him a begrudging smile. “come on, we’re both tired and ready to get this over with. the least of our concerns should be our sleeping arrangements, right?”

you sighed, closing your eyes. then you shook your head. “yeah, right. okay.”

“great,” he said. “but i get first shower.”

“what-” the boy teleported to grab his clothes and then again right into the bathroom. “five!”

...

“finish off all the hot water?” five sighed, flipping a page of a book as you exited the bathroom, still drying your hair. he was already sat on one side of the bed.

“aha, very funny,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you ruffled your hair with the towel. when you opened your eyes again, five’s gaze was intense on you. you tried not to blush as you asked, “what?”

he looked back down at his book, clearing his throat. “nothing.”

you tried not to let your mind wander too far, instead going to hang up the towel in the bathroom. you came out and placed your hands on your hips. “is that the side you’re taking?”

“the man always sleeps on the right,” five said, closing his book and plopping it down on the nightstand. he folded his hands in his lap and gave you a sarcastic smile. “but you knew that.”

“if you’re implying what i think you’re implying, then i want you to know that if i kick you in the middle of the night, im not sleeping,” you scoffed, making your way toward the bed.

“what do you think im implying?” he prodded innocently.

you picked up your pillow and threw it at him as he chuckled. you crawled into bed, nearly forgetting that you were going to have to spend the entire night sleeping with a man who you’d been enamored with since you started working at the commission.

he handed you back your pillow as you settled in, realizing just how close the two of you were. you could feel the heat radiating off of his body, even when you reached over to flick off the lamp light next to you. as you settled back down, you accidentally brushed your shoulder against his, muttering a quick, “sorry,” before readjusting.

“good night, five,” you sighed, finally managing to get yourself into a comfortable position. he flicked off his lamp.

“night, y/n.” 

it took exactly twenty minutes for you to realize how freezing you were. while you were thankful this room had air conditioning, you also cursed yourself for getting used to rooms without it. and now you were shivering with five sleeping contentedly next to you. 

“are you ever gonna stop moving?” five grumbled. you turned to him quickly, eyes wide in an attempt to glance at him in the darkness of the room. you propped yourself onto your hands.

“did i wake you?” you asked guiltily. he was laying on his back with his arms behind his head, eyes still shut as he spoke to you.

“nope,” he sighed. “haven’t been able to sleep yet.”

“are you cold?” you asked.

he peeked an eye open at you curiously. he took in how you were practically leaning over him with messy hair and your shirt slipping off of your shoulder and tried not allow his tired brain to fantasize any other scenario than the one he was in. “no. are you?”

“freezing,” you breathed out, leaning away from him as you rubbed your arms. “how are you not?”

he shrugged, closing his eyes again. “natural body heat, i think.”

“i need some of that,” you sighed, plopping yourself back onto your pillow and pulling the blanket up to your chin.

five pursed his lips as he considered his options, then something inside of him yelled, ‘fuck it.’ he opened his arms up toward you and simply said, “c’mere.”

you lifted yourself back up with raised eyebrows. you prayed the dark hid your blush from his prying eyes. “seriously?”

“don’t make me change my mind,” he grumbled. you bit your lip to contain a cheek splitting smile as you rested your head on five’s chest, wrapping your arms loosely around his torso as he draped his over your waist with a sigh.

“god, you’re warm,” you hummed into his chest. he half-smiled as you snuggled further into him, tangling your legs under the blanket.

“i know,” he breathed. you both drifted off in content silence. until you had to break it.

“you know, your heart’s beating pretty fast-”

“please don’t make me kick you onto the floor.”

you both slept in late the next morning.

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #1

Prompts: 

19. Elegant

12. “I gotta admit I’m a little surprised”

(Mafia AU) Vil x Reader

Summery: Vil takes you with him on a “business trip” and you talk to Cater Diamond about the names of alcohol. Specifically, the drink you ordered.

TW: Alcohol; suggestive dialogue

Word Count: 2,508

A note from Fel:  I don’t speak a lick of French, so I apologize if the French translations are wrong (I used Google Translate)! So, I hope you can forgive me and that you’ll still have a good time reading it! Enjoy!

“I gotta admit, I’m a little surprised. I never thought someone like Vil would bring… someone like you.” 

Your nose crinkled, eyebrows furrowing into an angry v. Your gaze shot from your drink to the man sitting across from you, a lazy smirk on his face as he widened the spread of his legs in front of him. He took a sip from his drink (a beautiful electric blue drink where a slice of lemon was wedged on the lip of the cup). “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

His eyebrows raised and a chuckle shook his chest. “No offense meant-” he leaned his elbows on his knees- “I just meant you’re much more of…” he nodded his head back and forth, seemingly trying to find the word he was looking for. “Of the innocent sort I suppose? Though, I don’t think innocent fits you properly. Not with what you're drinking.”

“Drinking? What’s wrong with my drink?” You look down at the whip cream topped drink that you had ordered after Vil and Rook went inside a VIP room with a man (you honestly thought he was a child at first, he had such a cute baby face and the way his red hair framed his face made him almost look angelic- though your view of him was shattered when he had opened his mouth to reveal quite the no-nonsense tone dripping off of each of his words). You had a feeling that the meeting wasn’t going to end anytime soon and Vil had, afterall, given you free reign to enjoy yourself at the fancy club that this meeting was taking place at; so you got the first drink you saw another patron had that caught your interest. It just happened to be the one that you thought might have something sweet in it. 

The man- Cater, you recall- tilted his head to the side, his green eyes shining under the bright lights of the club. “You know what it’s called don’t you?”

You looked at it and back at him, your eyes squinting at him.

“Oh, dear, maybe you are more innocent than I thought.” Cater placed a finger against his lips, a smile threatening to break out on his face. “It’s called a Blow Job, darling.”

Your startled expression throws him into a fit of laughter. You feel your cheeks flush as you grip your drink closer to your chest, eyes darting around the room. “I- it still tastes good.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” His shoulders are still shaking from chuckles and he wipes a tear from his eye before that annoying smirk crosses his face and he picks up the drink he placed on the table somewhere in the midst of your conversation. You frown when he stands up and makes his way around the table to sit next to you. “You know what this drink is called, Sweetie?”

You lean back from how close his face is- you can smell his cologne, something mellow yet expensive. You shake your head.

You realize too late that you have no more couch to scoot away on when your back hits the arm of the couch. You feel sweat pool at the small of your back when his smooth lips brush against your ear. “Sex in the Driveway.”

The tips of your ears burn in a blush. “Oh, fuck off.”

Cater throws his head back and another round of laughter leaves him.  

“Why do drinks have to have such weird names,” you mumble. Looking away from him and taking a sip from your drink.

“I don’t know-” he throws an arm over the back of the couch where you’re squished against the arm of it- “but they’re good conversation starters, no?”

You sigh. “I guess.”

Cater hums, drinking from his Sex in the Driveway before asking: “so, why did Vil bring you, anyway?”

I don’t know either. You scowled, tapping your nails against the side of the glass. “Didn’t have a babysitter, I guess.”

“Babysitter?”

“Yeah, Vil usually has these two guys watch over me for whatever reason- probably because I’m friends with him or something-” you suddenly stopped talking when you realized where you were and who you were talking with: a really fancy club, that had velvet red seats and a corner for rich old white men to play croquet, that was owned by one of the seven most influential mob bosses in Twisted Wonderland- Riddle Rosehearts- and you were currently sitting with one of said mob bosses cronies. You glared at him, scowling. 

He raised his hands shaking his head. “Hey, now, I’m not gonna go snooping for any dirt on Vil- they’re talking about a pseudo-partnership in there currently-” he nods his head to the heart-shaped doors that the three disappeared to earlier- “I don’t want to do anything to- ah- jeopardize that. Riddle’ll have my head, you know?”

“Good.” You say, taking another drink before continuing, “I don’t know anything anyway.”

“Oh? Aren’t you part of the Pomefior group though? They don’t let just anyone in without some sort of knowledge, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that. Might be because I’m one of the only people he trusts with helping him get ready.”

“Oh,” Cater’s eyes shined at that, leaning against your side. “So, you’re like his personal stylist?”

“Something like that. He always comes to my shop when he has time.”

“You have a shop?”

“Yeah, I own a boutique,” you smile. “Vil usually comes and commissions me for his clothes- always so elegant, you know? Really fun to work on and they just fit him. One of my favorite ones to work on was-” you blink, realization hitting you- “the one he’s wearing tonight, actually.”

Cater gasps, he places his drink down on the table, grabbing both of your hands and shuffling so close to you that your chests almost touch. “You’re telling me that you made that suit he’s wearing today?”

You nod, your cheeks warming once again. 

“He’s worn that suit more than once you know? I would do anything to get my hands on a suit like that- it complements his waist so well and the colors-” an almost squeal slips from Cater’s throat as he squeezes your hands- “divine. No one can take their eyes off of him when he wears that thing- well, even without the suit people don’t really take their eyes off of him, but- you get what I mean, don’t you?”

A small drop of pride blossomed in your chest, happy that convincing Vil to let you alter the color pallet had paid off. You nod, “yeah.” There’s a brief moment where you tug your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth before you say, “you know I do take commissions- I can always make you one for the right price.”

“Really?” He reminded you of a puppy in that moment he was practically vibrating with excitement as he half situates himself in your lap. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Well- again- for the right price-”

“No, they wouldn’t. This suit is one of a kind and I do hope it will stay one of a kind. Isn’t that right, my Sweet Potato?”

“I- Vil! I- the meeting! How’d it go?” You feel the blush creep down your neck and over your chest- Cater whining and pressing against you, lamenting the fact that he’d have to commission you something else. 

“Incroyable!” Rook declared from behind Vil (who was still glaring down at you and Cater). “Roi des Roses and Roi du Poison have settled upon an agreement-” Rook wiped an invisible tear away with one hand while he placed the other on his chest- “Belle harmonie.”

“That’s great!” You smile at the small group of men. “That means you guys’ll be friends for a bit, huh? How neat!”

Vil’s brow creased and his lips tugged into a frown- expression caught between concern and frustration. “Who told you-”

“Ah, you’re so cute, (Y/N)-chan!” Cater suddenly wrapped his arms around you causing you to yelp, your face flushing a deeper shade of red. His cheek pressed against yours as he began to chatter: “Did you guys know that they didn’t realize they ordered a Blow Job? I thought they were going to be all hardcore and sexy, but no- they’re so innocent- look at them! Blushing because of a hug!” He laughed squeezing you tighter. “You should really try a Sex in the Driveway next! It’s super yummy, also it’s so aesthetic for pictures.” Cater's voice dropped to a whisper when he added: “even special types of pictures- I have a really nice driveway we can take those pictures at, you know?”

You can feel a scream build in your throat when Vil’s voice- too even, too calm- suddenly cuts in: “I do believe it’s time for us to go. I would appreciate it if you would let my Potato go, Mr. Diamond.”

Cater looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes. “Ah, yes, apologies, Don Schoenhiet.” He lets you go but not before leaving a kiss on your cheek as he grabs his drink and skips away with a wave. “Bye-bye, (Y/N)-chan! See you later!”

You sputtered, feeling like you were going to overheat as you stood on wobbly legs and staggered to Vil’s side. Rook’s fighting the urge to giggle at the situation as the two Dons talk between themselves to wrap up a few loose ends before they nod at one another and Vil is dragging you out the door by your elbow. 

The blast of cool air that blasted against your face as the doors opened pulled a quiet gasp from you. Vil still dragging you by the elbow, his expression fixed on the sleek, black limo that waited in front, a boy with purple hair leaning against the side of it. Rook waves to Epel and he nods, opening the door for the three of you. Well, you thought it was going to be for the three of you, instead you watched as Rook waved at you through the tinted window once the door shut and followed Epel up to the front of the car. 

You chewed on your lip, patting your lap as silence took up the space between you and Vil. He had his legs cross as well as his arms, glaring down at you. You looked up, with a sheepish smile. “So, the meeting went good, right?”

“It went amazing.”

“That’s good.”

The silence was beginning to seep back in again and you went back to chewing on your lip when you heard Vil click his tongue. “Stop doing that.”

“Sorry.” You felt your face flush.

“What were you and Diamond talking about?”

“I- huh?”

“My Sweet Potato, you know I don’t like repeating myself.” His eyes were unwavering and the sound of wind blowing across the frame of the limo seemed to be so much louder with the way the blood rushed to your ears.

You shrugged. “Nothing too interesting, honestly. He told me what my drink was called- which, I will have you know, was a complete accident that I ordered that thing, ok? I saw some guy had one and it had whip cream, that is it.” You rested your chin in your hand as you slouched to lean against your knee, a happy smile on your face, “and then I got to talk about my shop, so that was really nice.” You blink sitting straight again and looking at him: your eyebrows slightly knitted together and an honest shine in your eyes. “If you're worried that he tried to get some info from me about you guys, I didn’t tell him anything! It wouldn’t have worked anyway-” you look almost proud of yourself as you cross your arms over your chest- “I don’t know anything about what you guys do and I told him that to his face.”

“Anything else?”

You looked at Vil, tilting your head. He didn’t seem angry, more like… mildly annoyed? You weren’t completely positive, but the loosening of his eyebrows said that he was at least calming down from whatever set him off. “He… he asked me why you brought me if I didn’t know anything.”

“Oh? And what did you say?”

“I- I said I didn’t know either, probably because I’m your friend and that you couldn’t find my babysitters,” You chuckle to yourself, patting at your lap again. 

Vil blinks at you, before leaning back and covering his eyes with an arm. He sighs. 

You look up at Vil, concern suddenly tickling the bottom of your heart. “Vil?”

“What a silly potato you are.” You feel your face burst into flames as Vil shows you his face once again: his expression is raw- pure adoration and something that you never expected him to show you; the smile on his face is not one that is beautiful and perfectly maintained- it didn’t have a purpose- instead, it was soft, something so vulnerable that you could feel your breath catching in your throat. He leaned towards you, his hands finding your cheeks, he gently rested his forehead against yours. You feel your eyes flutter as you smell his perfume: apples and cinnamon. “I brought you with me because I remember you mentioning you wanted to go there.”

You gasp, an excited glint in your eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

The smile stayed on his face as he leaned back. “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod. “It was just as pretty as I thought it was going to be- but I like your club a lot more. It’s just so much more…” you scrunch your nose and giggle when you feel him begin to play with your hair. “More you.” You nod, proud that you finally found the words you wanted to say. 

He pauses in twirling your hair, he breaths a laugh. “‘More me’, hm?”

“Yeah! It makes me feel safe,” you laugh, “It’s like being surrounded by your muse you know?” You smile at him. 

Vil pulls you into his arms. You feel him shivering and you wrap your arms around, being mindful not to rumple his suit too much. “Never change, my Sweet Potato.”

“I’m not planning to!”

Another breathy laugh as he brushes his nose against the skin of your neck. Your skin warm with a building blush. You two stay like that: happy, content in each other's arms before he speaks again: “you’re not allowed to converse with Diamond ever again, do you understand me?”

“He’s a potential customer though! I have to talk to him! Also, he seemed like an alright guy-”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

You pull away from the hug crossing your arms, forcing your cheeks to cool down as Vil stares at you with sweet eyes. “That’s not fair. You’re not even my boyfriend.”

“I can change that very easily, Sweet Potato.”

Your cheeks begin to burn as you let out the most pitiful yet happy noise out of your throat. 

<The Next Chosen Characters>

Thank you for reading!

[jincherie]

kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga​​ ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.  

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare. 

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword. 

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life. 

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.    

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching. 

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from. 

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse. 

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now. 

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably. 

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it. 

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting. 

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.  

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely. 

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising.  “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way. 

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip.  The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him. 

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does. 

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not. 

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can. 

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features. 

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events. 

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls. 

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel. 

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane. 

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here. 

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!”

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics. 

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts. 

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don��t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing. 

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes. 

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does. 

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour. 

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there. 

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier. 

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death. 

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this. 

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

 …You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride.  “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch. 

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know. 

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself. 

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone. 

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing. 

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly. 

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten. 

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches  and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics. 

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations. 

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think. 

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped. 

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

[psychedelic-ink]

This is my commission for @bisexualturtledove ! Thank you so much for commissioning me and letting me post it! I hope you enjoy this uwu 

also this might be my favorite banner i ever did 

Pairing: Law x chubby!fem!reader x Zoro

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Word count: 2.2K 

Warning: Relatives talking about your weight and being mean about it, Reader being insecure about her weight, oral (receiving), threesome, overstimulation 

Summary: Your cousin reminds you how much you’ve gained weight and implies that Zoro and Law aren’t happy with you like this. Time passes and you start to believe what you’ve been told, that is until Law and Zoro sit you down and remind you how much they love you. 

Commissions | Ko-Fi

“Have you gained weight?” 

A chill went down your spine at the hearing of those words. Your eyes widened as you stared at your cousin with an astonished look. But it seemed like your expression has gone unnoticed by your cousin as she continued to spout words of poison. 

“Seriously whenever I see you it seems like you get bigger,” she chuckled. “Law and Zoro must be disappointed.” 

“Disappointed?” you repeated your lips feeling numb. 

She rolled her eyes as she placed the wine glass on her lips and took a big gulp. Your eyes followed her gulps. Your brows were raised high, how on earth did the conversation take such a shift? Your stomach churned and you felt yourself starting to sweat when she tore the delicate glass away from her lips. 

“I mean, have you seen them?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Their pecks could cut diamonds. They’re both fit as hell, surely they don’t like the fact that you’re...not…” 

“I…” you swallowed, your grip on your wine glass tightening. “They never said anything like that.” 

Your cousin gave you a pitiful look, her lips quivered up as she stared down at you. Momentarily you lifted the wine glass to your lips, thinking that if you took a sip the tense mood would be lifted but the scent of the alcohol made you feel sick due to the words she had just spoken. Your whole mood had fallen to the ground and you doubted you could pick the pieces up. 

“Oh honey,” he pity reached your ears. “Of course they won’t say anything but you probably know deep down right? You need to be blind to not see that you’re out of their league.” 

“Y-Yeah,” you managed to choke out, feigning a smile. “I’m on a diet anyway,” Lies. “I’m working on it.” 

“That’s great!” she exclaimed, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I hope it works out for you! Men like that just don’t stay for nothing you know?” 

You quickly nodded, her hand almost felt like a 100 pounds on your shoulder. Biting your bottom lip you waited for her to pass to the next victim, it seemed like someone had heard your prayers because her eyes widened and smile grew wide when she saw someone else and moved on to them. 

Mentally and physically you felt more relaxed with her leaving. You let out a deep breath and quickly placed your wine glass on the nearest surface. 

You couldn’t help but think your cousin was right when you grabbed your coat and headed home. 

≿————-　❈　————-≾

When you arrive home, you were glad to see that Law and Zoro were watching a movie. Well, it would be better to say that Law was watching a movie and Zoro was sleeping. You sat on the couch next to them with a groan, eyeing the TV as you did so. Zoro’s head was gently lying on top of Law’s lap and Law played with his soft green hair. The doctor tore his gaze away from the TV and on to you. 

“Welcome home,” he said in a low voice, careful to not wake Zoro up. “How was the gathering?” 

“Hell.” you said simply, your cousin’s words still echoing in the back of your head. “That’s pretty much it, not much to say.” 

Law observed you momentarily before turning his gaze back to the TV. 

“You can tell us if something is bothering you, you know?” 

Your eyes widened momentarily before you fixated your gaze to the TV as well. Even though it was nice that Law knew you so well it was also eerie. Despite his reassuring words you decided not to say anything, you already felt sick to your stomach, you didn’t want to talk about it. Nor did you want them to know that deep down, even though you knew it was foolish, kind of believed the words your cousin had spout. 

“Just the usual family gathering, not really much to say.” you smiled. “Don’t worry I’ll be fine.” 

Needless to say that was a lie. 

Days, weeks passed and your distance between the boys grew. You stared at the mirror for a longer amount with words of poison spiraling in your mind. You didn’t know how to make the feeling of uneasiness go away. The negativity towards yourself continued to brew inside of you and the boys noticed. 

Whenever one of them attempted to touch you, you moved away, you talked less and more and more you spent time in your room. Reading, watching mind numbing content on youtube. You could tell that they were slowly getting flustered with you, they didn’t understand and would never be able to. The more you thought about it the more you wondered why they were even with you. 

Then one day Zoro pulled you to the living room and sat you down on the couch as both of them took their places across from you. Anxiety brewed inside of you and you started to play with the hem of your shirt as you averted your eyes. 

“What’s going on with you?” Zoro is the first to speak, his eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah I am,” you replied quickly, still not looking at them. You could feel Law’s eyes boring into you. “I’m just a bit tired that’s all.” 

“Bullshit.” the green haired man suddenly snapped. “You’ve been avoiding us for weeks. If we did something just tell us.” 

“You didn’t do-” 

“Then why are you avoiding us like the plague!” 

“You wouldn’t understand!” you shouted as well, finally fixing your gaze on him. 

“Aha!” Zoro shouted triumphantly. “So there is something wrong, tell us.” 

“Is it because of the family gathering you went to?” 

Law’s voice cut the atmosphere like a knife, he was calm and collected. You gulped and turned your eyes to him, before you could reply Zoro spoke first. 

“Did something happen there?” he asked, turning to Law. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Law shrugged. 

“Y/n told me nothing happened so I didn’t pry.” 

Zoro snapped his head towards you, his gaze now more curious than anything. You felt your breath getting stuck in your throat, heart rising up to your cheeks you stared down at the floor. You hear Zoro sigh and he sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist he pulled you close. Swiftly he placed a kiss on the top of your head and asked again, this time much calmer than before. 

“We’re worried, just tell us what happened.” 

“My,” a knot formed in your throat as you tried to speak. You swallowed and continued. “My cousin said that I gained weight and that… you guys weren’t happy with me basically…” 

“What?” Zoro asked, bewildered. 

“Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance?” Law continued, coming closer and sitting down to your other side. “You felt that we didn’t want you...just because you gained weight?” 

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes and buried your face into Zoro’s broad chest. He pulled your closer, his arms tightening around you. Slowly nodding you said nothing else. 

“That would never happen,” Zoro murmured against your hair. “We don’t love you because of how much you weigh.” 

“It sounds to me that your cousin is just bitter,” Law said, placing a hand over your thigh and caressing your plump flesh over your pajamas. “With her nasty personality I doubt anyone even so much as glances at her.” 

Law’s hand traveled up your thigh, his thumb caressing you a soft moan left your lips. It’s been a while since you had sex and you would be lying if you said you haven’t been craving them both. Your cunt twitched as Law’s fingers ghosted over your clothed heat. 

Meanwhile, Zoro’s hands snuck under your shirt. With his fingertips he traced your spine, making you shiver and whine. You could barely call it touch with the way he was stroking you. 

“I guess we’ll just have to remind you how much we love you.” Law muttered while he lifted your legs up to the couch. 

Zoro slid his hands to the front of you as Law prompted you to lay on your back. He now was nestled between your legs, pulling down your pajama pants as Zoro started to fondle your breasts. 

You felt your face starting to heat up as Zoro buried his face into your neck. Licking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh, his hands kneading your soft mounds. A sharp yelp left you when he pinched both of your nipples, your back arched and you bit your bottom lip. 

Your whole body was burning up, lips parted, you were already dripping. Law, squeezing your thigh, lifted one of your legs over your shoulder and leaned down. Your cunt throbbed at his prying gaze, instinctively you spread your legs wider and his smirk grew. 

“Someone’s eager.” 

Law dipped down and left a trail of open mouthed kisses as he traveled up to your core. He spread the folds with his fingers and latched on to it, lapping up your juices as his life depended on it. 

Your head fell back and Zoro continued to suck on your neck. He rolled up your shirt, exposing your plump breasts and started to roll your nips between his rough fingers.  A bit of saliva dribbled down your chin. Your whole body continuously spasmed, the overwhelming sensation being too much for you. 

Law’s sinful tongue went in circles around your gaping hole and wiggled the muscle inside. You lifted your lips to give him further access and soon enough he started to thrust his tongue in and out of you. Your whole body trembled and he rolled your clit between his fingers. 

Your moan gradually became louder but was cut short when Zoro took a hold of your chin and turned you to face him, he crashed his lips against yours. Moaning into the kiss, your tongues danced alongside each other, licking and sucking on the warm flesh. Both of them were simply intoxicating, you missed this, missed the feeling of them drowning you with their love and passion. 

Law squeezed your love handles as his tongue continued to penetrate you, every so often he would wiggle it inside of you making your scream out his name over and over again as heat started to build in your core. 

Your fingers tangled in Law’s raven hair you broke the kiss as you pushed his face in deeper. You moaned his and Zoro’s name over and over again as both of them pushed you over the edge making your insides quiver and your body spasm. 

“Fuck...” you breathed out tugging on Law’s hair. 

Law lifted his head to glance at you, his chin was drenched in your juices. He had a pleased smile plastered on his face as he leaned down to swiftly claim your lips. 

Continuing to kiss you Law aligned himself with your twitching hole. You were already so sensitive that it felt like you would cum the moment he started to push in. He broke the kiss and grabbed your hips, slightly lifting you up so he could reach even deeper inside you. 

Law was slow and gentle as he buried himself into you inch by inch. Zoro had his lips on your ear whispering words of encouragement and praise as Law bottomed out. Your already sensitive cunt was throbbing and aching as it wrapped around Law’s length. 

As Law started to move, Zoro bit the lobe of your ear, his tongue dancing along the skin. Your back arched and your moans grew louder as the noise of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Eyes closed and mouth open, you screamed out their names over and over again. At that point you weren’t even sure you were properly voicing them out. 

You felt Law twitching inside of you, he hissed and gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh. Your insides feeling warm and tingly, your toes curled as you came the second time that day. As your orgasm washed over you Law quickly pulled out and came, hot ropes of cum shooting all over your lower abdomen. Feeling dazed, your whole body twitched. Zoro nuzzled the side of your face and planted a kiss on your temple. 

“Are you alright?” he muttered, his voice clearly still dripping with lust. 

You slowly nodded, your inner walls still twitching and your body spasming as you came down from your orgasm. 

“Good,” Law said, leaning closer, his breath ghosted over your flushed face. “Don’t ever believe the bullshit people tell you, again.” 

“And tell us about it.” Zoro added. “How are you feeling y/n? Up for round three?” 

Law chuckled at that, he inched closer to Zoro and gave him a sweet peck on the lips. 

“Poor Zoro,” he teased. “Do you feel left out?” 

“I wonder why?” he snorted. 

“I…” you breathed out. “I can go for round three.” 

A devilish smile spread across Zoro’s handsome features. 

“Good.” he hummed, starting to move from underneath you. 

Finally the negative thought and emotions left you as your two lovers devoured you. 

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiii

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: swearing 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: decided on a bit of a filler for this one as a sort of prelude to future scenes 👀👀 ((likewise manifesting my plan to post another chapter this week))

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Jungkook locks his apartment door behind him, jiggling the doorknob afterwards for ‘double security’ as one would usually call it. He grabs his backpack from the floor and places one of the straps on his shoulders and heads on his way. As he passes by two of his neighbors who live in the same floor, he nods at them, adding a brief hum in greeting. 

“Hey man!” One of the men, Jikwang (as what Jungkook believes this man’s name was), calls out just before Jungkook reaches the elevator. “There was this hot girl asking about you last night.” 

Jungkook raises a brow. He hadn’t really met anyone recently, besides that one cute law student who was looking for a new tenant - and eventually turned out to be your neighbor this whole time. She was cute and all, but she didn’t seem like the type that was ‘hot’ to these types of people. 

Jungkook racks his brain for anything, trying to remember the very few number of his one night stands.Surely,none of them would have gotten pregnant with protection on….surely? On top of that, he hadn’t really disclosed his address to a lot of people too, so there was no way someone would be looking for him, all the more a “hot” woman,as these two would claim. 

“Did she say what her name was?” 

The one beside Jikwang shakes his head, adjusting his beanie. He’d seen this dude a couple of times hanging around, but he never actually got his name.  “Nah bro, I don’t think you’re the commitment type of dude…” he comments, dark eyes looking at Jungkook from his head down to his toe. Who was this guy anyways and who was he to judge whether Jungkook was the type to enter a committed relationship or not? 

“She just...looked rich, rich. She had a driver... who helped her come down from a nice Benz.” 

Jungkook feels his heart drop to the ground. No way in hell. 

“I think her name was Hee something...Junghwa? I dunno man, I’m not good with names. But it sounds similar to that…” 

“Was it Junghee?” 

“Yeah I think that’s it…” bonnet-dude replies, tapping a finger against his chin as he approaches Jungkook. “You think maybe you can set me up? With you know…” 

Jikwang knocks the back of bonnet-man’s head. “I got dibs first, shithead. “If she’s not already yours though,” he adds, delivering a wink aimed at Jungkook. “Her friends will do.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at the duo. “No. She’s my sister. And she doesn’t have any friends.” A chill courses through his spine as he replies, wondering how she managed to find out where he lived, and why would she even reach out? Why now, when she had so many years to do so? 

Beanie guy simply laughs at him - if it was even considered laughing, when he was practically splitting his sides with laughter - like the thought of having a sister was hilarious to him. “You’re real funny, man. There is no...way...in hell… that that lady was your sister.” 

Ah yes, this man is a health vice personified. Jungkook notes the discoloration of his teeth, the god-awful odor coming from his mouth, and they both reek of alcohol and drugs combined. From a safe distance, Jungkook watches their amusement over the subject that is his sister, thinking about why he even indulged these two in the first place. For all he knows, they might have been shitting on him the whole time. 

“Sorry man. I mean...she’s rich and hot… and you?” Jikwang shrugs his shoulders. 

‘And he?’ What about him? 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Jungkook clicks his tongue silently, clearly taking full offense with Jikwang’s statement. Did they just imply he didn’t look rich and hot too? Well, compared to them though, they’ll obviously have way longer to go. 

Jungkook blinks before equally returning their level of disbelief. “For real, bro?” These men diss him, won’t believe he has a sister whose aura dwarfs his by a million percent, and now they want him to set up a date with her? He shakes his head. Only crooks like these would say insane shit like this. 

If only this wasn’t the cheapest and most convenient apartment he could find to accommodate his daily hustle, Jungkook would have moved out of this crap excuse of an apartment building a long time ago. 

“Keep dreaming man.” 

“Hey, this is what I get for selling you my bike for a good price?” Jikwang eyes Jungkook, taunting him. 

“I owe you nothing. I paid for it ages ago.” Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the two in the crusty ass corridor of their apartment building. He needs to get a new place. Quickly. 

With a sigh, he pulls on his down jacket, keeping himself warm as he walks to the garage. 

‘King Auto’ 

There’s a certain warmth that envelops Jungkook whenever he sees the garage, a place he’d rather call home than his terrible apartment building. It sits right at the corner of two busy streets, just six blocks away from his apartment. 

Funnily enough, it wasn’t him who first found out about the garage but the other way around. Well, technically, the owner did. Lee Dongmin, owner and manager of ‘King Auto’ repairs and restores almost all types of cars and bikes alike, occasionally servicing high-end cars on lucky days. 

Dongmin would usually see Jungkook pass by the garage in the morning on his way to the university or his part-time job.Well, being located at a busy street in the city of Seoul, there would normally be a lot of passersby but Dongmin knew these people either worked or lived around the area; Jungkook, however, always lingered when he walks past the garage. 

It had come to Dongmin’s knowledge a few months later that Jungkook purposefully used a longer route on his way, walking two extra blocks just so that he could pass by the garage. Dongmin hadn’t initially done anything about it, as he thought Jungkook simply took interest in cars - especially when the shop had its fair share of servicing cars from the western market. 

There was this particular day though one summer, that their paths would finally cross. Jungkook’s bike, the same bike he bought from sketchy Jikwang, broke down. Coincidentally just in front of King Auto too. Funnily enough, no one in the garage was familiar with fixing up bikes, but Jungkook simply asked if he could borrow a few tools and he’d fix his bike himself. 

Ultimately, Jungkook became part of the King Auto family. He’d spend his spare time in the garage when he’s not busy with his part-time jobs and on occasion, Jungkook gets to keep a tiny commission whenever he helps out with the repairs. 

Jungkook goes through the front door greeting the new receptionist, Clark, a good morning before heading straight to the garage. Jungkook spots a familiar shade of blue peeking through the scissor lifts, just by the end row. He practically dashes to the car in excitement, too thrilled to greet his favorite car he had worked on previously. 

“My baby!” The boy exclaims as he rests his chin on the Porsche Panamera’s roof. “Kook! Get your hands off that! I just had it cleaned!” gruffs Mansik from the other side of the car, flinging his towel at Jungkook who mumbles a sorry but continues to cradle the car, a little more gently this time. 

“If you continue doing that, you know a towel isn’t the only thing Mansik is going to throw at you.” Lee Dongmin’s voice is low, careful that the man he’s referring to won’t hear his words. “I’m glad he hasn’t resorted to tools yet...just a couple of smelly socks and a t-shirt that smells like it hasn’t been washed for months... “ 

“Fuckers.” True to Jungkook’s foreboding, Mansik does throw a sock ball from out of nowhere, one which barely misses Jungkook’s face. Dongmin simply shakes his head at his workers, who he has considered family at this point, Jungkook included. “I’m just glad none of that fell into my first coffee of the day.” Dongmin observes, drawing himself father from the Porsche and any flying objects later on. 

“By the way, the owner is actually here to pick up the car. I may or may not have mentioned your infatuation with it.” 

Jungkook almost instantly jumps to his feet, searching for the owner inside the garage, but disappointingly ending up with all the familiar faces at the garage. “Chill, kid. He just grabbed some coffee down the street,” Dongmin mentions as he takes a sip of his own. “Ah, speaking of the devil,” the latter states, nodding his head towards someone behind Jungkook. 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim?” 

“Oh hey! Wasn’t expecting to see you here...Jungkook, right?” 

“Yes sir!” Jungkook’s pupils shake, animatedly looking back and forth between the garage owner and his upper-level resident. “So...you’re the one who owns this Porsche?” Seokjin raises his cup, adding a small nod in Jungkook’s direction. He internalizes his excitement, before confessing his love for Seokjin’s Panamera. 

“And so, Dongmin here mentioned. Also said you were the one who fixed her up. Thanks man!” 

Dongmin looks at the two of them, eyebrows creased in the middle. “You two know each other?” 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim is a senior of mine at Woocheon.” Seemingly shellshocked at the new piece of information, Dongmin turns to Seokjin, “You’re a doctor?” The owner of the Porsche rolls his eyes fondly, “Yes, Dongmin. We can have lives outside the hospital too, you know.” 

“Anyways, ‘Mera’s ready to go yeah?” 

“Of course. Kook fixed it up just fine.” 

“Alright. Got a shift today man? Need a ride to the hospital?” 

Jungkook is tempted to give in, but merely fixing Seokjin’s car is enough honor for him and he can’t take advantage of his generosity. “No thank you, sunbae. I’ve already got a ride to work today.” Jungkook points to his bike on the other side of the garage. 

Seokjin tuts his disbelief. “You’re kidding me right? In this weather?” The older doctor points outside, then rubs his palm against his down coat. “No way in hell, kid. Get in the car.” 

“Really?” Jungkook mumbles, dimple on display as his lips form a thin line. Seokjin makes a hum of approval as he takes off his jacket while Jungkook dashes back to where he’d left his backpack. “He’s a good kid, Jungkook. Can be a bit of a delinquent sometimes, but he’s good. Take care of him, yeah?” 

“Huh,” Seokjin smirks, “this handsome face got nothing he can’t handle.” Dongmin rolls his eyes this time, “Seriously doubt we’re the same age honestly.” 

Jungkook returns to where the Porsche is parked, and Seokjin gets a spur-of-the-moment idea. The surgical resident throws his keys to Jungkook before settling inside the passenger seat. Jungkook, surprised as ever, simply stands there in surprise. “Well?” Seokjin asks, ducking towards the dashboard so he could take a look at Jungkook, “We’re gonna be late!” 

© joontier 2021