#when I’m not a broke college student perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to hear it in person

[the-ball-is-round]

Listening to Anfield may just be the prettiest thing I’ll ever hear

[demaury]

Only You (chap.1)

For Lucas, life has always been rather bittersweet, between shitty family situations and crappy self-esteem overall, but his eighteenth birthday marks yet another dramatic turn that no amount of cynicism could have prepared him for. (ao3 link)

February 2019

Scrap, scrap, scrap.

The pencil was grazing the paper sheet with so much precision and regularity that Lucas had no trouble supplying the missing sound of the lead. His eyes were focused on the hands of the customer sitting outside, only tearing away when the guy set the pencil down to roll himself a cigarette. Of course he was a smoker. February had been relatively lenient so far, but it was a bit too early in the year to spend more time outside than necessary, unless you were a smoker. He didn’t know how long he had been looking, but a lifetime of noisy canteen tables had given him the ability to tune his loud friends out whenever he wanted to — perhaps too effectively, because now he had three pairs of eyes on him.

He was forced to refocus his attention on his own table, tearing his eyes away from the street. Last time he had tried to find interest in the conversation, it had been about some party the guys wanted to go, since apparently Arthur had game with a friend of Marine’s, his platonic soulmate. Nothing that called for his contribution, from what he knew, but maybe he had missed the part where it got interesting.  

“What?”, he asked blankly.

“He’s hot,” Yann simply commented with an approving nod.

Lucas followed his gesture, directed towards the guy sitting outside.

“Super hot,” Basile confirmed, pausing from slaughtering a viennoiserie to spare a glance.

“I was looking at the drawings,” Lucas said, eyes falling onto his now lucky-warm cup of coffee.

“So you can actually see anything from here?” Arthur deadpanned.

Lucas’ eyes travelled between the three of them, but the insistence they had to look outside made him turn back one more time. It was the worst idea he probably ever had. Because yes, the guy was beautiful, but he was also staring right the fuck back at him from the other side of the glass. Lucas was sure he could feel his eyes burning holes into his skin — not in a bad way, but in a totally, a 100% fucked up way.

Lucas’ head snapped back the other way, so fast he nearly broke his neck in the process. Smooth, Lallemant, real smooth, he thought sarcastically.

“He’s looking at you,” Basile remarked unhelpfully and far, far too eagerly to Lucas’ taste.

“No he’s not,” he gritted out, scowling. “He’s looking at us, because you are fucking creeps. Stop staring!”

“Says the one who was staring first,” Arthur snorted. “Bro, you weren’t even blinking.”

“I was looking at the drawings,” Lucas hammered, whisper-screaming. “Can we just collectively ignore him now and drop the subject?”

It could have come in handy for him to know what the conversation was about before it came to this, maybe he would have had higher chances to redirect it on safer grounds, but as it was what were the odds that they had changed subject since the last time he tried to care?

Yann quirked a brow, apparently far from being done. “So you’d just pass on him?”

“I’m not passing on anything, he’s just a guy,” Lucas retorted.

“Right,” Arthur drawled, extending the ‘i’ obnoxiously. “Just a guy. Staring the fuck at you. Plus, our love lives are a lot less miserable than yours.”

“I just got out of a relationship, I’ll let you know,” Basile retorted haughtily.

“And I’m not interested in dating these days,” Yann shrugged.

“Then why can’t you just understand that I’m not interested either?” Lucas huffed, ignoring Basile’s intervention to focus on Yann.

He profoundly hated the sudden tone of the conversation, all too aware where this was going. He wished he was wrong, but as soon as Yann sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, Lucas knew it wasn’t the case.

“Because it’s about your soulmate,” he said, “not about you not wanting to date.”

“It always is,” Arthur quipped in his cup of coffee.

Lucas’ stomach tightened, and he instinctively averted his eyes.

Today had been an empty day. Not bad, not good. Just empty, an hour carrying him here and the other carrying there. It wasn’t all that bad, it was even days like these that Lucas craved the most — those where he was just feeling numb enough not to care. Of course now it was a lot more difficult not to care when his three (supposedly) best friends had decided to meddle in, especially when he had asked them not to.

“Look, we just don’t want you to keep moping forever,” Basile added.

Arthur nodded, shifting towards Lucas who was sitting next to him. “He’s right. When a cute guy looks at you, you just go for it, that’s how it works,” he completed with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, just go talk to him.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Lucas retorted coolly, feeling his calm crumble with each passing second. “I’m not going to talk to a guy who looked at the four of us once, and I certainly don’t need your fucked up advices because you’ve got no idea what I’m going through!”

“Because you never let anything out,” Yann protested.

“Why should I?” Lucas exclaimed. “So you can tell me to forget about it and just move on?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Basile admitted, looking rather embarrassed, and Lucas’ eyes jumped on him. “It’s been what, five months, now? Maybe- Maybe that’s what you should do?”

Arthur and Yann both glanced at him, mouthing a quiet ‘dude’ with a shake of their head. Lucas opened his mouth and closed it, nothing coming out at first. “How about you start shutting up about your damn soulmate, Baz?”, he snapped. “’When am I going to meet her’, ‘what does she look like’, ‘what if I never see her’-”

“Lucas–,” Arthur tried, but Lucas snatched his arm away when he squeezed it lightly to distract him.

“No, I’m fucking done hearing you all complain,” Lucas protested, perhaps louder than he should have judging by the embarrassed looks of the guys. He shook his head and stood up abruptly, grabbing his backpack and making the cups on the table tinkle together. “‘Oh no, my soulmate’s Emma’, ‘oh no my soulmate’s a platonic one’, ‘oh when am I gonna find her’, but mine is fucking dead, so excuse me for making a big deal out of it!”, he exclaimed bitterly, throwing the last words behind his shoulder as he was already on his way out.

*

4 months and a half, 21 hours and 36 minutes.

138 days. Over 3334 hours.

That’s how long he had been miserable. Ever since that horrible evening, last October. He and the boys were having predrinks at the flatshare, before hitting a college party organized by PACES students, and the memory of his own laughter made it all the more painful in retrospect. They were not quite a month into their first year at uni, and Lucas was still buzzing with the excitement of it all. In complete honesty he couldn’t have cared less about his studies; the major he had picked after his BAC, economics, was far from being his thing, but the silver lining had been his soulmate. As Yann had pointed out to him shortly after getting his soulmark last summer, new faces all around at uni meant more chances to meet his ‘Eliott guy’. And Lucas? Well, Lucas couldn’t decently argue with that logic, really. Every new party was another occasion to casually hope for something to happen — he had just never thought that ‘something’ happening would be so fucking painful.

“What are you looking at?” he remembered laughing in-between two rounds of video games and his second beer, after spotting Arthur’s eyes on him for quite some time now.

Arthur had barely looked up, frowning behind his glasses instead. “Dude, I think… I think your soulmark’s fading.”

Lucas had glanced down at his arm, exposed by the tee-shirt he was wearing, heartbeat rising as he jumped up from the couch to the closest source of light in the room to get a better view. A rush of adrenaline after that, and Lucas’ brain a mess of emotions making his head spin. He remembered clutching at his own arm, as he could do nothing but stare at the six letter name growing fainter and fainter despite his pleas, until it was barely noticeable at all and that the guys had no more comforting things to come up with. No one went to the party that night. Instead, Lucas found himself cradling his arm most of the night, hoping and begging for it to be just a mistake. For Eliott’s name to come back, thick and black and bold letters all over again — but it never did. His soulmark had remained the same, a faint scar in the shape of a name.

He hadn’t sought other testimonies online this time. He hadn’t felt the need to. Soulmarks fading was about a soulmate dying, everybody knew that. He didn’t need people recounting tearful stories, nor did he need anyone to instill hope where it had no place to be. Whoever Eliott was, whoever he had once been, it was over for him — for them. It had been terrible from there, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise just to make his friends feel better about it. They were still at an age where these kind of things were a big deal, for better or for worse, and he knew he’d still be looking out for Eliott everywhere he went just like Basile did with his soulmate, if it weren’t for a fucked up destiny taking too much pride in screwing him over.

“Excuse me?” tentatively called a voice next to him.

“What?” Lucas answered sharply, head snapping to the side.

The scowl on his face turned into a sarcastic twist of his lips accompanied by a dry snort. Of fucking course. The artsy customer from the café was standing here, roughly two meters away from him. There was only one fucking reason he’d be here, and this fucking reason in particular was a three-headed dumbass he had known since high school and was now dying to throw under the next bus.

“They are assholes, alright?” he spat. “I don’t know what they fucking told you and I don’t fucking care. I’m not interested, period.”

“You’re not interested,” the guy repeated, slightly cocking an eyebrow. Lucas thought he was on the verge of exploding if he was so much as trying to insist. But instead, the guy reached for a rolled-up cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “I was just gonna ask for a lighter, but it’s always nice to know where everybody stands I guess.”

He was smiling.

Lucas’ cheeks heated up from crushing embarrassment and he cast his eyes away, staring at his hands and deflating instantly. It was definitely not the worst day of his life, but he could feel it make a solid entry in the top 5.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not smoking.”

The guy shrugged. “Alright.”

Please, leave. He was the only one beside him waiting at the bus stop, if he really needed a lighter it wouldn’t magically appear in Lucas’ pocket. Just leave. Fighting with the guys had sucked the last bit of energy he had left in his body, he didn’t have any more left. But instead the guy sat on the metallic bench. Ultimate fuckery if there was one. He didn’t have any idea what he had done in a past life, but he could only guess it was bad. Lucas tried to look away and absorb himself in the silent contemplation of the sidewalk, but all he could think about was that he wanted to come home and crawl under the covers and forget that day even happened at all. It wasn’t easy when the guy sitting next to him was a constant reminder of the shitty afternoon he had just spent, between boring classes he didn’t give a fuck about, friends who had forgotten the basic meaning of ‘supportive’ and, of course, last but not least, lashing out to a complete stranger for trying to hit on him and who happened to be so far out of his league that they didn’t even play the same sport.

A metallic flick drove his attention toward the lighter the guy was currently trying to make work, with a concentrated frown on his face and the cigarette now tucked between his lips. He kept flicking, once, twice, ten times, until Lucas couldn’t take it anymore.

“Usually when they don’t work the first five times, they rarely work the ten other times after that,” he said.

The guy glanced at him, then shrugged. “I guess I’m a dreamer then, uh?”

He put the cigarette back behind his ear and pocketed the uncooperative lighter in his brown jacket. Lucas took his eyes away and glanced at the other end of their street, where his bus was slowly (but hopefully steadily) making its way in their direction.

“Rough day?”

Lucas risked an eye in the guy’s direction. “You don’t have to do that, you know. It’s fine.”

He shrugged one more time. “I don’t mind,” he said, smiling a little even.

Is he fucking kidding me? Lucas thought instantly, taken aback. He found himself staring, blatantly, unapologetically, as if he was seeing him for the first time. He studied his insanely intense grey eyes, and the messy but effortlessly good-looking brown hair making wonders to his sharp cheekbones. He’s hot, he was forced to admit to himself, just when the bus reached their stop in a concert of screeching and hissing sounds. But somehow, his inner voice suddenly sounded a lot like Yann’s, and it made him angry.

Angry and upset and fucking outraged.

“Well, I do mind,” he articulated.

Before the guy could even say something, Lucas snatched his backpack from the bench and strode towards the entrance of his bus without a glance back.

[panda-noosh]

To Be Yours {College!Keith x Reader}{AU}

Words: 5393

  Summary: Keith Kogane is your room mate. Keith Kogane is an anti social pain in the ass. You take it upon yourself to change that.

   Notes: I wrote this in one sitting my fingers are numb help.

   You didn’t know that making your room mate leave the house would become the bane of your existence.

   Whenever you had been paired up with Keith as your room mate, you had never once thought it would be as difficult as it was now. Not once. You thought he would pay his part of the rent, eat the food you made, and you two would barely have to see each other. You had early classes, he had late night classes and that left barely any time for the two of you to actually speak.

   At least, that’s what you thought. What you had hoped.

   Where your social skills were a little rusty themselves, you had never met anyone as bad in the social area as Keith Kogane.

   Arriving home at 4pm everyday left a good four hours for you and Keith to be in the house together. You would walk across campus, wanting nothing more than hot food and a good drink, as well as a nap, and all you would get in return was frustration.

   You weren’t even entirely sure why you were frustrated.

   It was just him. Because everyday, when you came home, he would be in the exact same place with the curtains drawn around him and only the light from the video game playing in front of him. The fact that there was a new pile of food in front of him was the only evidence he ever gave to you to let you know he had actually moved from his position on the sofa in the last twenty four hours.

    The sight of him moping around just ate away at you. You would walk in, grinning and smiling – anything to get him to stop being so down – and he would simply look at you, ask you to turn the big light off before going back to his game.

   You had to put a stop to it, you knew. He was going to drive himself insane with lack of communication to the outside world, and that thought alone was what drove you to say the words you were currently saying to him.

   “We’re going dancing tonight.”

   He barely looked up at you, trying to look past your torso. You had situated yourself directly in front of the TV, cutting all sight from the game of Grand Theft Auto he was playing today.

    “Keith, listen to me!” you hissed, springing forward and snatching the game controller out of his hand. He groaned loudly, his voice coming out groggy.

   You shook your head, throwing the remote onto the other sofa. He simply stared at it flying away from his grip, a scowl slowly making it’s way onto his features.

   “You and me are going dancing tonight,” you repeated, folding your arms over your chest. “Whether you like it or not. This house needs some time to breathe, and so do you.”

   Keith looked up at last, dark brown eyes meeting yours. His lids were lowered in a disapproving glare, his chapped lips puckered in a pout. “I’ll have to kindly decline your offer.”

    You clenched your fists. “You’re not allowed to.”

   “It’s a human right. You can’t drag me out of the house if I don’t want to go with you.” He slumped down further in his cocoon of covers he had wrapped around his shoulders. “And plus, I can’t dance. Neither can you.”

   “Exactly,” you said. “We’ll learn together, yeah? It’s all in good fun.”

   “I don’t see the fun in it, to be honest.”

   “Because you’ve never been.” You took the risk, slumping down next to him on the sofa. Your shoulders bumped together, causing Keith to scowl and shimmy away from you a little bit, though you had sat down on the excess of his quilt which pooled out around his knees, and he was too stubborn to let the fabric fall from his shoulders, meaning he didn’t move very far.

    “I don’t see how my anti-social habits affect you in any way,” Keith continued. “I stay home, I pay the bills, I go to class when I need to. What more do you want from me?”

   “I want you to make friends!” you exclaimed, shoving his shoulder. He grunted. “Friends outside of me.”

   “I wouldn’t call you a friend.”

   “Well then you can stop calling me a room mate because I won’t be paying half the damn rent if you-”

   “You’re my closest friend,” Keith cut you off, making a smile appear on your face. “But even then, I’m not going.”

   You pouted, trying your hardest to find anything to say that would convince him otherwise. You knew you were the worst person for this – bar Keith, you were the most antisocial person in your friendship circle. You preferred staying home, losing yourself in studying or books or a good Netflix series.

    Perhaps hearing the invitation from Hunk or Lance’s lips would make him more warm to the idea – but Hunk and Lance weren’t here, and it was just you and Keith, and this was your idea. You had to make it work.

   “I’ve already bought the tickets,” you lied. You hadn’t. You were a broke college student – buying something without absolute confirmation it would be used was against everything you stood for.

   Keith looked at you, and you were almost certain there was a waver of guilt in his expression. He was cracking.

   “And why would you do that?” he asked.

   You shrugged. “Because we’re going. You and me. You don’t even have to dress up fancy.”

   “What kind of dance is it?”

   A giddy feeling bubbled in your stomach. This was going in the right direction.

   “A club,” you replied, and Keith immediately stiffened at the side of you. You placed a hand on his upper arm as a way to calm him down, because the idea of walking into a night club was scary for even you.

   You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Keith.

   “Don’t worry,” you assured him. “It’s not a crowded one. In fact, it’s pretty peaceful. People do karaoke up at the front and there’s a little dance floor in the corner, but it’s never crowded. Most people just sit in the booths and get drunk.”

   Keith shot you a sideways glance, one eyebrow perked and you knew you had him. At least you were seeing to his needs, making sure you got a place that wasn’t overly crowded. You would ease him into civilisation one step at a time, and it would all be okay in the end.

   “Is it just me and you?” he asked, finally.

   You shrugged. “I can invite Shiro if you like.”

   Surprisingly, Keith was quick to shake his head, his black hair brushing the nape of his neck as he did so. It was almost a vigorous shake of the head, an adamant one that was quick to dismiss the idea of Shiro coming along. “No. No. Just you and me is fine. The less people, the better.”

   You grinned. It wasn’t a big step, but at least it had worked.

    8pm slipped around all too fast for your liking.

   You weren’t entirely sure why you were stressing so much about such a simple event. Keith had seen you naked before – living together gave you plenty of chances to walk in on the other showering – and yet here you were, locked in your bedroom with outfit after outfit slewn over one arm, none of them seeming good enough.

   Those two words confused you even more. Good enough.

   What were you even doing? Who were you even trying to impress? You didn’t invite Keith out to impress him. You wanted to get him out into the world, show him that there was more to life than the odd hour of studying and video games. This was for his own benefit, and you had no plans to keep him by your side the entire night.

   If you were lucky, Keith would end up ditching you to go with a group of college boys his own age. He would find friends to hang out with. He wouldn’t be so lonely any more.

  You pursed your lips together, growing more and more frustrated as the time dragged on. You had to be lined up outside the club by half 8, and the car ride was a good fifteen minutes. That only left you fifteen minutes to actually pull yourself together, and it was looking more and more impossible.

    You knew Keith liked your denim jacket. He always said denim-on-denim suited you, but you weren’t entirely sure if this was the night for it. It was too casual.

   But then again, this was a casual club. You had promised Keith that, and you were determined not to overwhelm him by showing up in a ball gown.

   So you chose the simpler option – a black, button down shirt with matching ripped skinny jeans and a red and black jacket over the top of it. It wasn’t your most casual attire, but nobody would look at you and think you were going to a formal event.

   Plus, Keith had once complimented the jacket you were wearing, meaning it was good enough for you.

   You quickly slid the tickets you had printed out a mere hour before into your coat pocket and made your way into the hallway. Keith was nowhere to be seen. You took a sigh of relief, jogging down the few steps it took for you to arrive in your conjoined kitchen-living area.

   The nerves were confusing you. The feeling of needing to catch Keith’s attention was confusing you, because you had never felt this way before.

  Quite honestly, tonight was going to consist of the blind leading the blind, because you were no good at socialising either. You weren’t even set off for the club yet and you were already completely overwhelmed by feelings.

    “I look stupid.”

   You yelped, flinching up from your place against the counter to look at the top of the three-stair staircase which led off into the main hallway.

   Almost as soon you did, you regretted it.

   As if your nerves weren’t bad enough, suddenly butterflies were clamping at the walls of your stomach, making you half dizzy.

   Because holy God, he cleans up good.

   He did. His black hair had been freshly washed, brushed back in his usual style of messy in the back and clean in the front. His face glowed, freshly washed and his eyes dazzled underneath the yellow lights of the kitchen.

    He wore a black button down shirt which hung off of his thin body loosely, leaving so much room against the nape of his neck and the collar. The sleeves were rolled up, though his skinny arms didn’t grip the fabric well enough, giving the look a messy vibe to them as the sleeves continued to roll down unevenly against his pale skin.

   You swallowed thickly, trying your hardest not to react too outwardly. You would either embarrass yourself or him, and you didn’t want to do either before the night had even begun.

   You shook your head slowly, trailing your tongue over your lips, forcing your eyes to look up at him again. “No. No, you really don’t. You look good.”

   He tugged at the loose fabric of his shirt and scowled. “I swear to god this used to fit me.”

   “Well, you’ve lost a lot of weight since you became a college student and wasn’t able to afford food any more.”

   You’re surprised to hear Keith laugh – a small chuckle that is pressed into his neck as he continued to look down at his shirt, but a laugh nonetheless. It made you smile to yourself, unsure of why but okay with it.

    Finally, he looked up, the frown back on his features. “Should we get going?”

   You suppressed your nerves. “I think we should.”

   Keith stumbled into you almost as soon as you entered the bar, and you were forced to catch him.

   “You’re being overdramatic!” you exclaimed over the music. The club was a little more crowded than you had planned, though it wasn’t anything over the top. The dance floor only had a few people dancing on it, whilst everybody else had shuffled into the booths with their food and beer.

   Either way, Keith still looked around like the room was showing him his life right before his eyes. They were wide, glowing with the lights zooming around the room, his mouth open in a silent plea for help.

   You gripped onto his bicep. Keeping him moving through the crowd would help – you just needed to find a free booth, sit him down and wait for him to get drunk. Maybe then he would loosen up and start socialising a little bit.

    “Come on,” you ordered, tugging him along with you. Keith stumbled into step beside you, bumping shoulders with random people who were too busy dancing and grinding against each other to notice the half-traumatized man trying to squeeze past their inseparable bodies. You were in charge of uttering “Excuse me's” to everybody you passed, the odd apology being forced up as Keith headbutted a man on accident.

    Eventually, you managed to shove Keith into a booth. He slumped back against the plush leather of the seat and pulled his knee over the other, trying to play it off as if he hadn’t just had a panic attack whilst walking through the crowd.

   You slid into the booth in front of him, immediately groaning to catch his attention. He raised a brow at the disapproving noise you had just made, and you nearly laughed at his obliviousness.

   “Are you serious?” you asked. “We’re not even here for two seconds and you’re already freaking out.”

    Keith narrowed his eyes, his mouth opening in mock shock at your accusations. “Me? I wasn’t freaking out. I was walking with you.”

   “I was dragging you.”

   Keith shrugged, looking away with a pout on his face now. He looked adorable -

   Wait, no.

   No. He didn’t. He looked far from adorable. He was annoying. He was being overdramatic. He was freaking out over little things and you shouldn’t have said he was cute. You had to remain strong – he wouldn’t even be with you at the end of the night if all went to plan.

   He would be an independent man and you would walk home knowing you had just hooked him up with some friends.

   “How about we get some food?” you asked, finally.

   Keith nodded. “Thank God. I’m starving.”

   You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he wasn’t. He had choked down an entire bag of Doritos before leaving the house, claiming they were his ‘calming food.’

   Either way, you made your way out of the booth and sauntered towards the bar, adamant to order the greasiest, most bar-like food you could find. Not only would Keith find his social life tonight, but he would also experience what it was like to be a real college-mess. No fancy, small portioned foods with parsley laid out on top of it for no reason. He would be well-fed by the end of the night, and he will completely regret it the next morning.

    You ordered Keith an egg sandwich with bacon, tomatoes, sausages and a hashbrown, wincing as you watched it being made. It looked beyond unhealthy, but mouth watering at the same time.

   You ordered yourself a simple sausage sandwich, grinning as the two orders along with the pints you had ordered, were shoved across the counter to you.

   “You’re here with somebody?” a voice said from behind you, just as you were about to make your way back to the booth.

   Your eyes widened when you turned, finding the eyes of the owner of the voice. He was a man, around six foot tall with slicked back brown hair and a shirt that hugged his muscles closely and a grin that shone underneath the lights which dazzled the dance floor.

   You swallowed thickly, looking down at the grease-filled sandwiches you were holding in your hand, along with the pints of Guinness you soon planned on downing.

   “Uh, yeah. I’m here with my room mate,” you replied. You were half-tempted to say 'boyfriend’ just to get this guy off your back, but those words seemed a little too close to home.

   The guy smirked. “Room mate, huh? I bet she won’t mind if you come and sit with me for a little while. I’m here with my boys, but they’re away getting busy.”

    You nearly choked on your own saliva, eyes widening at the words which just left his lips. “Getting busy?”

   The man nodded. “They’re like that. Rowdy boys. I’m not. I genuinely just wanna sit and talk to you. A pretty lady like yourself shouldn’t be getting dolled up and get no male attention.”

   You felt degraded, and it sent an odd chill down your spine. You were one of the lucky few who hadn’t been hit on like this before, but you had heard the stories. People thought this kind of talk was flattering. It wasn’t.

   You weirdly felt scared.

   You clenched the sandwiches closer to your chest as you shook your head, trying to find the words to let him down easy. You weren’t sure what he would do whenever you said no, but you just knew you had to say no. Anything he tried after that could result in the police.

   You hoped it wouldn’t get that far.

   “I – I actually don’t want to,” you stuttered out, cursing yourself for sounding so weak. “Listen, these are gonna get cold and my room mate is hungry, so I should probably-”

   You tried to step around him, but his buff arm came in contact with your collar bones, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your breath hitched in your throat, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of your stomach as everything else in the room seemed to melt away. Everybody else was somewhere else, oblivious to what was going on.

    That’s what it had to be, right? That was why nobody was stepping in.

   “I don’t bite, baby girl,” the man growled in your ear. He had to bend down to speak directly into your ear, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, as well as the smell of womens perfume that you were not wearing.

   How many other girls had been completely terrified out of their wits by this man tonight, and where did they end up?

   “I can take good care of you, you know,” he continued. “Take you back to my place, make you feel good. We don’t have to beat around the bush if you don’t want to, but I’m good at the foreplay as well.”

   You wanted to scream. Your eyes darted around the bar, desperately looking for Keith. Where was he?

  “Don’t pretend like you’ve never hooked up with someone at a bar before,” the man continued, finally straightening up though his hands made no effort in moving out of the way. In fact, the one which had stopped you walking was slowly making it’s way down your collar bone, towards the valley of your breasts.

    You jerked away from his touch, looking up at him at last. He made eye contact with you – he saw the fear in your eyes. He saw how much you didn’t want this, and yet he decided to continue. That was how you knew this wasn’t some misunderstanding – you had made yourself extremely clear, and here he was – continuing.

   “I’m sure you’ve had lots of men in your bed before,” he said. “But I’ll be better than them if you just give me a chance, yeah? I’ll show you how to have a good time.”

   “I want to leave,” you said, trying to make your voice bold. “I don’t want to go home with you, and I definitely don’t want to have sex with you, you disgusting pig.”

   The man’s eyes widened at your words, and regret immediately flared in your system. The harsh words hung in the air between the two of you, but it got you nowhere. His hand was still on your collar bones, his other hand gently nipping at the skin on the back of your hand. The only difference now was that he was mad.

   “That’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody who was giving you a compliment,” the man spat out, his eyes darkening. “You think I just come up and talk to any old girl I can find? Nah. I thought you were hot, sexy. You should be thanking me for giving you this kind of attention.”

   “I don’t want-”

   His hand suddenly spiked upwards, gripping at your upper arm a little too tightly. You bit back a cry of pain, fear bubbling in your stomach – what if you made a scene? What would he do to you if you tried to get the attention of others?

   Either way, his fingers were digging into the skin on your arm and it hurt a little bit too much for it to be a 'heavy-hand.’ He was trying to hurt you.

    “We’ll go back to my booth, yeah? Me and you. Together. Fuck your room mate-”

   “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody you don’t even know.”

    The man goes flying. In seconds, the pain is subsiding on your arm and your stumbling to the side as the man stumbles the other way, gripping his jaw as a cry of pain emerged from his mouth.

   Keith stood in front of you, his usual scowl on his face and his eyes darker than usual and his hands held out protectively, shoving you behind him. You had never been happier to see him.

    “What the hell, man?” the man who had just grabbed you yelled, silencing the bar. All attention turned to him and Keith, and suddenly you felt the urge to run, to grab at Keith’s arm and pull him out of here. Even though this had all been your idea, it had gone too far. It had gotten out of hand.

   “We should go,” you whispered, grabbing onto Keith’s arm and leaning up to whisper in his ear. His hand came in contact with your hip, making you freeze for a moment before he gently pushes you backwards, making sure you’re at a safe distance away from him.

   “No. I think we deserve an apology after what he just did,” Keith replied, and you’re surprised at the volume of his voice. “You got anything to say to my friend, huh? You wanna tell me why you were half ready to drag her into your bed against her damn will?”

   The man looked up at Keith, still gripping his jaw. “What are you talking about?”

    “You know, consent is an important part of a hook-up.” Keith stood forward again, slammed his knee into the mans stomach and watched as he fell back against bar stools, knocking glasses off of the bar. He landed in a heap amongst the glass shards he had just shattered, and you closed your eyes to try and fight off the image.

   Keith was grabbed, but he didn’t put up much of a fight. He simply let the men pull him backwards, though never once did his eyes leave the man he had just floored.

   “Alright, the funs over,” the bartender yelled at the crowd which had formed, nobody making a move to help the man up. He was whimpering in the glass shards, blood spiking his face and his hands curled around his torso from the kick Keith had given to him.

   Keith.

   You whirled around, breaking your gaze away from the sick man to look for him. You weren’t surprised to see the two men who had grabbed him were now dragging him out of the bar.

   What you were surprised to see was Keith’s eyes were locked directly on yours in the calmest way possible. He weirdly looked calmer than when he had walked in.

   You swallowed thickly, dropped the sandwiches you had bought and ran out after him.

   The cold air hit you almost immediately, making you grumble in discontent. The bruise forming on your arm hissed to life as the cold air nipped it, though you made a point to ignore it as you made a B-Line for Keith.

   The two men had propped him up against a wall, one handing him water to calm him down but Keith declined it, forcing himself upwards when he saw you rushing towards him. His eyes never left yours, and yours never left his as you reached him, immediately diving into his arms and hugging him like you had never hugged him before.

   Because, you realised, you had actually never hugged him.

   But it felt right. Right then it felt like the correct thing to do, because he had just saved you. Perhaps saved your life. He had stepped in when nobody else would, and you were so thankful for him in that moment.

   “Are you okay?” the two of you said at the same time as you pulled away from each other. He kept his arms around your waist whilst you kept yours on his shoulders, wound up in the mess of hair at the back of his head.

   Keith chuckled lightly. “I’m fine. But I’m not the one who needs to be asked that.”

   You shook your head gently, shocked to find the need to cry perching on the edge of your emotions. You weren’t sure where it was coming from, but the tears built up in your eyes and you felt like heaving, curling up and crying in the middle of the curb.

   “This your girl?”

   You turned your head to the man who was previously attempting to calm Keith down – a man named Reg, from what you had heard around town. He was often seen around campus picking up litter.  

   Keith’s face shined a beetroot red as he shook his head gingerly. “No. My room mate.”

   You ignored the second guys utter of the word “friend zone.”

   Reg nodded gently, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Well, you two should get home then. We’ll deal with Calvin when you leave.”

   Calvin. You shivered, untangling your arms from Keith’s neck and winding them around yourself in an almost protective stance.

   Keith nodded at Reg and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, informing them that he would take good care of you before the two of you started the trek back to the car in a silence that was comfortable – a silence that was needed.

    You curled up in bed, the blanket draped over you and even though the heating was on, and the quilt was thick, heat was not accessing your body in this moment.

   You just felt so sick. So … Strange. There was this bubbling feeling in your stomach, the bruise on your arm a constant reminder of what had happened tonight.

   It wasn’t exactly the feeling of being used. It was your reaction to it that was getting to you. How you had immediately froze up, barely able to look Calvin in the eyes. He must have seen you as an easy target, and that thought alone put a sour taste in your mouth.

   You had always seen yourself as somebody who was in control of their own bodies. You always thought you would know exactly what to do in that situation, but you had completely lost all sense of reality whenever things started to get violent. Whenever he had said those god awful things to you.

    You sighed deeply, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if Keith was still awake. He usually was at this time, tucked away in his bed with his phone inches from his face as he scrolled through whatever gaming forum he had picked out that night. Whilst you read books to help you sleep, Keith read about games.

    Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve flung the quilt off of your body and are making your way across the hall to Keith’s room. The entire house is in darkness, and you use the wall as your guide until you’ve gripped a hold of Keith’s door handle and is gently pushing it open.

    There’s a little light coming from his bed – his phone screen – that allows you to see the way his dark eyes flick up to look at you as you enter. There is shock for a moment, quickly replaced by an expression of knowing, as if he knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep on your own tonight.

    The idea of him knowing just how scared you were sends a warm feeling to spiral up through your stomach.

    You didn’t say anything, simply stood by the door and waited. It took only a moment for Keith to turn his bed side lamp on, pull the covers up as if to say, “Come on in.”

   And you did just that. You closed the bedroom door and padded over to his bed, sliding into the covers beside him, sliding into his arms, into his welcoming aura which holds you tightly and whispers the nightmares away.

   He let the covers droop over your body, one hand immediately going to your upper arm where he gently rubs the bruise which had been forming on the flesh all day. He doesn’t say anything as he does so – you simply listened to the way he breathed against your neck, a mix of exhaustion and excitement which is presented to you in the way his breath hitches.

    Despite his clear amount of nerves at you being here beside him, his touch was gentle. It soothed the pain. It chased the nightmares away. It made you feel safe, like you weren’t a piece of meat for somebody to simply prey on in a club.

    “He’ll get what he deserves, Y/N,” Keith whispered, suddenly. You closed your eyes, snuggling deeper into the corners. Keith’s free hand instinctively goes to your waist, tugging you impossibly closer to him. “Did he hurt you?”

   You nodded immediately.

   Keith sighed, and you’re shocked and surprised and amazed to feel his lips press a soft kiss to the back of your neck. It was a simple move – one that didn’t even need to mean anything – but it sent a chill down your spine that had you cuddling even tighter into the bed, wanting to feel the way his body curved against yours in that perfect way you hadn’t even realised was so perfect until now.

   The words are not needed as the night drags on. A sleepless night full of silence and hugging, the odd set of tears escaping your eyes every couple of hours.

   4am.

    5am.

   6am.

   Even as the sun started to rise in the neighbourhood, Keith didn’t let go of you until you pulled away from him. Keith didn’t want to let go of you. He wanted to keep you in his arms, and keep you safe and hide you from the monsters in the world who would do bad to you. He wanted to keep you in this bed, right now, with your head leaning against his chest and your breathing laboured. He wanted to be the anchor that kept you from falling apart.

   He wanted to be something to you.

   It was 7am when you eventually fell asleep, cheek pressed into Keith’s chest. He smiled down at you tiredly, feeling the bags under his eyes grow heavier. But it was a good feeling. A reminder that his feelings were true – he wouldn’t stay up for just anyone.

    He sighed as he leaned his head back against the headboard, taking a quick look at the sun which was now streaming in from outside.

   Perhaps we’ll take a walk together today.

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 1 - Lost Boy

The following was a commissioned piece for MatthewCaveatZealot. Awakening with a start, Neil managed to bash his head on the ceiling of his dorm room. He collapsed back into his loft bed, running his hands across his temple.  He had always known this was a distinct possibility with his sleeping arrangement; there was barely three feet of clearance between his mattress and the unsettling popcorn-style stucco which always left flakes in his bedding. The only damage appeared to be a mild contusion, and a slightly hurt ego. The boy glanced at the alarm clock, which was inelegantly tucked into a corner of the frame, cord precariously taut.

8:35 AM

“Shit!” Neil cursed.

In his panic, he practically hurled himself over the rail of his loft. Fortunately, his faded blue bean bag chair – presently covered by a week's worth of dirty laundry – broke his fall. Fishing in the bureau just beneath his bed, he managed to dig out a clean pair of jeans and a grey tee.

As he reached for his bookbag, he noticed he'd left his computer on. The dull white of a Lotus document was burning into the monitor. Upon reading the salutation of “Dear Erica” the previous night's phone call came rushing back to him; three years discarded in two minutes.  He had trouble saying what he needed to say in that call. Truthfully, the shock of it had rendered him phased out of reality. There was a hollowness that consumed him upon hearing those words, an emptiness that had to be embraced lest it consume him.  

He couldn't even bring himself to cry.  Tears would only validate the nightmare.  That had to be it:  a nightmare.  One that he would wake up from in a day or two when she called him back and apologized.  When she remembered how happy they had been together and realized what she was giving up. After a few hours, he had passed from denial to bargaining. Every possible scenario played through in his head simultaneously, from magnanimous acceptance of her apology to him banging at her door and pleading to take him back.  That was when the rational approach of writing her a letter presented itself.  

Without bothering to save the document, he flipped the switch. The dull fizzling sound was always a strange comfort.  To Neil, it represented the end of a day.  Maybe that's how he should view Erica: just another chapter in his life that he would move past.  And maybe, like the document itself, there really was nothing worth saving there anyway.  

--- 

Voxton was once a whistle-stop town just outside of the state capitol.  It was the home of an active farm community, and the state's number one exporter of unemployed drunks looking for better opportunity in “the big city”.  Then somebody decided to build a college there in the wake of the 1973 stock market crash, presumably with hopes of turning the state's fortune around.  

McCain University – presumably named for its founder, though Neil had never bothered to find out – had grown to become something of a Mecca for the technically inclined. If you wanted to break into engineering or computer science, you went to McCain, assuming your parents weren't wealthy or connected enough to ship you off to MIT.  

Thanks to a grant from the Governor, the school had an entire campus building dedicated to the most powerful machines on the market. Perhaps this was why Neil insisted upon using a personal computer from the 80s, despite the fact that his father had offered many times to buy him something newer.  

The IBM 386 was more than a little dated, but the chunky machine could do the important things in his life.  Sure his classes had him learning on top-of-the-line Power Macintosh hardware, but it had been the computer he grew up with.  Its impressive 32 MB memory was stuffed with the text-adventure games of INFOCOM.  While his first love would always be Zork, it was the murder-mystery Moonmist that made him want to become a writer.

These dual interests had conflicted before, and while Neil's father was supportive he was also wary.  Writing, after all, was a hard market to break into.  But computer technology was in high demand and only rising.  When he had embarrassingly tried to connect with his son by saying maybe he could learn to make “some of those Nintendo games”, Neil had politely laughed and agreed to consider it.  The boy's consideration didn't take long.  As a lawyer, his dad always was the better negotiator.  Perhaps it was overkill to mention that it is what his mother would have wanted.

Neil opened the door to his usual morning haunt, a student-run coffee shop called “The Junction”.  The place was barely bigger than his dorm, but they also had the best muffins in Voxton.  He stumbled up to the register and barely sputtered out his order before his bookbag slipped off of his shoulder, sending his notebooks scattering.  

“Damn,” Neil cursed.  “Sorry, Angie.  A blueberry muffin and a coffee to go please!”

“Running late again, Neil?” The senior asked, tying her long ebony hair back with a scrunchy.

“I know, they're lucky to have me as a student,” Neil mumbled bitterly, shoving the papers haphazardly back into his bag.  

“Four bucks. Your dad's Amex, I trust?”  Angie replied, extending her hand.  

“Cash today.  I forgot to grab my wallet, but luckily there was a five in my jeans,” Neil chuckled benignly, handing her the bill.  

“Moving up in the world.”

“Tell me about it.”  

“Lemme grab your breakfast, champ,” Angie smirked.  

Neil took his change and leaned back against the bar.  The place wasn't really all that bad.  Sure two people couldn't walk side-by-side behind the bar, but the little brick shack was alright. He had particularly liked the ironic name.  Before the University reclaimed land for a parking lot the place had been a rail depot. The result were tracks that didn't lead anywhere just behind the restaurant and for few miles north and south respectively.  

“And in offbeat news today,” droned a local news anchor on the 16 inch TV in the corner of the bar. “IBM supercomputer 'Deep Blue' went six games against chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov yesterday. Although Kasparov won the match with four games to Deep Blue's two, this is the first time a computer has ever defeated a world champion under tournament regulations. Truly this is a sign of things to come. Just how more advanced can these computers get?”  

“Neil!” Angie called, snapping her fingers in front of his face.  “Muffin, coffee, late for Computer Theory 221, remember?”  

“Right, sorry!” Neil sputtered, grabbing his food and bolting out the door.  

---

“Mr. Brown. How nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

Professor Barker was generally a nice guy, but Neil had tried his patience one too many times.  Tardiness was just one of Neil's offenses against the would-be silicon valley elite.  In short, Barker didn't like his attitude.  He didn't like that Neil would sit through his classes, mind clearly on other things. But what he hated worse was the fact that Neil continued to ace every assignment in spite of his lackluster classroom performance.  It wasn't Neil's fault that he felt he got very little out of the lecture hall experience, preferring instead to study on his own time.  

“Sorry, sir,” Neil apologized half-heartedly.  “Rough night.”  

“Wait until you become an adult, then you'll learn what a real rough night is,” Barker scolded.  

The aging technician looked like a slightly sunkissed Steve Wozniak.  He had the beard and the plaid collar shirts, but his face was a bit more rugged.  Barker had learned computers while serving in the Army during the 70s.  The synthesis was a computer nerd who looked like he used to beat kids up for their lunch money.  

“Now that Mr. Brown has found his seat,” Barker sighed.  “Let's resume. Where were we now?  Ah, yes! The potential of virtual reality.  Now, this ain't your 'Virtual Boy', we're talking about actual virtual reality.”

Barker was nothing if not fond of the sound of his own voice.  The lecture was more or less him pontificating about the achievements that had been accomplished with the budding technology and his wild-eyed fantasies of future use.  Of particular note, Barker's assertion that we could one day use virtual reality to explore the entire planet's history in first-person seemed especially romantic.  

“Imagine, if you would, you put on a visor and are instantly transported to the wild west.  With a few mouse clicks, you are in the Roman Empire, or watching the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

A loud digitized beep came from the clock just over the door. It was already 11 AM.

“Ah, well, I seem to have rambled on right to the end of class,” Barker chuckled. “Alright, that's a good stopping point anyway.  I'll let you head out.  Mr. Brown, a word.”

The students began to pack up and make their way towards the door, as Neil marched down the steps of the lecture hall, prepared for his weekly chew-out session.  The beard of the middle-aged educator seemed to twitch in anticipation and annoyance.  

“Neil, do you want to be in this class?” Barker asked bluntly.  

“Yes sir,” Neil stoically replied.

“You know the class starts at 8:30 AM every Monday and Wednesday, right?”

“Yep.”

“The winter semester has only just started and in the six classes we've had together you have been on time to one of them.”

“That's correct, sir.”

Barker sighed and waved his hands about in front of him as if he was grasping for something to strike him with.  

“I don't know what you expect from me,” Barker steadied his hands and pointed a finger in Neil's face. “But I know I expect from you. I can't have you barging in after the class starts.  If I have to lock that door, I'll do it.  Your work is good, but if you want to stay in my class I expect you to show up on time.”  

“I understand sir.”

“Well, I hope so,” Barker grumbled. “I'm not kidding about that lock either.”

---

Monday was, by design, Neil's easiest day.  He only had the one class, and he used the remainder of the day to run errands.  So as soon as Barker let him out, his first stop was to the Store24 to pick up some groceries.  Considering his food storage options in his dorm was a mini-fridge and the top shelf of his closet, he only wound up with two bags and a twelve-pack of the store-brand cola.  

He dropped off the bare essentials of sustenance and took a brief moment to tidy his room.  There wasn't much cause to impress anyone, but he felt compelled to use the time. It felt better to accomplish something – anything – rather than waiting around for the day to end.  

The next two hours were spent overseeing a load of laundry in the dormitory laundromat. It was pretty depressing, featuring bare stone walls and illuminated by a single dirt-specked window. with a line of six washers and four driers on opposite sides of the room from each other.  There was a table in the middle, slightly off-set from the window in a way that mildly infuriated Neil. There were technically chairs, but two metal folding chairs took a certain wear-and-tear over the decades and had never been replaced.

Neil found himself sitting on the edge of the table, staring out that window and reflecting on the bizarre dream that had woken him with such a start.  The events of the day had driven out most of the fantastic experience from his mind, but bits and pieces still lingered.  Those omnipresent voices, speaking in grand detail about him.  An idyllic planet that was repeatedly destroyed. The beast from within the pit, as Neil was bound and helpless on a web of light.  

He considered whether or not he wanted to try and duplicate the effects of his lucid dreaming again tonight. Was it a story worth picking up? Or did he want to find himself once again at the genuine mercy of some phantasm?

A low blare came from the drier, in what was more than once mistaken for a fire alarm.

Discarding the shards of his recollection, he set about folding his clothes for about five minutes, before hastily shoving the rest of his clothes into his basket and resolving to just “do it later”.  This was perhaps his favorite lie.  

So it was, at 3:00 PM, Neil found himself back in his room with nothing else on the docket.  The young scholar now had to decide between drowning his mounting sorrows in video games, television, or – if he were feeling particularly adventurous – both at the same time.  

Looking to a torn up photo of Erica on his desk, he considered what he would be doing if last night's conversation had not happened. The weekends were theirs and sometimes she would visit him Monday night as well, to hit up a movie when it wasn't crowded with people.  She wasn't a terribly social girl, and Neil had always done his best to accommodate that.  

They both used to joke about how she was a “cheap date”.  She was the kind of person who genuinely enjoyed an experience-driven rendezvous.  Erica would much rather walk through the Voxton arboretum or take in one of the free community light-shows at the planetarium rather than actually go out and spend money.  

On their first date, Neil had nearly blown his chance with her by trying to flaunt his dad's wealth.  He had been given $100 to “impress the girl” with.  Erica, in that way she always did, knocked him flat on his ass.

“I'm not here to get to know your money, I'm here to get to know you,” she said, before insisting on having dinner at the cheapest restaurant in Voxton, where she paid for her own meal.  

The wake-up call had worked, and he loosened up considerably; enough so that she was agreeable to a second date.  In spite of the rough start, they had gotten along famously.  But apparently not as well as he had thought.

A knock on his door disrupted Neil from his day-dreaming.  

“Hey man, open up.  You're decent, right?”

Neil chuckled as he opened up the door.  His friend Damian could only be described as “dashing”.  The heart-throb of choice for all the girls when they were in high school together, his looks had only improved with age.  

“Did they finally let you in?” Neil teased.  

“Dude, they let you in,” Damian retorted.  “If I wanted in, I'd be in.  But money is good in the sales game.”  

“You work in retail.”

“Retail sales.  If I sell ten computers, they give me $50 of store credit,” Damian replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Anyway, we doing dinner?  My treat.  Gotta cheer up my sad-sack friend, don't I?”

“Damian, you don't have to-”

“Nah, brother, I insist,” Damian smiled, patting Neil on the back.  “Breakups hurt. I've been here, and you're gonna be fine.  We will eat, drink, be merry and this weekend we will go out dancing and find a girl to make you forget all about her.”  

It was this benevolent nature that led to the two becoming friends in the first place.  In middle-school, they were both slightly awkward, but Damian had the further disadvantage of being an immigrant.  His mother Tabitha had fled Egypt shortly after that assassination of Anwar Sadat, carrying along a four-year-old Damian with her.  

The pubescent Damian was dealing with bullying and trying to adapt to both a new country and a stepfather who Neil had never met.  The two had met while Damian was hiding out in the library during one fateful lunch and they managed to hit it off over Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles. Neil had just started reading The Black Cauldron, but Damian was already on Taran Wanderer. A young boy's excitement to talk about his favorite fantasy series led to the longest-lasting friendship either of them had enjoyed. 

“Damian, I'm not sure if I really want to 'forget' about her, you know?” Neil sighed. “But I don't really need to get into that now.”

“Why not now?” Damian asked. “Take the time, friend.  Dinner can wait.”  

“It just seems kinda,” Neil struggled to find the words.  “Pointless.  I mean she's made her decision.  I have no idea why, but she made it clear she was done with me.”  

“Your feelings aren't pointless,” Damian replied, tapping his chest for emphasis.  “It's all we really have in this world.  Of course, if you don't want to talk, I won't make you.  But, uh, make a decision quick.  I skipped lunch.”

Neil laughed and opted to continue keeping his thoughts concealed. At least for now.  

“Alright.  Dealer's choice,” Neil said.  

“What a dangerous power you've given me,” Damian chuckled.  “Thai food it is.”  

---

This one is hard to position.  The thread is destabilizing.  

Neil was not dreaming.  The voice was not in his head. It was just on the opposite side of his dormitory door.  The room around him was shrouded in darkness, and only the door was illuminated.  If he could just reach out and grab the handle...  

A terrible weight was dragging him down, and his limbs felt as though they were made of concrete.  A biting cold was gnawing at him, and there was a presence just behind him. Somewhere in that darkness, a great unseen thing wanted to devour him.  Panic seized him as he flailed his useless forelimbs at the impossible contraption.  A doorknob; he had seen thousands of these.  But his brain could not process how to manipulate one.  

With looming annihilation mere inches from him, he resorted to throwing all of his weight at the wooden barrier, hoping it would yield under the force of what, to Neil, felt like two tons of his own mass.

If the thread is lost, we lose the Binder.  This is unacceptable.

“Nox?” Neil called out, vaguely remembering the kindly voice from the other night.  

We are here, Binder.  Patience.  We will pull you into our realm.  You will not be sundered.  

At this pronouncement, a hideous shriek invaded Neil's mind. The darkness wrapped around the young man and began to flay him, leaving crimson marks on his arm.  By the time the third sinewy tendril had lashed him across the face, he felt an uncomfortably familiar tug around his midsection as he was dragged out of the darkness and through the door, beyond which lay the sea of stars from his prior visit.  

As the distant sparks sailed past him, the memory of that Eden weight heavily upon his mind.  He wanted to see it again, and yet he could not bear to watch it be destroyed once more.  The thought of having to relive the same disaster over and over again throughout eternity was unbearable. How many times would he have to suffer the same loss?  How many people would abandon him to the darkness of his own mind?  

Hey Neil, it's Dad.  Hope you've had a good Monday.  You're probably out with Erica, but I just wanted to get in touch with you about... well, your mother's remembrance.  It won't be a big social gathering like last year's.  Basically just gonna be your siblings and me, but we wanted to coordinate with you. Just give me a call back when you can.  I love you.  

His father didn't know yet.  Of course, why would he?  That was only last night?

Focus on the moment, Binder!

Rem's voice was as stern and monotone as ever, but with a renewed sense of urgency. There was a planet on the horizon, but it was no paradise.  The world was molten rock and scattered space-dust, perhaps one in the process of still being formed.  Or was this was had remained of the other world after the disaster?  

See past the reality of your eyes, Binder. They are not a reliable path to truth, Nox urged.  

He is weighed down by his emotional attachment to his own thread.  We are losing him, Rem added.  

The planet was quite hot, and Neil felt his flesh beginning to sear as he drew ever closer to it.  He closed his eyes as he fell through the atmosphere of a dying world, the weight of his grief dragging him into oblivion.

[tsukkeilate]

something gold, something shiny

Summary : Ushijima isn’t your typical romantic guy. He’s pretty sure romance hates him. Though his failed romancing efforts are always appreciated by his boyfriend Hinata. Today though, he won’t let romance beat him.

(A/N : AU wherein some plot of the anime are tweaked slightly to accomodate the story. Enjoy!)

Fiddling with the hem of his shirt, Ushijima nonchalantly asked his boyfriend if he has any plans on Saturday. Hinata answered he doesn’t which made Ushijima inwardly sighed in relief. 

“Let’s go on a date.” He said bluntly, amusing the other male. 

“Sure. It’s been awhile since we went on one.” Hinata replied brightly. He likes how blunt Ushijima is when it comes to romance. He remembered how the stoic man tried to be romantic in the first few months of their relationship and mentally shuddered at the memories. Not that he didn’t appreciate his boyfriend’s previous efforts on becoming romantic like those guys in the movie, but whenever his boyfriend tried something romantic, something bad would happen along the way. 

(In all honesty, he likes Ushijima blunt and straight to the point like he usually is. Hinata finds it very endearing.) 

“Any place you want to go to in particular?” Ushijima asked. 

“Not really. I’m fine with any place as long as I’m with you.” Hinata replied, looking up at the older male with a fond smile on his face. Despite being his words, Hinata couldn’t help at the slight warming of his cheeks, given on how cheesy it is. 

Though Ushijima’s face remained stoic, you could see the bright sparkles in his eyes, all directed to his beloved looking up at him. Hinata thought how worth it the statement was, inspite the cheesiness, because he get to see the stars in Ushijima’s eyes. Perhaps if he look hard enough, he would see the different constellations he used to find when he was a child. 

“I’ll pick you up at six.” Ushijima said simply. Hinata frowned.

“Toshiiii~ where are we going?” Hinata asked, pouting. 

Ushijima just smirked and bent down to press his lips against Hinata’s forehead.

“You’ll know soon.” Ushijima replied. Hinata huffed and petulantly crossed his arms. 

“Fine. Be like that. But you owe me cuddles for this one, Toshi and I wanted them now!” Hinata said sulkily. 

“So demanding Shoyo.” Ushijima teased but nonetheless he scooped up Hinata and brought them to the living room, so they could cuddle while watching the recorded episodes of Kitchen NIghtmares which Hinata absolutely adores.

Saturday rolled around before Ushijima knew it. 

Actually no, he had been counting down the days until Saturday,making sure that everything was in order. He knows that he isn’t one of the most romantic person in the planet, that he should probably stop before something bad happen or he set something on fire but he really wanted to surprise Hinata this time. Just once, he wanted to show the younger male how much he means to him. He never really get to show him because of the disastrous attempts he did back then to show it but this time, it’ll be different. This time, he’ll do it properly for Hinata to see. 

“Toshi!” Hinata greeted him when he opened the door to their shared apartment, smiling brightly. 

“Shoyo. You look nice.” Ushijima complimented him, his eyes raking up and down Hinata’s lithe figure appreciatively. 

There’s nothing remarkable about Hinata’s clothing, just plain black v neck sweater paired with ochre khaki pants, mustard yellow belt dangling slightly underneath the sweater, and black leather boots. It’s just that it really suits him.

“Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” Hinata grinned, appreciating the black skinny jeans and purple dress shirt that’s a little bit tight on Ushijima on accentuating the figure of a god underneath those pristine clothes. 

“Are you ready?” Ushijima asked, holding out a hand. Hinata took it,smiling excitedly.

“I was born ready. Lead the way Toshi.” 

“T-Toshiii!” Hinata yelped, clinging onto Ushijima’s shirt tightly for his dear life as he wobbled on his legs trying to balance itself on the ice. 

“Try bending your knees a bit.” Ushijima instructed him, who was standing perfectly still on the ice rink. 

Ushijima led them to the ice rink that was near their old universities, pleasantly surprising Hinata who had been wanting to try and skate once again on ice. Ushijima counts this as a success on going on his head when he saw the delighted look on the younger’s face as they were putting their blades on. 

“Now, try letting me go.” Ushijima told him, when Hinata gained some balance after following Ushijima’s instruction. 

“I’m going to fall.” Hinata said fearfully, not letting go of his iron grip on Ushijima’s shirt. 

“I’ll catch you if you fall Shoyo. Don’t be afraid.” Ushijima said, placing his hands gently over Hinata’s. 

“Okay.” Hinata said as he sucked a breath in and slowly letting go of Ushijima’s shirt. 

“You’re doing great.” Ushijima remarked after Hinata had fully let go of his shirt and start standing on ice without any support from him. Hinata beamed at him. Ushijima felt his stomach churn and his heart flutter. 

“Let’s go skating together, Toshi!” Hinata said, reaching out to hold Ushijima’s hand in which the other gladly let him do. 

The pair went skating around the large ice rink and at some point, Hinata convinced his boyfriend to do something flashy akin to those skaters they see in the telly. Ushijima decided to unleash his not so hidden talent in ice skating, doing simple loops and spins that made Hinata’s eyes sparkle in joy as he clapped enthusiastically. 

“You should have pursed figure skating Toshi, You were great!” Hinata told him and if thy weren’t on the ice rink wearing skating shoes he would have jumped up and down from where he was standing. 

“If I did, I wouldn’t have met you.” Ushijima said, pressing his forehead against Hinata, “I would have been miserable.” 

“Psh, you flatterer.” Hinata playfully pushed him away although his cheeks were flaming red. Ushijima was pleased. “come on, we still have ten minutes before the lady over there call us out.” 

Ushijima hummed, entwining their fingers together as he did so. They spent the last ten minutes trying those funny skating vines Tendou showed them before though they almost fell on the rink trying to slide while doing a split. The lady monitoring the ice rink was not impressed and if it weren’t the part where they checked out on time, she would have given them reprimanding. 

After ice skating, Ushijima led them to the nearby crepe stand that Hinata dubbed as ‘the best tasting sugary death a broke college student could ever ask for’ when they were in college. True to his word, he kept on dragging Ushijima and some of their friends to the stand acting like some sort of unofficial advertiser. 

“Hinata-kun!” The crepe maker’s face light up once he saw his old patron’s face, “it’s nice to see you today.” 

“You too Oji-san!” Hinata exclaimed fondly, “I’m surprised you’re still managing this, after all these years.” 

“Are you saying I just retire?” The crepe maker teased, “if I did the Little Giant special would be gone forever.”

“Oh no, what should I do?” Hinata clutched his heart dramatically. “Please never retire Oji-san!” 

The crepe maker laughed, ruffling Hinata’s messy hair. Hinata yelped and pouted, earning another round of fond laughter from the crepe maker.

“Ushijima-kun, hello.” The crepe maker greeted Ushijima, when he noticed the older male watching the two banter with a discreet smile on his face. 

“Oji-san, hello.” Ushijima greeted back, bowing his head politely, “how have you been?” 

“I’ve been well, thanks for asking.” He said, smiling. “Ah, this feels nostalgic. I remember you two going over here almost every day. I’m surprised you manage to stay with a loud guy like Hinata-kun.”

“Oji-san what’s that supposed to mean?” Hinata whined, “I’m a great guy. Right Toshi?” Hinata turned to Ushijima, who just nodded in affirmation. “See?” He said smugly. 

“Right you are.” The crepe maker humored him, chuckling, “since the both of you visited me again, how about I make you my recent special? I call it Sweet and Nice.” 

“Oh that sounds interesting. We’ll have that please!” Hinata agreed. 

“Alright, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.” The crepe maker said and got to work. 

The two watched the crepe maker as he expertly made the wrapped and put the ingredients inside before wrapping everything up and drizzling it with chocolate and vanilla sauce on top then putting the whipped cream afterwards. 

“Here you go.” The crepe maker handed them the food just as Ushijima handed him the money. 

Hinata took the first bite, his eyes widening as he devoured the remaining crepe rapidly. 

“This is so uwaah and gyaa and it makes your mouth swish woosh and boom!” Hinata exclaimed.

“And there’s our Hinata and his sound effects.” The crepe maker remarked, amused. Ushijima chuckled lightly.

“Hinata’s lucky to have someone like you.” The crepe maker said out of nowhere, “I could tell that he’s happy. Even more so when you’re with him. Thank you, Ushijima-kun.” 

“No, I’m the one that’s lucky.” Ushijima said, taking a bite of his food. Hinata was right, the crepe was delicious. 

“Please take care of him, Ushijima-kun. Like you always do.” The crepe maker said, smiling. 

“I intend to.” Ushijima said. “For the rest of our lives.”

“Oh?” The crepe maker’s eyes twinkled mischievously, “you’re such a sly child, Ushijima-kun.” 

“Oji-san! One more please!” Hinata said, apparently not hearing the conversation between Ushijima and the crepe maker as he was engrossed with the food he was eating.

“Coming right up!” The crepe maker replied, patting Ushijima’s shoulder and muttering goodluck before going back to work. 

“Oh wait. We’re going to Karasuno?” Hinata asked, when he saw his former high school in the distance. “Why? Is there a homecoming I forgot to go to?”

“You’ll see.” Ushijima replied vaguely. 

Hinata frowned, what’s Ushijima up to? 

When the two arrived at the school grounds, Ushijima immediately made a beeline to the Karasuno’s gym and Hinata just trailed behind him, completely clueless. Though he looked suspicious when he saw Ushijima opening the gym with keys.

“Toshi what’s happening?” Hinata asked again. 

“Almost there. Don’t worry Shoyo.” Ushijima replied. 

They entered the empty gym, turned the lights on and Hinata felt the surge of nostalgia overcoming his suspiciousness. He walked around the gym, fond gaze and smile on his lips as he reminisced a lot of memories he had when he was still in high school. He met the best people in his life in the short span of 3 years, as well as the special someone that he has right now. 

“Shoyo.” Ushijima called him out, snapping him out of reverie. 

Hinata turned around and saw Ushijima standing in the middle of the gym, a soft smile on his face. Hinata’s heart pounded faster as he walked towards to the person whom he always considered as home for the past ten years. Going here makes him feel soft and wistful, almost as if he wanted to go back in time and spend his life as a highschooler again. 

“Do you remember Shoyo? The first time we met? It was here in the gym. Our coach made us do a practice game with your team.” Ushijima said, holding Hinata’s both hands gently. “I never thought it will be the day I’ll meet you.” 

“Damn Toshi, you’re so sappy today.” Hinata teased, though his cheeks are flushed. “Of course I remember. How can I forget? You were glaring at me and telling me I’m weak.” He chuckled. “I was ranting about you to Kageyama for days.” 

“And Tendou wouldn’t stop talking on how high you jump for a small guy.”Ushijima said, his soft smile becoming endeared. 

“Everybody’s surprised with that.” Hinata grinned, his eyes crinkling in pride. 

“It was amazing. Just like you.” Ushijima said, staring at Hinata’s eyes. 

“Gods, stop that. You’re embarrassing me.” Hinata groaned, trying to hide his face but failed. He looked like a hybrid between ripe tomato and strawberry. 

“It’s the truth. That’s why.” Ushijima let go of Hinata’s hands to kneel of the floor and bring out the small black box, opening it to reveal a simple gold ring inside it, “Hinata Shoyo, will you give me the honor of staying by your side forever?”

“Oh my gods.” Hinata gasped, eyes widening in shock. His eyes started to water and his hands are shaking. 

“Yes.” He whispered, “Yes Toshi I will marry you.” He said, tears flowing down his cheeks. Ushijima smiled that smile reserved only for Hinata to see as he slips the ring onto Hinata’s right ring finger. 

Just after he did so Hinata tackled him on the floor, full on sobbing and crying. He was saying gibberish that Ushijima doesn’t understand (despite being together for ten years), hitting Ushijima’s chest softly. 

“FINALLY THEY DID IT!” 

The two turned to look at gym’s doors, seeing the old members of Karasuno Volleyball team there. Some were snapping photos and videos. They immediately came up to the couple, giving their congratulations to the newly engaged couple. 

“Congrats on getting engaged Hinata!” Nishinoya yelled, giving him a thumbs up. 

“After ten years. You guys took so long.” Kageyama remarked, but he’s happy for his best friend. 

“You’re in no position to talk, King. It took you 10 and a half to propose to the Grand King and even then, he beat you to it.” Tsukishima said, sneering. 

“Shut up!” Kageyama glared at him.

“Now, now let’s not fight okay? This is supposed to be Hinata’s surprise party.” Suga said lightheartedly. 

“WE BROUGHT THE GOODS! IT’S TIME TO PARTY!” Tanaka yelled, holding up the medium sized cooler he brought along with Daichi and Asahi.

He was met with energetic yell from Nishinoya and the others wasted no time in preparing everything for the surprise party they have for Hinata. Hinata looked at them fondly before joining in to help, the ring weighing down his fingers as he envisioned the future he’ll have with the person he loves the most. 

(A/N : crappy ending but I hope the title didn’t give it away. Also, I’m sorta back yay!

Also, sorry for any grammatical mistakes. I was sleep deprived when I was writing most of the parts of this fic) 

[dejarooo]

“Fake it. Fake it until you make it.” She said, facing the class of mixed-age students. She was a senior in the time when I was just transitioning to the school as a freshman. Part of her final project was to give us underclassmen a bit of advice she picked up in her high-school experience.

Never did I think the words would become so prevalent, especially not almost 5 years after hearing them.

My life has had so many twists and turns. From transitioning to that new school, to the substantial amount of insecurities I would gain in the following years -- stemming from family, body issues and Creek niggas that tried to get the best of me. We’ll talk about all of those another time.

My senior year was my year. I considered myself a rose finally en fleurs, and finally viewed myself as the sunshine so many compared me to. I wasn’t letting anything or anybody get me down. I wasn’t letting niggas even get close enough to try! Frankly, I was sick of the bullshit. I was so tired of living for other people and I was ready to start doing me.

So, I did that. I twisted. I stopped people pleasing. I gained my own style, structure, and confidence. I built myself up and away from boys who didn’t want much more than to waste my time. By the time I graduated, I had most of my life laid out in front of me. I was working, doing something I loved. I had plans of a career, and was(/am) taking classes towards making those plans happen. I had full circles of friends. I met the absolute love of my life, and every weekend, I was out living my life. Without trying, I was happy. I was laughing, smiling. I was so full.

Then, the turns came. I honestly should have seen it coming. I have a beautiful life, and I thank God for it daily. However, there’s never been a complete bout of happiness where the devil hasn’t come and at least tried to stick his hand in the mix. My aunt says this happens to people of faith very often, and while I’m sometimes hesitant to listen to her, this was something she was right about.

I was no longer happy at my job, and I quit. Both of my best friends began to social distance long before the rona came. I don’t even blame them. I mean, shit’s hard out here. Also, apparently college is a.. thing? -- And before you say, “WE BEEN KNEW, SIS!”, it is ridiculously HARD! Stress and anxieties started running rampant in my mind. The women in my house have seriously been at one another’s throat. (Who would’ve thunk that extremely high levels of estrogen would be a BAD thing?) It’s been pretty bad, even to the point where I started to doubt the same confidence and passions I worked so hard to build in those last four, gruesome years of public school.

Today marks day 51 that I’ve been in the house, thanks to Miss Rona. Bored because I no longer have work, stressed because now I have school. I’ve never felt more caged in my life. What’s funny is: When I was a little girl, I absolutely loved spending whole ass summers in the house. I kept myself entertained! I’d read books, play games, and with my dolls and whatever else. But now that I’m a (legal, not mental) adult, it’s much harder. I honestly believe that even two summers ago, I would have been able to just sleep my summer away, and when I wanted to, I’d do a just few things to keep myself entertained and I’d be content. It was easy. I feel like it’s the fact that I had just started LIVING. Like, I was doing ALL THE THINGS. All the things I dreamed of doing in the high-school, but couldn’t because I wasn’t old enough or didn’t have the time to. I was no longer saying ‘no’ to going out or trying new things. I was going on mini adventures. It was like the moment I started living my life, it was taken away. It feels like I’m on punishment, and maybe that’s why my case of cabin fever is so terrible.

So, yeah. I’m a broke-ass college student that misses the outside, her boyfriend, friends and church. But, these long days in quarantine have made me realize something.

It could be much, much worst.

I once had someone tell me that they hate viewing their problems like that. They felt that it invalidates the problem, and puts a significance on other people’s problems vs. your own. But, I don’t see it that way at all. In fact, I think it may be one of the easiest ways to count all your blessings. I could be somewhere, homeless, and without my lovable, annoying ass family. I could just as easily be in poverty, struggling without the wisdom and help from the people I love most. Hell, I could have the rona. I could be pregnant and trying to support a family. At my age, that’s what my mama was doing. She had it hard as hell and broke her back trying to work and do school, and make ends meet all while being pregnant with my sister. I don’t have those problems, and, well, I wouldn’t exactly pray to. If I don’t like the way I’m being treated at a job, I don’t have to work it. I have so many options and it makes my future brighter than it’s ever been. The curve of the virus is flattening, when in reality, it could be hitting us much harder than it has been. When it’s all over, I can travel like crazy, I can see the world with the people I love. I can go on those mini-adventures again. I can hug again. I can live my life again.

But, for now, I’m quarantined in a warm house, with so much to do, so many hobbies to explore. All of my loved-ones, even the ones that have been a bit estranged since before the virus, have reached out to me. I’ve heard from family I haven’t seen, let alone, spoken to in years. From indoors, I’ve made new friends and even re-connected with some old ones. All my relationships grew in strength: platonic, romantic, and most importantly, the one I have with God.

The scariest thing is that I could just as easily be estranged from Him. I’m privileged enough to know Him more than I ever have my entire life. I’m privileged to have a computer and still attend virtual church, and have the room and space to take notes when it feels like a message is hand-made for me. He’s been there for me through the entire ride, and, I could just as simply be someone who considered myself far from him. I guess you could say I’m eternally lucky.

If you read this and asked yourself, “Is she finally getting to the point?” You’re right! I am.

Here’s what I’ve decided to do:

On the days where my anxiety is really hitting me, where I’m stressed and it feels like self-isolation and lockdowns have no end -- when I’m sad, or I feel trapped. I’m gonna give myself a moment to feel it. Let out every emotion, ground, do what I need to do to re-stabilize myself and re-center what’s most important. I’m gonna count every blessing I listed, and the bountiful ones I have pouring in. I’m gonna recognize that they’re never-ending, and God’s got me.

Then, I’m gonna fake it.

I’m gonna crank my music up as loud as my room can stand it, I’m gonna dance like an idiot. I’m gonna bake cookies, and make corny Tik-Toks. I’m gonna sing as if I’m not tone-deaf. I’m gonna look at memes. I’m gonna run around with my dogs, dive into a pile of my pillows and blankets, and really cherish that long stroll to the mailbox. I’m gonna worship God, and do everything in my power that would and could make me happy. I’m gonna smile and laugh until it physically hurts. If that happiness isn’t there, even for just a moment, I’m going to fake it until it is.

After feeling it all out, I’ll realize that it could be so much worst. I’ll realize that I’m lucky for every last thing, and person I have come across. And, if that doesn’t make me happy enough, I’ll have to fake that happiness for a little bit, at least until I make it there on my own. 

If COVID-19 has taught me anything at all, it’s how fragile life is. How easily it can be taken away, and taken for granted. With that being said, maybe we shouldn’t spend so much of this time being negative, or counting all those things that went wrong. Maybe we could spend that same energy counting the things that went right, every blessing we’ve encountered. Perhaps we could even spend some of that same energy faking it. Faking it until we get to the point where we don’t have to anymore. 

[hardcandyhaz]

Temporary // H.S.

Harry is a lonely business man, Rosie is a struggling graduate student, and their agreement is only temporary.

Read on Wattpad

Part 1

“You might feel a little lightheaded.” I was told as I sat up and slung my purse over my shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said on the way out, having heard it plenty of times before. At the front desk, I received $75 in cash before heading out. Even with the Plasma donation, I probably wouldn’t be able to make rent next week.

“I’m home!” I called as I stepped into my apartment, setting down my bag on the couch before wandering into the kitchen to grab something to eat before I had to work.

“I got a fucking parking ticket.” My best friend, Hadley groaned as she met me in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of lemonade from the fridge before hoisting herself up onto the counter while I put a pot of water on the stove to make macaroni and cheese.

“What? Why?”

“All the spots in lot six were full so I parked in lot seven. Which, I’d like to add that the pass says ‘Lot six overflow park in lot seven’, and I wasn’t able to talk my way out of it. So now I’m out $50 and probably won’t be eating next week if I want to make rent.”

“I went to the plasma center again.” I said, stirring the noodles into the pan. “Our lives suck.”

“Amen,” She said, raising her lemonade before taking a swig. “What time do you work tonight?” She asked.

“Six to twelve.” I replied. “And an eight o’clock class tomorrow.”

“You’re going to work yourself to death.” Hadley sighed.

“At least when I’m dead I won’t have to pay tuition.”

***

“Iced vanilla mocha and croissant for Anne!” I called out, setting the order on the counter before going back to the register to take the next person’s order. “Harry!” I said, recognizing the regular at the front of the line. How are you today?” I asked.

“Splendid, thanks. You?” He asked, green eyes trained on the menu above the register.

“Fine.”

“Good,” He said. “I’ll have a sixteen ounce americana.”

“Anything else for you tonight?” I asked, writing the order on a cup.

“Your number,” He answered nonchalantly. Surprised, I looked up from the cup to take a better look at him. He was cute, dark hair styled in an effortless quiff and green eyes crinkled to match the smirk on his face, but he was clearly not a college student which was made evident by his nice business attire, an open suit jacket with matching pants and dress shirt with the first few buttons popped. Just the same observations I had made the first time I saw him come in when I’d started work here as a freshman.

“Sorry, I can’t give my number out while working. Store policy.” I replied, handing the cup over to the other barista working. The excuse was total bullshit, but it’s what all the baristas used when a customer asked for a number and they didn’t want to give it out.

“Well, that’s very unfortunate for me. Sorry to bother you.” He sighed as he handed his card over. After signing his receipt and leaving a very generous cash tip, he moved out of the way for the next person in line.

***

“I’m exhausted.” I sighed, throwing myself on the bed opposite Hadley’s.

“Yeah, me too. Let me sleep.” She mumbled, cranky as she always was when she was tired.

“Sorry.” I whispered, stripping out of my black shirt and tight jeans and putting on a comfy t-shirt.

“How was work?” She asked quietly while I changed.

“Good. Harry was in today, left a huge tip and with all the other tips I got tonight I should be able to make rent. I just can’t eat.”

“That’s good.” Hadley said. “I love you, bitch.” She continued as I climbed into bed.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you.” I replied.

“...Bitch.” She yawned, rolling over to face the wall and go back to sleep.

***

I groaned loudly as Hadley’s alarm went off, signaling that I had to get up for class, too. “I hate college.” I groaned as I rolled out of bed, trudging to the kitchen to make coffee.

“You love college, you liar!” Hadley called after me. “You can get drunk any weekend you want!”

“I’m too broke for alcohol! Besides, are the 8 AM classes really worth it, Hadley? Are they?” I received no response and nodded in confirmation. “That’s what I thought.” I continued quietly to no one in particular as I got the coffee machine running before heading back into the room to change.

The rest of the morning consisted of Hadley and I buzzing around the apartment in a hurry to get to our classes. We left the building together, giant travel mugs in hand, and went opposite ways to class. When I got to class, I took a seat and sipped on my coffee, angry that the only origins of mythology class was held at 8 AM three days a week. It’s a miracle I even showed up most days, my GPA was lucky that I liked the class enough to try to skip it as little as possible.

After an hour of learning about Celtic Mythology, I quickly packed up to go to my next class, where my professor said we’d be having a guest speaker. The lecture hall was a ten minute walk and I had ten minutes to get there before class started, so often I found myself speed walking to make it a few minutes early.

The lecture hall was buzzing with activity when I walked in, scanning the room for the only friend I had in the class, Steph. Thankfully, general education was her first class so she got to the lecture hall with enough time to save me a good seat.

“Rosie!” I heard her call and I trained my eyes to the left side of the classroom where she was waving at me.

“Good morning Steph,” I greeted as I took my seat next to her, handing her my mug so she could have a sip of coffee.

“What do you have for me today?” She asked.

“Drip coffee with half and half and honey.”

“No fancy lattes today?” She questioned as she lifted the mug to her lips to taste it.

“Too tired.”

“Anyway,” She said as she handed the mug back to me. “Did you hear who’s speaking today?”

“No, why? Are they, like, really important or exciting or something?” I asked.

“Harry Styles.” She said. “Professor Clayton says she wants us to learn the basics of teaching financial literacy. I mean, I guess he would know, but how on Earth did she get a hotshot business man to speak to a graduate class of educators?”

“Never heard of him.” I shrugged, pulling out my computer to take notes.

“You’re not serious.” Steph said. “Come on, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Seattle! He’s always in the tabloids, they say he’s going to be the CEO of his company soon. He’s hot, too.”

“You read those?” I questioned, looking at her teasingly.

“The headlines, yeah. Have you ever had to wait in line at a grocery store before? That shit is so boring.”

“I don’t eat, remember?”

“Right.” She said. “Because you’re poor. Good thing you’re going into English teaching and not Financial Literacy, but maybe Mr. Styles can teach you a thing or two.”

“You’re funny.” I said sarcastically, swatting her arm. As I pulled up a new word document, the lecture hall went quiet and I looked up to see my professor at the front of the class, introducing our guest speaker. At the desk in the corner, setting up a powerpoint, was the man who’d helped pay my rent last night after asking for my phone number.

Okay, perhaps I had heard of him before.

***

Part 2

[winetae]

⇁ nudes, not flowers | 02

⇁Hoseok x female reader x Jungkook

⇁ smut || fuckboi!au

⇁ voyeurism + exhibitionism, dom!junghope, power play?, dirty talk!!!, jealousy, demeaning names during sex, the threesome, & probably other warnings byE 

⇁ 10.4k 

. . .

You’re not supposed to fall for Jung Hoseok and his repertoire of awful pick-up lines—but you do. The problem is: he’s afraid of commitment, and bolts at the idea of settling down. After that, you decide to stay far away from fuckboys, but his friend decides to test your new found resolutions.

↳ or : Jungkook wants to see how far he can push Hoseok until he snaps

 ⇁  01 | 02 (final) ; sequel

a/n; okay…so… this is just porn, but if you squint, there’s kind of a plot. you should probably start with pt 1 if you haven’t already!!  + shout out to the mutuals who encouraged the filth fest in this part esp @gxtsmxt @itsrainingmin !! we can have a prayer circle later to cleanse our souls + also tomorrow is my one month anniversary on tumblr :’)) thank you so much for all the love i’ve received this past month  ♡

.

.

It takes a few moments to return to your senses.

You feel sluggish; all you want is to crawl into your bed, wrap yourself in your blanket and let sleep claim you. Keeping your eyes open is hard enough, and it makes you wonder how the hell you’re going to manage to make it back home.

“Hey,” Jungkook keeps a hand on your waist, helping you stand up. “Are you okay?”

“What?” you blink at him, still dazed from your glorious orgasm. “I’m—I… I need to go.”

You have only one thought running through your mind: find your roommate and get back home. Breaking away from him, you try to find the bar, hoping to find your friend. Now that you’ve distanced yourself from Jungkook, the rest of the world comes back into sharp focus. The blaring techno remix pounds in your ears unpleasantly, only making your headache worse. You push your way through the mass of sweaty bodies, trying not to collide into anyone; the boiling atmosphere only reminding you what a bad idea wearing your favorite sweater was.

“___!”

You automatically freeze, pausing mid-step. You’re debating whether you should flee or stay, stuck between wanting to see his face and not wanting to deal with the consequences of your actions.

The moment of hesitation costs you.

He repeats your name, louder this time, turning you around to face him.

It’s unfair how good he looks; even in the dark, with red streaks of light dancing over his golden skin, you can tell how beautiful he is. You’ve missed him. It’s unfair how much you’ve missed him, when you know he’s been partying with other girls these past few days. Not that you’ve stalked his facebook account. You just… happen to know.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“Was what?” With your headache and cramping feet, you realize you’re in no mood to deal with him right now. But there’s no fooling him—you both know exactly what he’s referring to.

Hoseok scoffs. Your eyes fall to the side of his neck. There are smudges of hot pink lipstick and the sight makes your blood boil despite being aware you have no right to be jealous.

“Guys who fuck around aren’t good enough for you, but here you are with Jungkook, of all people,” he grits out, jaw set.

“I don’t see how this is any of your business. You aren’t my boyfriend, right? So fuck off,” you hiss.

For several seconds, Hoseok can only gape at you. You’ve never talked to him this way, and there’s a part of you that wants to see how far you can go just to get a reaction out of him. You think you can get drunk off the power you have over him, because even if you’re more of the submissive type in bed, you both know how much your actions and words affect him. In less than an hour, you’ve managed to make the usually cheerful Hoseok angry and jealous. And for someone who can usually control his own desires pretty well, you turned him on so much that he came in his pants in a room full of people.  

“Do you want me to say it then? If I say I’m yours, can we stop this?”

You search his eyes, not quite believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. It’s hard to believe he actually means what he’s saying. He’s probably had one too many drinks, you think. It disappoints you, because there’s nothing more you want than his words to ring true.

“You don’t mean that… Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them,” you mutter, not even certain he can hear you over the music.

You shake your head.

“Baby, I miss you,” he confesses, reaching for your hand and stroking the sensitive skin of your wrist with his thumb. He used to do that when you were stressed out during exam week, and it had never failed to calm you.

Of course you want to believe him; you’ve been waiting to hear those words since you two broke things off. But the rational part of you stops you from giving in because you know it’ll hurt more tomorrow if you do.

You’re certain it’s the alcohol talking, or perhaps, jealousy from seeing you with Jungkook earlier. If he truly misses you like he says, wouldn’t he have called? Every day you foolishly check your phone, only to see he hasn’t even contacted you once.

“I miss you, too,” you admit.

There’s no point in pretending you don’t want him. You’re not good at lying, and you don’t like games. That’s part of the reason why Hoseok charms you so much, because he has always been straightforward with his own attraction towards you.

“I just, I don’t think you mean what you’re saying,” you finally manage, looking up at him. “I don’t want to go back to what we had. If you’re just saying this to get me back into bed—then don’t.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. But he just stares hard at you with an unreadable expression, and you sigh, pulling your hand away.

“I’m going to go back now,” you say, disappointment clear on your features. “Don’t try to talk to me again.”

When you turn around, you see your roommate staring at you wide-eyed. She’s seen the exchange, but she doesn’t ask you about it right away. You know that tomorrow once she’s sober enough to remember everything, she’ll start the question game, but for now she goes and gets your purses while you call a taxi.

You’re not sure what to tell her anyway. Hoseok and you—well, you aren’t a thing anymore. And Jungkook? Fuck, you’re not sure if you should tell her about him at all.

You groan, trying to forget everything that happened tonight. If you’re lucky, tomorrow you’ll wake up with no recollection of the past 24 hours.

.

.

You wish you could say you spent the entire morning in bed, but, as fate would have it, your alarm clock goes off at precisely 7 am. You jolt awake, conditioned to wake up and get ready to go to class.

The entire morning is a blur; it’s as if your limbs are intoxicated and your body refuses to cooperate with you. You barely understand what your professor is saying; your notes are a mess, fingers hitting the wrong keys. All you want to do is go back to your apartment, shrivel up on your bed, and die in peace.

You’re downing your third cup of coffee when reality finally sinks in.

You let Jeon Jungkook give you one of the best orgasms of your life. Nevermind that he was hotter than the inside of a coal furnace—he was someone you barely knew! You can’t believe you were so horny you humped his hand until he made you cum. You’re ashamed of your actions… Maybe if he had done it in a normal setting, like your bed or even inside a dirty bathroom stall in the club, you wouldn’t feel like you did something terrible. Running through the events of last night in your head, you can only groan in embarrassment. What if someone had seen you? The club had been full of college students… Oh god, you think, panicking, what if someone you knew had seen you? What if they had filmed you and uploaded it on Snapchat or something? Something like, Hey, I just saw a girl cum in her pants #CollegeLife.

When you walk through the hallway to get to your second lecture, you feel super self-conscious, as if everyone is judging you.

“Hey ___!” You halt, wincing when several nearby students turn to look your way.

“Jungkook?” you mumble, not bothering to hide your shock.

You glance down at your watch. It’s not even 9 am yet. How does he manage to look like that? It’s impressive how you can’t spot any dark circles or traces of fatigue. It’s also annoying because you’re sure you look like a mess in comparison.

He sees the look on your face and laughs.

“If I missed classes every time I stayed out…” He smiles, the thought amusing him. “Well, I probably wouldn’t be the top student in our year. Annnd you wouldn’t be able to see my pretty face at all, right?”

You’re not really in the mood for his jokes, “We don’t share a class, so there’s no reason for me to see you at all.”

“We share classes,” he frowns. “You’ve seriously never noticed me? I sit in the back of modern art 101.”

“Mondays?” He nods. “Well, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think we should be talking.”

“Why not? I thought the orgasm I gave you was a nice ice breaker.”

You try not to choke on air.

“You can’t just—you can’t just say that,” you hush imploringly, eyes darting around in case someone overhears. “You can’t just go around and talk about it, like it’s nothing.”

“Look,” you insist after making sure no one caught what he said. “I think I drank too much last night. As far as we’re both concerned, it never happened, okay?”

Jungkook tilts his head, mulling over your request. He leans in, close enough for you to smell the residual smoke of his cigarette.

“I think we both know you liked what happened, baby girl.” You gulp, trying to look away. “I didn’t even take off your clothes, but you were so into it I could smell you—and I bet everyone else could, too.”

“Jungkook,” you warn, cheeks flushing with the memories of last night.

“Fine,” he sighs, taking a step back, giving you room to clear your head. “Give me your number and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Smooth, but no thanks,” you push past him, but he follows you.

“I’m really serious, I’ll leave you alone.”

“I’m nursing a bad hangover right now. I’m honestly not in the mood,” you complain, exasperated.

“Ah, if you say so,” he relents, retreating, hands raised in surrender.

You don’t really understand why or how, but he ends up getting your number from someone else. He texts you over the next couple of days, and no matter how uninterested you try to seem, he keeps pushing.

And it’s not that you don’t find him attractive—because you do. There’s no denying how handsome Jungkook is. But being with him is wrong on so many levels; firstly being he’s Hoseok’s friend. Secondly? He’s probably exactly like Hoseok, and you don’t want to get involved with someone who isn’t up for something more serious than casual fucking. Most importantly, though, is that being with Jungkook means admitting that you liked what happened during the club. And that—that’s something that you’re not ready to do, no matter how much you know, deep down, you enjoyed every second of it.

That’s why you’re more than nervous when you arrive at Jungkook’s place the following Tuesday.

He and his friend Park Jimin rent a room in the big house Kim Taehyung lives in. Most students work part-time jobs to try and cover their tuition fees, but then there are people like Kim Taehyung, who hit the jackpot during the birth lottery.

Some are just born with everything—popularity, riches, and a handsome face.  Kim Taehyung falls into that category. His parents bought him a house not far from campus, simply because they wanted him to be able to work in peace, away from the influence of frat houses and troublemakers. They probably aren’t aware that Taehyung is part of The Pussy Terminator Squad (and yes, that actually is a thing).

You’re not sure if it’s something rich people do, but Kim Taehyung greets you in his bathrobe. At least you think it’s his bathrobe, but it could be high fashion for all you know.

You’ve never met Kim Taehyung personally, but you’ve seen him around campus before. You think back to something your roommate said, something about how all the hot guys travel in packs. You suppose it’s true, as you look him over subtly. His face literally does all the work; it looks straight out of a magazine.

“Who’s the pretty lady?” he smiles at you.

“Hey hyung,” Jungkook says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “This is ___.”

“___?” the guy glances at you, his interest piqued.

When you nod back shyly, he almost drops his bottle of beer in shock.

“Wait, you brought Hobi’s girl?” he guffaws. Before you can cut in to rectify—you weren’t anyone’s anything—Taehyung reaches over and flicks Jungkook on the forehead. “Yah, you’re really pushing your limits, kid.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

For someone who barely knows Jungkook, even you can tell he’s lying. His lips are curled up into a smirk; eyes dark with poorly concealed mischief.

It’s dangerous, the way he manages to turn you on and feel uneasy simultaneously, and you’re not sure you like it.

“Tch. I can’t wait to see him kick your ass.”

“He wouldn’t,” grins Jungkook, unbothered. “I’m his favorite.”

“You’re a menace,” corrects Taehyung, taking a swig of beer. “It’s about time he puts you in your place.”

Jungkook responds by rolling his eyes. You watch them interact curiously. Jungkook has a reckless confidence that will get him in trouble, you’re sure of it. You just hope he won’t drag you down with him.

“Let’s go get drinks, __.”

“What was that about?” you ask, following him into the spacious kitchen.

“Just ignore him. He was just playing around.” He opens the fridge and grabs two beers, handing you one. The can is cool against your fingertips.

“Wait… Jungkook, is Hoseok here?” you question, not bothering to hide your anxiousness. It’s not that you don’t want to see him. In fact, what worries you is how much you want him to be here and see you with Jungkook. Your mind goes back to the night his eyes hadn’t left yours, right before you had been pushed off the edge. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve thought about that night, how many times you masturbated to the memory of Hoseok looking at you getting off on Jungkook’s palm.

“Hey,” he takes your hand in his, misinterpreting the look on your face. “Don’t worry about that. He’s not going to bother you, okay?”

He sounds so sure of himself, like he usually does, that you can’t help but believe him. You don’t tell him how much you want him to be wrong.

You’re not sure what to think or how to act when you follow him into the living room. You recognize Park Jimin, even though he probably doesn’t know who you are. Your eyes drop down to check out his ass that your roommate always talks about, and damn. You finally understand why she worships it.

Your eyes snap to his face and you flush when you catch his gaze. He smirks at you, amused, before turning back to talk to another guy, who is also really ridiculously good looking.

You’ve never seen so many handsome guys in one place, you think, in wonder. You have a sudden urge to text your friend that all the handsome guys are hiding out at Kim Taehyung’s place. You’re sure she’ll appreciate the heads up.

“That’s Jimin and Namjoon,” Jungkook introduces. “That’s Hobi hyung… But I guess you already knew that.”

Hoseok ignores him, eyes fixed on the television in front of him. It’s a re-run of some reality TV show; and you know he’s not actually paying attention, because Hoseok isn’t the type to be into cupcake competitions.  

Jungkook leads you to the big over-stuffed armchair in the corner of the room. He sits and looks at you expectantly.

“Sit on my lap.” He motions for you to sit down with a tilt of his head.

Swallowing, you look down at his lap, his legs spread open invitingly. This is a bad idea, you think, but if the past few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that you really like bad ideas.

You sit gingerly on one of his thick thighs, tucking your legs between his own. From the corner of your eyes you can see Hoseok eyeing the pair of you. You feel like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, even though, logically, you’re free to do as you please. Maybe you’re trying on shoes too big for your own feet; wandering in waters too deep for you to swim in. This is a bad idea, you repeat, even though you know you want to see where it leads you.

However, you quickly start to wonder why you’re here. The members of the so called Pussy Terminator Squad are actually quite boring, and you try to entertain yourself by drinking your beer. Jungkook’s hand rubs circles on your thighs and you let him, hoping he’ll provide some much needed entertainment.

“Want to see you fall apart because of my hand again.” His tone is absolutely wicked, and the low notes make your heart speed up in anticipation.

“We can’t,” you whisper, gaze sweeping across the room.

“No one is paying attention,” he grins, one of his hands running up your thigh. “If you’re good, I’ll give you my fingers this time.”

The idea has you shifting in his lap, unconsciously seeking friction to alleviate the building tension between your thighs. You close your eyes, trying to overlook the hot streak of lust that zaps through your body.

“Relax, baby; I’ll take good care of you,” he soothes.

He peppers kisses behind your ear, biting and nibbling on your lobe. Jungkook’s hot breath hits your skin, and you find yourself melting into his embrace. You’re glad to be sitting down, because you’re not sure if you would have been able to stay standing up, not when he’s sucking on the soft skin of your neck with the intention of making you weak and pliant.

You don’t notice that his right hand is up your skirt until his fingers graze the soaking lace covering you. It’s embarrassing how wet you are, but he doesn’t say anything, just lightly skims the fabric; teasing you. He smiles against your neck between kisses, lips dragging against your skin with such practiced ease that you’re sure he’s done the exact same thing to many other girls before you.

Your breathing gets ragged, the anticipation and thrill of doing such indecent acts in front of his friends—in front of Hoseok—excites you a lot more than you are willing to admit.

Jungkook doesn’t touch you though, not where you need him, and it takes a moment to realize you’re moving your hips wantonly over his growing bulge, already desperate for him to quell your ache.

You freeze, not daring to look around, afraid you’ll catch someone’s knowing eyes. What were you thinking? Were you really this kind of person? You remember crinkling your nose at couples that got carried away during parties, yet here you are, on Jungkook’s lap, ready to do anything he asks of you.

“Keep moving, baby girl,” Jungkook rasps out against your skin. “If you’re good…”

If you’re good, I’ll give you my fingers this time.

The unspoken promise echoes in your head and urges you to circle your hips against him, rocking, searching for something to relieve the fire inside of you.

It’s when you swivel downwards particularly hard, that you feel his member twitch under you. Jungkook bites your neck in response, soothing the sting with swipes of his tongue.

“Hm, you’re being such a good slut for me,” he praises, watching how you arch your back at his words. “You like that? You like being my slut?”

You can’t do anything but nod, your hips picking up rhythm. You don’t understand why the names have you gush out even more wetness, but you love the way he says it like it’s the best compliment you could ever receive from him. You think you’ll come just like this, untouched, the inside of your thighs damp, your clit hard and swollen with arousal.

Jungkook’s hands move from your ass to the curve of your waist. He forces you to slow down, until you physically feel your orgasm slipping away from you.

“Jungkook,” you whine, annoyed. You hate being denied of your orgasms—it’s something you can’t stand. In the past, Hoseok had only used that method to punish you whenever you misbehaved, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be teased that way this time.

“Shhh,” he kisses you but pulls back before you can cling onto him and bring him closer. “I told you I’d give you my fingers if you were good. I just need you to do something for me, and then I’ll give you what you want.”

“Anything,” you promise hastily, greedily; not fully understanding the implications of that word until Jungkook smirks.

“Turn around,” he orders, and your eyes widen. He tilts your head to the side so he can whisper filth into your ear. “I want them to see your face when you fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Fuck.

“Ah, Jungkook, I’m,” you blubber, feeling your inner walls clench down on nothing, only increasing your growing frustration.

Jungkook takes one good look at your face—cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide and desperate—and looks positively smug.

“I can see you want it, baby girl. So turn around and give yourself what you want.”

He leans back on the chair, and watches you expectantly with hooded eyes. You raise yourself to your knees; the back of your skirt inches up your bare skin scandalously.

Nervously, you turn yourself around and hesitantly look up, surveying the room.

Like a magnet, your gaze instantly finds Hoseok’s. How long has he been watching you? Since the beginning? The thought only electrifies your nerve endings, accelerates your heartbeat.

He doesn’t look as angry as he did in the night club, you notice. He’s just watching you, calmly, collected, like you’re just another interesting show on television. That aggravates you, slightly. That you don’t affect him as much as you did before. It makes you want to do things, ridiculous things, dangerous things, just so you can get a rise out of him.

Jungkook’s hands slide up the sides of your legs. Slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, he tugs the hem of your skirt up high, until you feel the cool air hit your damp thighs.

There’s a halt in Jimin and Namjoon’s conversation when the latter notices your precarious position. You see Jimin’s eyes follow the older’s gaze, and when his hot stare finally lands on you—disheveled hair, dark pink bruises on the side of your neck, lips swollen—he licks his bottom lip instinctively. Your eyes follow the movement, and it’s in that exact moment you realize what Jungkook wants you to do.

It’s like the nightclub all over again, except this time you’re not facing a room full of faceless bodies; your body is exposed to the knowing eyes of his friends and Hoseok. There’s no blaring music to muffle your sounds of pleasure, no dim lighting to mask the flush on your cheeks as it travels down your neck. Everything about this situation leaves you terribly exposed, so why does it turn you on so much?

Jungkook runs two fingers over your soaking entrance, pulling you from your thoughts. Your chest rises and falls, and when you glance down you can see your hardened nipples jut through the soft material of your blouse.

Everything feels like too much. You feel so much more exposed like this. You’re confused as to why you’re allowing this to happen, but there’s no denying how much this turns you on.

Without warning, Jungkook’s fingers squeeze your lower folds together. It’s as if the thin, wet lace is inexistent; you can feel the pinch go straight to your clit. He squeezes the thick, swollen lips together again and again, until you start moving back and forth, helplessly trying to grind down with every pinch so as to get more friction on your engorged clit. And it’s fucking ruining you. He’s not even directly touching your skin, but he’s ruining you, and everyone is watching you losing yourself. It’s shameful how much you want this, how much you love it. You’re getting off to him grabbing your pussy in front of his best friends—in front of Hoseok.

“Good,” Jungkook praises, shifting under you to get a better angle of your body writhing, hips careening wantonly into the air. “You’ve more than deserved this.”

He pushes aside the useless white lace, and slides two fingers in. You gasp out, sinking your hips down instinctively, clenching down on his fingers that are now buried knuckle deep.

“Ah, fuuuck.” He twirls his fingers inside, spreading them out cautiously. “You’re so fucking wet and tight. I can barely move my fingers.”

“Hear that?” he fingers you roughly, so you can clearly hear the lewd smacks, even over the rap music that comes out of the speakers. Your body jostles with every thrust. Scared that you’ll topple over face first onto the floor, you place your hands on his thighs behind you, and shift your weight to give yourself more balance. You’re aware this position exposes you further, presents your body to your audience, breasts thrust forward, legs spread out; Jungkook fucking your pussy, your juices dripping down his hand, your thighs.

When you dare to focus on your surroundings, you see that everyone has their attention on the way you greedily suck Jungkook’s fingers with every thrust of his hand.

It almost hurts—he’s just giving it to you so hard, rubbing your walls—but the constant pressure is everything you’ve been yearning for the past twenty minutes. And, somehow, it feels infinitely better to know that some of the hottest men you’ve seen in your life are watching you, arousal evident in their eyes.

“Ah that’s it, that’s a good slut. Fuuuck,” he groans out the word, his thrusts slightly speeding up. It’s embarrassing how much slick is running down your thighs, down his arm. “You love this, look at you.”

Jungkook sounds in awe, his eyes never leaving the blurring movements of his hand as it disappears inside your pussy.

Suddenly his movements come to a halt. The abrupt change in pace makes you dizzy. You want to scream at him for denying your release a second time, especially since it had been so close you could taste it. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste iron.

“Why don’t you show him how much you want to cum,” he goads, fingers still buried deep inside of you. You clench around them, trying to get them to move again, but he stays still.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, and you glance over at Hoseok for the first time in a while. Your vision is hazy and it’s hard to focus on him. Once you do, the sight of him palming his cock over his jeans has you clamp down on Jungkook’s fingers in frantic need.

“I think he’ll lose it if you bounce on my hand like the little slut you are.”

You’re broken. Jungkook’s broken you. It doesn’t matter if there are two other people watching, the only ones that matter are Hoseok and Jungkook. You’re trapped between Jungkook’s hard body and Hoseok’s intense stare, and if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s nowhere else you would rather be.

You lift yourself up only to drop back down, feeling his fingers plunge back in, right where you wanted them, needed them. The sensation is addicting, and you can’t control the desperate roll of your hips on his hand.

You must look like a mess, you think distantly, rocking forcefully onto Jungkook’s hand.

Everything around you turns into static as you concentrate on reaching your peak. You can feel the wave build and build; your hips working a frenzied rhythm, your lace bra not doing much to stop your breasts from bouncing with every downward shove. The end is so fucking close; you’re gasping in frustration because you’re ready for but it just won’t come.

You don’t realize you’re shouting frantically, until the door swings open and Kim Taehyung barges in.

“Jungkook!!”

Jungkook quickly pulls out of you, and you look up, alarmed. Your orgasm is painfully ripped away from you once more. You’re this close to crying in front of everyone. Even when Hoseok had felt like pushing your limits, he had never been this cruel with you.

You take deep breaths, trying to take your mind off how empty you feel, how much it physically hurts you.

“You little shit! What the fuck are you doing?!” yells Taehyung, fuming. “How many fucking times… No fucking on the antique furniture! That’s my great-grandfather’s armchair, you fucker.”

“Ah Tae…” Jungkook sighs, but his strong grip helps you to your wobbly feet.

“You have the worst timing,” complains Jimin. With a start, you glance at him, remembering he had seen everything. “She was gonna cum right before you interrupted.”

“I don’t care if she’s the hottest piece of ass I’ve seen all week. I’d make her clean it all up”

“Oh? That sounds kind of hot.”

“Not in the sexy way, you asshat,” Taehyung says, visibly ticked off. “You ruffians will never understand. This is why I don’t host house parties. Jungkook, this is the last fucking time. Go fuck in your room if you’re that horny, not on the antiques!”

“M'yeah. I think I will…” he smoothes over your skirt so that you look half-decent. You still don’t know how to process everything that’s happened, but you let him take your hand.

Still—you can’t help yourself from shooting a glance in Hoseok’s direction. His expression has gone back to calm indifference, and it disappoints you. You want him to be wound up or jealous or something.

You follow Jungkook out the room but it feels a bit wrong, somehow, to be leaving with him like this. Before, Hoseok had seen everything, almost as if you were getting off with him; for him. In many ways, Jungkook was like the third party, the spectator; while Hoseok had been the one actually controlling your pleasure.

You want him to stand up and stop you, but he only stares at you and lets Jungkook take you away. Even though you choose to follow Jungkook, your mind still wanders back to Hoseok—to what he’s thinking, to how he’s feeling.

Jungkook leads you into his room. You expect to see half-eaten bags of chips and piles of dirty clothes, but his bedroom is relatively clean. You thought he had been joking around when he had told you his passion in life was art, but scanning the room, you finally start to believe him. He has an obvious preference for expressionism, and even if that isn’t really your thing, you can tell how much time he’s spent on the works.

“These are yours?” You eye the biggest painting by the window; the deep, blue shades emphasizing the brooding seascape. The paintbrush strokes are bold, reckless; much like Jungkook himself. You can tell they’re his.

He nods, shrugging, trying to play off how much they mean to him. But as an artist yourself, you know how he feels.

“I like them a lot,” you beam. “They’re a lot like you.”

Jungkook smiles back, his strong hand moving to cup your jaw. He looks almost affectionate; for a second, it reminds you of the way Hoseok stares at you whenever he’s thinking of kissing you.

“You’re really cute.” Jungkook leans in closer, and that’s when you notice how much more dangerous he is. The spoken words are not unfamiliar to you, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that makes you exhale sharply.

“You know… when you’re about to cum, your cheeks turn pink,” his index finger ghosts over your cheekbone. “You blush so prettily.”

The finger traces down your cheek, the side of your neck. His fingernail scrapes your sensitive skin lightly, making its way down to your chest, between your breasts. You try to even out your breathing, but you’re so high-strung and sensitive from all the foreplay that it’s getting hard to think straight.

“You flush all the way down to here,” he purrs, silkily. “It makes me wonder… is that how far it goes?”

You know your body flushes really easily; you remember how fascinated Hoseok had been with the pink splotches that bloomed against your smooth skin whenever you were particularly aroused.

“Why don’t I show you,” you undo the buttons of your blouse, surprising yourself and Jungkook by your sudden forwardness.

The light material falls off your shoulders with a shrug; Jungkook follows the movement, eyeing the slope of your delicate neck, the curve of your breasts that are barely concealed behind your light pink sheer bra.

“You’re so pretty,” he awes before pulling you and slanting his lips over yours.

He sucks on your bottom lip; and you whimper, parting your lips, so he can sweep his tongue against yours.

“Pretty eyes, pretty nose, pretty lips,” he kisses down your forehead, your nose, your neck. “Hmm, why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth can do?”  

It’s embarrassing how fast you sink to your knees. You peer up and see Jungkook’s smug expression, eyebrows raised expectantly. Just when you slowly rub the palm of your hands up his denim covered thighs, his bedroom door bursts open, stopping you.

“Hyung! You were about to miss the fun.”

You dig your nails into Jungkook’s thighs in warning. You don’t care if he gets off poking sleeping tigers with short sticks, but you certainly don’t.

Hoseok assesses the situation in front of him. You watch with wide eyes as his expression darkens. You’ve never seen him look so pissed off.

“Jungkook… what part of off limits do you not understand? Just what are you playing at…”

“Oh, you were perfectly clear… But what if she begs me to touch her? What if she wants me to fuck her?” taunts Jungkook, wearing a shit-eating grin. “I think she wants me pretty bad… You saw her.”

“Can you two shut up and stop acting like I’m not here?” you grumble, reaching for your discarded blouse, trying to ignore the way their words have done nothing to quash the desire in your core.

Hoseok bends down and grabs your wrist. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about you,” he tsks, displeasure etched on his features. “Tell me… are you being bad because you want daddy to pay attention to you?”

You shiver, the words going straight to your pulsing heat, reminding you of everything he’s capable of. Hoseok had always liked trying new things in the bedroom. Even though he had things he liked before you two had started fucking—hair pulling, really drawn out oral sex, doing it in front of a mirror—the daddy kink had been something he had tried for the first time with you. He’s your daddy, and that thought, that you are the only one he uses that word with, amps up your arousal like nothing else can. It’s not like he carelessly uses the word either: he plays his part. You feel safe and secure with him, even when he pushes your limits, because you trust him to know when to stop.

“You make her call you daddy?” interjects Jungkook, surprised, a slight whine in his voice. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“You, Jeon, can go sit back against the headboard. Now.” Hoseok’s tone leaves no room for discussion.

It shocks you to see Jungkook, of all people, comply that quickly, but Hoseok grabs onto your chin, forcing you to look back up at him.

“After this, we’re going to have a nice, long talk about everything, okay?”

You nod, but he shakes his head. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants a verbal response, “Okay.”

“Right now I want you to show Jungkook how much you missed me. Is that okay, sweetheart?”

Fuck, it’s crazy how much you’ve missed hearing him call you that. It still sounds so sweet coming from his lips, but you know that he can make it sounds filthy in a matter of seconds.

“Yes,” you say breathily, but he holds your chin firmly, keeping his stare locked with yours.

“You have to tell me you want this if this is going to work,” he articulates, watching your face closely for any signs of protest.

“I want you, daddy,” you admit in a small voice. It’s difficult to voice the words in a normal situation, even if you like hearing it coming from Hoseok. But with Jungkook sitting right there, you feel even more embarrassed than usual.

Hoseok smiles at you, proud, his other hand moving up to pet your hair, nails slightly running across your scalp.

Suddenly, he digs his fingers into the underside of your jaw and you have to bite your tongue to suppress a whimper of pain.

“You say you want me, yet I find you on your knees, ready to take a cock that isn’t mine,” Hoseok growls, features twisting.

You’re reminded then, of Jungkook, and turn your head to face him. He’s leaning back against the headboard, slowly palming his erection through his black jeans, staring at the scene in front of him with obvious excitement.

Hoseok seems annoyed that your sole focus isn’t on him, and he makes a noise of displeasure.

“Why don’t you crawl up the bed and show me what your dirty mouth was planning on doing,” he orders you, glancing at Jungkook with an unreadable expression.

Automatically, as if your body isn’t your own, you edge towards Jungkook, who waits for you with a ravenous look in his eyes.

You’re a bit nervous, but you also know you’ve never been this aroused. The flimsy lace—beyond useless at this point—sticks and rubs against your folds, providing some much needed friction.

You run your hands slowly up his thighs, before reaching to unbuckle his belt. When you draw down his zipper, the sound rings loudly in your ears, and you lick your dry lips, frowning in concentration at the task at hand. You can see the outline of his bulge straining against his cotton briefs, and it looks thick.

“Mmh,” Jungkook moans approvingly, eyes never leaving your face as you pull his throbbing length out.

It’s so fucking hard and warm, and every bit as thick as you imagined it would be. He’s almost as big as Hoseok, which is impressive and makes you briefly wonder if the Pussy Terminator Squad was actually named that way for a reason. You flick your hair to the side, leaning in to flick your tongue tentatively. You look up, gauging his reactions; hoping for some verbal encouragement.

You’re unsure of what he likes, so you decide to just go for it, sticking to what Hoseok had taught you. Men are simple creatures, your roommate had said once; you suppose there’s truth to her words as you fist the base of his cock, running your tongue up against the most prominent vein. He’s hot and heavy on your tongue; looking up, you can tell how much he likes it. His mouth hangs open, fists turning white, watching the way you wrap your lips around him. You bob your head down, remembering how Hoseok likes to be blown. Except Jungkook’s girth is a bit thicker than Hoseok, and you mess up, teeth making contact with his skin. Jungkook bucks into your throat, hissing. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, easing you off him. Your look of apology morphs into determination, and you try again, steadily building a rhythm; tongue dragging up the underside of his erect length.

“Jesus, are you hungry for dick. Look at you take it all in,” his voice is low and raspy, and fuck, it sounds so good all you can do is suck harder. The groan you pull out of him comes from the back of his throat. “You’ve been waiting for my cock since I made you cum in your pants, isn’t that right? That’s—fuck!”

Hoseok cuts him off by delivering a sharp slap on your ass, causing you to jerk forward, Jungkook’s member hitting the back of your throat. The choking noise makes Jungkook’s hips stutter, only making his thick cock sink deeper in your throat; your eyes inadvertently start to tear up.

Hoseok rubs your skin, soothing away the initial sting. He isn’t usually the type to spank you, not unless you’ve really stepped out of line. You’re not the type to misbehave on purpose, not until recently anyway, so his actions surprise you.

You wonder if he’s punishing you for everything that’s happened so far, or if he’s actually trying to punish Jungkook and his mouthy tendencies. Either way, the pain only makes your skin burn, and distracts you from the way Jungkook is slightly thrusting his hips up into your throat. You’re keenly aware the position you’re in makes your skirt hike up. The thin, sodden lace covering you is probably so ruined that Hoseok can see through it.

You take a loud breath, stroking his shaft, slick with your spit.

“Why don’t you show Jungkook what I taught you,” you hear him instruct, his large hands massaging the globes of your ass.

“I- I’m not sure I can,” you whisper feebly, already way too fucked out.

“You will.” He scratches his nails against your cheeks, and you whimper.

You hate how well Hoseok knows exactly which buttons to push to throw you into a mess. There’s honestly nothing that gets you more frustrated and aroused than having him use your throat like he would your pussy. Before Hoseok, you hadn’t had much experience with giving blowjobs. With the few guys you went down on, they had ejaculated pretty quickly, ending things before you could really get into it. Hoseok had been different; guiding you, praising you, telling you exactly what he wanted you to do, taking you again and again until you could do it properly. Maybe it’s because his confidence matches his skills, or because he’s older with more experience; but being with someone who knows what they’re doing makes it easy for you to follow their lead.

He slides your skirt and underwear off, motioning for you to take off your bra. The lacy pieces that did not do much to cover anyway, are quickly discarded. Your nipples are hard and hurt; your back is slightly damp with sweat. Hoseok rearranges your position, so that you’re now sitting back on your knees, legs spread for balance, hands folded underneath you just how Hoseok likes it.

Jungkook pumps his length several times, and you follow the movement; the thought of it filling you anywhere consuming you. Your mouth parts open with desire. Jungkook leans over to grab the headboard with one hand, the veins on his arms protruding, muscles flexing.

“Wider,” he orders softly, his eyes hooded, stroking his cock in your face with his other hand.

You comply eagerly, your tongue darting out to lick his head, but he pulls back and makes a sound of disapproval.

“I want you to stay still while I use you.”

Fuck. A strangled sound escapes you. Even Hoseok doesn’t seem unaffected by his words; you see him pull out his length from his pants from the corner of your eyes.

He rubs the head of his shaft around your lips, smearing them with sticky wetness. Without warning he slides his length in your mouth, and all you can do is focus on keeping your jaw slack as he pumps in and out. He gives a few short, slow thrusts to see if you’re okay with it, and then gradually sinks deeper into your mouth, until he fucks the back of your throat.

You’ve practiced enough with Hoseok so that you start to adjust after a while, relaxing your throat. He slides against your tongue; the slick, wet, slurping sounds are the only thing you hear but soon, he starts to grunt and moan above you. The noises he makes have you shifting your hips, even though you know you aren’t supposed to press your legs together. Jungkook reaches down to pinch your nipples and you yelp, moaning loudly around his girth, spit dripping down the sides of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he pulls out of your mouth with a wet smack, a trail of saliva hanging between your mouth and his member obscenely. He fists the bottom of his cock, eyes wild. “Please let me fuck her. I’ve wanted to fill her pussy up, but I’ve been holding back because I know you didn’t want me to. It’s really taking me everything not to pound into her from behind.”

“You’ve done a lot of shit I didn’t want you to do,” Hoseok raises his eyebrows, amusement flashing across his features at the desperate picture in front of him.

“Oh, cut the crap,” snaps Jungkook, losing it. Hoseok’s jaw tenses. “You got off on it—I saw you. Admit it; you like it when I play around with her for you. You like knowing she’ll do anything to please you.”

Both their gazes slide back over to you. You don’t realize it, but you’re dripping on the bed.

“Look at her. I think she’s really pretty, hyung. All wet and desperate for my cock.” You bite your lip, holding back a moan. His words only ignite you further, but you know he’s really testing Hoseok’s limits.

You jump slightly when Hoseok reaches over and grabs the back of Jungkook’s neck, squeezing until Jungkook can’t help but wince in pain.

“Say that again,” he says steadily, digging his fingers so that he can watch Jungkook squirm beneath his hold.

“I—” Jungkook bites his lower lip, and holy fuck, his pupils are blown so wide, you can’t tell if his eyes are any other color than black.

“She’s pretty, hyung,” he finally concedes.

“That’s right,” Hoseok releases his grip on Jungkook’s neck, leaving behind red imprints. “___ is pretty, and dripping wet, because all she wants is to please her daddy.”

The words have an immediate effect on you and Jungkook.

“Fuck, hyung, you have to let me fuck her,” he pumps his cock, thrusting into his hand, abandoning any semblance of composure.

“I have to?” Hoseok repeats in a way that tells Jungkook he’s messed up.

“Please, hyung,” he tries, but knowing Hoseok, he’s going to make Jungkook beg explicitly until he’s satisfied.

“I’m not convinced you want this enough.”

“Are you fucking with me? My cock is leaking and my balls are ready to burst,” he protests, tugging on his cock for emphasis.

Hoseok snorts and rolls his eyes. “You always ruin the mood.”

“Please let me fuck her pussy. Don’t you want to see me fuck her? Fuck, I bet she’ll look amazing coming on my cock, milking me dry,” Jungkook pleads, rambling; eyes screwed shut. “I wanted to cum all over her face, but it’ll look better dripping down her pussy, won’t it?”

Hoseok considers his proposal. It seems to please him; the visuals Jungkook’s words conjure make him palm his own erection. He turns to you, eyes dark and promising.

“How much do you want it, sweetheart? How much do you want Jungkook to slide into your wet cunt?”

You bite your lip, unsure of how honest you should be. Listening to them, watching them; all of it is insanely hot, but it’s also taught you things. You had thought Jungkook was the more dangerous one; he’s rough with his words, his language crude and unfiltered. You’ve been too immersed by the flashiness of his dirty talk to realize that everything he’s been doing has been to please Hoseok—or, at the very least, to get a reaction out of him.

You might have completely different personalities, but the both of you like getting Hoseok to crack his façade. It’s funny how Hoseok is either cheerful or deadly serious; but both sides of his personality easily mask his personal frustrations. You’re not quite sure what game he’s playing, but you know that Jungkook is using you to get to Hoseok. Back at the club, and even earlier in the living room, he had ensured that your body was fully on display for Hoseok. It would be so simple for Jungkook to ease his throbbing member into your heat from behind, your face twisting in pleasure, body sheen with sweat—all of it for Hoseok.

Hoseok pets your head, taking in your glazed eyes; the familiar gesture centering you. You blink, battering away images of Jungkook making you fall apart in front of him. You struggle to remember his question.

“Tell me,” he commands harshly, the hand running through your hair tenderly contrasting with his hard tone.  "Daddy wants to know how much of a slut you want to be tonight.“

His words have a visceral effect on you; you shudder violently, trying to rub your legs together; your core throbbing.

“So much,” you confess, eyes shutting close. “Want so much, I- I’m—”

You stop to take a shaky breath, your entire body buzzing with want.

“How do you want it?” asks Jungkook.

At first you think the question is directed at you, but Jungkook is looking over at Hoseok, waiting for his answer. Once again, you’re reminded that the both of you want to please Hoseok. That’s the only reason why Jungkook, who is undoubtedly a dominant, obeys Hoseok.

“I want __ facing me,” he directs, unbuckling his belt.

“Mmh good,” agrees Jungkook, taking off his clothes. “I want to see her ass clench when she tries to take me in.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but helps position you over Jungkook’s body. Jungkook sits behind you, back against the headboard. The realization that you’re actually going to do this—that you want to do this—sets in.

It scares you a bit, how you’re doing something so outrageous. It’s not like you believe sex has to be exclusively between two people who love each other, but you’ve also never, ever imagined that the guy you have feelings for would watch you have sex with someone else. You’re not sure what that says about you—about the relationship binding the three of you—and you don’t know if you want to find out.

Hoseok cradles your jaw, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you for the first time.

You sigh into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, trying to bring him closer. Your hard nipples brush against his naked chest, the sweet friction causing you to moan. You’ve missed this—you’ve missed him. Everything with Jungkook feels amazing, but there’s nothing more you want than for Hoseok to do all those things to you, too. He knows your body so well; a simple kiss is enough to short-circuit your brain, rendering you speechless.

But this kiss is different than usual. You can’t place exactly what is different, but the feeling is not the same. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’ve touched him since you two separated, maybe it’s because you can feel Jungkook’s hands gripping your waist tightly from behind you…

“You’re doing well, sweetheart,” he praises, pecking your lips one last time. “You have to tell me if this is too much, okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, wishing you could kiss him again.

His lips curve and he pulls away, going to sit down on the chair by the desk across the bed. You swallow hard, realizing he’ll have a front seat view of the action; his eyes free to roam your body as he pleases.

You brace yourself on the hard muscles of Jungkook’s thighs, and lift yourself up, teeth biting down on your bottom lip. You’re so slippery; the red tip of his shaft slips a couple of times against you, brushing over your clit. Right before you sink down, you make eye contact with Hoseok, who is looking at you like he’s never seen anyone so amazing in his life.

Jungkook’s thick and hot. The stretch you feel when he enters you is only secondary to the white hot flash of relief that washes over you; finally, you are filled.

There’s nothing hotter than this, you think. Nothing hotter than seeing Hoseok sitting in front of you, fist sliding over his erection, eyes trained on the spot where you lower yourself on his friend.

Everything feels so good—so, so good—that you feel something inside you snap, walls contracting. You arch your back, mouth open in a silent scream; your nails raking down Jungkook’s thighs. Maybe if you hadn’t been teased past your limits you would be embarrassed with how fast you’ve come, but any of your remaining decency seems to have been thrown out the window a long time ago.

”Fuck!“ Jungkook grunts, hips bucking up in response.

His hand comes down on the right side of your ass so hard you feel the skin rippling. You’ve never been spanked so hard, and the initial shock has you faltering, eyes blown wide.

Hoseok catches your eye, reaching down to play with his balls. The sight has you inhaling sharply, stomach clenching.

“Faster,” Jungkook growls, hand coming down and spanking you even harder. You cry out, forcing yourself to move again; the pain quickly fading into searing pleasure. “Faster. Ride my cock like a bitch in heat.”

You sob out his name, head thrown back in unrestrained pleasure. You’re moving so fast, your breasts are bouncing, thighs burning. It shouldn’t feel so good, but you’re building yourself up to a second orgasm. You can feel your walls tightening, making it hard for you to go as fast, even though you’re so slick, Jungkook’s skin is covered in your juices.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck—,”Jungkook pants in your ear, bites down on your neck. “Our slut is so fucking tight.”

You moan brokenly, walls clamping even tighter. He snaps his hips into yours furiously, the fleshy smacks so loud you feel them ring in your ears. One of his hands gathers your hair into a ponytail and he tugs hard, baring your throat. You’re begging, shouting; all you know is that you need to come, you need it. You’re too far gone to understand what you’re saying, but whatever it is, it has Hoseok pump his cock to the sound of Jungkook’s slamming into you, rough and hard.

All of your muscles tense up and you go still; slack-jawed. You explode—white, opaque liquid gushes out, soaking your skin, Jungkook’s thighs and stomach, the sheets. You vibrate; shockwaves of white, hot pleasure rippling through your entire body. You’re not able to speak, not able to think. You don’t hear Jungkook shout your name, pulling your hair, fingers grabbing at your waist; hips stuttering into yours as he releases spurts of white.

You nearly fall forward, but Jungkook wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you down, so you lean on his sticky chest.

Hoseok clambers onto the bed, and through your daze you can make out the starved look in his eyes. The sight arouses you, and you whimper audibly because you don’t know if your body can take any more, still reeling from the shattering orgasm.

“Can you take more?” he asks you, hands stroking up the expanse of your legs, pulling them further apart. His member visibly twitches as he watches the creamy mixture of both Jungkook and your releases dripping down onto the sheets.

You don’t know if you can; you’re still so sensitive from before. But you want him so bad—have been dreaming about this for weeks now—so you nod, feebly.

“You have to tell me, sweetheart. Otherwise, I don’t know what you want.” His eyes never leave yours, hands rubbing your thighs.

“I want you,” you manage, after swallowing hard.

You’re not sure what kind of expression you’re making, but he suddenly leans down, kissing you so hard you have to break away to take a breath. Really, you could kiss him all day and never get tired of it, of him. You’re not sure if it’s love. For many obvious reasons, you hope it’s not. But when his soft lips press into yours again, you can feel your heart stop for a second.

“You’ve been a good girl,” he softens, leaving soft kisses on your face. “Daddy’s going to take care of you now.”

He lines up his length with your entrance, eyes fixed on the spot as he pushes in.

He’s clearly past the point of being composed, because he immediately settles for a rapid pace. Yet even in this state of arousal, his movements are fluid and powerful like a dancer’s. One of his hands squeezes your breast, thumb flicking over the hard nub. He’s going so hard that with every pump of his shaft inside your wet heat, he pushes your body into Jungkook’s, who is still sitting behind you.

Having Hoseok like this again—forehead beaded with sweat, eyes narrowed in concentration—you’re reminded why he never fails to make you a needy puddle of mush.

When Hoseok smiles and plays around he’s already devastatingly charming. But when he’s serious, collected, almost to the point of being indifferent, there’s something about him that makes your knees weak. He’s always in control in the bedroom; and it delights you, thrills you, knowing you’re at the mercy of someone with so much self-control and power.

“You like that, sweetheart?” His thrusts are merciless, and you’re helpless to the onslaught of pleasure that racks through your entire body. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Daddy fucking another man’s come out of your dirty pussy.”

You splutter, sounds coming out of your mouth, not making any sense. Behind you, Jungkook grunts; the hands that keep you in place dig into your flesh, bruising, only adding to your pleasure.

“Use your words,” he commands, punctuating every word with a roll of his hips.

“P- please,” you beg, barely able to say it properly.

“Tell me what you want!” Hoseok pushes into you harder, deeper, holding your legs open with both hands.

“I w- want to come,” you manage after a couple of tries, your eyes fluttering close.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to think; you’re surprised the words came out coherently. With every hard thrust, you collide with Jungkook’s hard body, reminding you exactly of everything that’s happened so far. Flashes of Jungkook and Hoseok dance behind your eyelids, and you feel yourself slip away, helpless, towards your third orgasm.

You cum so hard that you think you actually black out for two or three seconds. You’re not exactly sure what happens, but when you blink the spots away, Hoseok’s softening member is sliding out of you, his cum dribbling down your soaked thighs. Your oversensitive walls spasm as you unknowingly try to keep him inside you. Everything feels wet, sticky with sweat and cum; the air heavy with the distinct smell of sex.

You’re completely wiped dry; and you hope they’ve had their fill, because you think you might cry if they try to push you further. You think you might never recover from this night; your limbs already start to feel sore, and you’re certain you’ll have trouble walking tomorrow. But worse, you’re afraid they’ve completely ruined you—that any pleasure you get in the future will pale in comparison to this.

Hoseok’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he can kiss the crown of your head tenderly. Your limbs detangle themselves from Jungkook’s as you find yourself in Hoseok’s embrace. You should be happy about it—this is what you’ve wanted since the start of it all.

“I’ll let you guys have your moment.” Jungkook gets up from the bed, gathering his clothes.

You watch him leave his room with a weird sinking feeling. You want to tell him he can stay, but you’re not sure where you stand with him now that Hoseok’s back in the picture. You’re not sure if you can tell him to stay, if it’s appropriate to ask of him. Maybe all of you don’t care about being appropriate during sex, but now that you aren’t having sex, you’re confused about everything.

You don’t have feelings for Jungkook, it’s just—it feels wrong to make him leave after all of this. You miss feeling his warmth for some reason; you miss feeling his hard, toned chest pressed up behind you, his pants hot against your skin. You blame these thoughts on the post-bliss daze, because there’s no way you feel anything more than sexual attraction towards Jungkook, right?

“___” Hoseok murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing your sides languidly. “You know I’m never letting you go now.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. His chocolate eyes are staring at you with a fondness you’ve only seen glimpses of in the past.

“Does that mean…?”

“Mmh,” he nods, leaning down to kiss you once. “I should have asked you earlier, I’m sorry. When we talked in the club, I wanted to tell you but I got scared again.”

Your heart beats fast, your ears not quite believing. There are hundreds of questions running through your mind but before you can voice any of them Hoseok continues.

“I really like you. You’re more than just a good fuck,” he winces at his words. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “You mean a lot more than that. I want to be that guy you want me to be. I want to give us a try. So… If I haven’t messed things up too much, would you be my girlfriend?”

He says everything you want to hear; your heart leaps in your throat. Before you can even think twice about it, you’re saying yes. You don’t tell him that right as he leans in to kiss you, Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.

.

.

 a/n : lmao if you’ve somehow made it all the way down here, i’m gonna take a second and promote safe sex !!! condoms are great !!! please use them

➵ sequel 

[worldsawaybook]

Chapter 2

The crowd broke out in excited chatter, some going down to the examination room to congratulate the man in charge.

Bethany and I slipped back towards the elevators. “That was…wild,” she said.

“That’s definitely one way to describe it,” I responded.

“But also strange.”

I nodded. In the back of my mind I was still thinking about the translation the Alchemists gave for “kidnapped”. I knew I had seen the word before in a text, in a very rare text, but I couldn’t remember what it meant.

We stepped back into the afternoon sunlight and made our way to the small courtyard outside the Text Department. Bethany stared at the entryway.

“You’re so lucky that you get to study here.” She said wistfully, “And I’m so lucky that I get to marry such a smart man.”

“I’m not that smart.” I replied, “I can’t even remember what kidnapped means.”

Bethany’s face changed, her eyes going wide.

“You’ve seen the word before?”

“Yes, in an old manuscript I think...”

“Could you find it again?”

I shrugged.

“I can’t even remember where I found it, I think it was shelved incorrectly.”

I rubbed the side of my head as I felt a migraine coming on. I got them occasionally, a side effect of all the dust I inhaled on a daily basis and not getting enough sunlight. At least that’s what Bethany’s brother Connor had told me. He specialized in Alchemy related to the human body, and I often went to him for advice.   “Maybe you should,” Bethany whispered.

“What?” “Maybe you should try and find the manuscript again.” She said, a bit louder this time, “It could have important information in it that the Alchemists could use.”

“I might.” I said, smiling at her, “But I have a lot of work.”

That was a lie. Things had actually been pretty slow in the Text Department lately, and I spent most of my time there wandering around the library.

“I have time for lunch though, would you care to join me?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I have class soon.” she said, turning towards the bell tower at the center of campus, “But you’re still coming over for dinner tomorrow right?” “I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, smiling.

“Good.”

She reached for my hand but stopped short, looking concerned.

“Oliver your hands...they’re shaking.”

“What?”

“Look at them.”

Oh, that had never happened before.

“Just a side effect of the migraines.” I said, before looking back up at her “Don’t worry about me, you’re going to be late.”

She glanced at me one last time before turning and walking off in the direction of the Church School.

I spent the rest of the day holed up in the College library, going over different texts to try and learn more about the sinners. I discovered nothing new, only the same horror stories they taught us when we were younger.

I was beginning to give up hope when I heard someone nearby call my name.

“Oliver!”

I looked all around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. I left the corner I had been studying in and made my way to the main hallway of the library. I immediately spotted Bethany’s brother, looking down the stacks presumably looking for me.

“Over here, Connor!” I called, wincing as my voice echoed down the hall.

Connor flashed me an over-eager smile and ran towards me. Honestly, there was something about him that was a little bit off. I couldn’t explain it. He was friendly, smart,  and a member of the most well-respected family in our village. A family that I would soon be marrying into.

“How are things in the land of paper and dust my brother?” He asked.

I couldn't help but laugh. He always had an interesting way of phrasing things.

“It’s been a little quiet, but things should be picking up soon.”

Winter was approaching, and normally once the cold set in all the departments began focusing on end of year research. Students and professors alike would be coming into our department at all hours to seek out our expertise.  

“If you have some free time, I’d love to steal you away for an hour or two.” “Sure,” I said, heading back toward my study corner to put away my texts.

“I was given a very interesting new assignment today.” Connor whispered as he followed me through the stacks, “And I could use your help.”

I stopped and turned to Connor.

“Really?”

“Yep, but you can’t tell anyone.” He added quickly, “It’s top secret and only alchemists are supposed to know about it, but we need a text and language expert.”

“I haven’t studied much about languages, but I’ll try my best.”

Connor nodded excitedly and rubbed his hands together. “Thank you so much Oliver, you’re the best!”

Connor quickly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest.  

Surprised, I dropped my study tools all over the floor. Pens and pencils began rolling away, and my notebook spilled out several pages of notes.

“I’m sorry!” Connor said loudly, “I’m just so excited. I’ve never worked on a project this big before. It feels like I’m finally moving up...”

“I understand,” I replied, leaning down to collect things.

“Let me help you pick all this up.”

“It’s really ok Connor-”

“What’s this?”

I froze when I saw what he was holding. It was a sheet of notes I had been working on, with the word “kidnapped” written in block letters in the center of the paper.

“Just research,” I said, moving away from him.

Connor stared at me. His expression was unreadable.

“How do you know this word?”

As soon as he asked, I knew I couldn’t tell him the whole truth.

“I came across it in an old manuscript, about a year ago I think…”

I suddenly felt a stabbing pain in my head, and an image flashed in front of my eyes. It went by too quickly for me to figure out what it was, but I suddenly felt very sick.

“Has someone already talked to you about the project?” Connor whispered, “Another alchemist maybe?”

I hesitated. I had no idea how to explain myself to Connor.

“I overheard some Alchemists talking at lunch.” I lied, “I’d never heard the word before, and I was curious. None of them seemed to know what it meant.”

Hopefully, Connor would believe me.

“I can’t believe they were being so careless!” he said, shaking his head, “But I trust you, Oliver, you won’t tell anyone will you?”

I guess I didn’t have to mention that his sister heard the word as well.

“Of course not,” I replied.

“Excellent! I fill you in on the rest over dinner…” +++++++++++++

The two of us walked silently towards the College Dining Hall. Connor kept shaking his head and smiling, occasionally looking up at the sky.

“Do you ever think about how many undiscovered things there are in the world?”

“Not really,” I said, gripping the strap on my work bag tightly.

“There’s just so much! It’s like the Good Book says, all things unknown are for the eyes of the wise. Getting to work on this project proves that I’m wise enough!”

“Father Lucas must be very proud.”

Connor stopped just outside the door to the Dining Hall, his face falling slightly.

“Some of my fellow alchemists think I’m only a part of the project because Father Lucas helped with the discovery, but I know I got in by my own merit.”

“Of course you did.” I said, pushing the door open, “Let’s get some food, then you can tell me all about this discovery.”

We grabbed two plates and filled them up with food before heading out into the dining room to find a table.  

“By the way, did I see you and Bethany over by the Labs this morning?” Connor asked.

I quickly conceived another lie, so Connor wouldn’t suspect anything about Bethany and I sneaking into the Labs.

“I was tired of sitting in the library with nothing to do, so she offered to walk around campus with me.”  

“That was sweet of her.” he said, smiling, “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” I replied, “Worried about finals, even though she has no reason to be. She’s the smartest girl in her class.”

“Church School finals were the easiest tests I’ve ever had to take.” Connor said, shaking his head, “I don’t know about you, but I found them almost too easy…”

“Oh definitely,” I said, relaxing a bit as we took our seats at a table near the corner of the room.

The College Dining Hall was warming and inviting place, lined with fireplaces and tapestries depicting the history of the College. Dark wooden tables were arranged throughout the room, some big, some long, and some small. Large windows looked out on Mary’s Lake, a location of particular significance as it was the starting point of the Soul River. The River ran alongside the mountains, acting as a trade and transportation route for the whole country. I stared at the lake, wondering if it’s water originated somewhere inside the mountains…or perhaps beyond them.

“Tell me about this discovery,” I asked.

Connor looked around, noting that the only other students were all the way on the other side of the room. He then turned back to me and leaned in close. “I thought it was impossible when they first told me.” He said, “So prepare yourself.”

“Okay.”

“We found a Sinner.”

Even though I already knew what he was going to tell me, I was still amazed. We’d always been told that Sinners died out long ago, falling victim to their lust and gluttony.

“How do they know it’s really a Sinner?” I asked, curious to hear his answer.

“Father Lucas consulted scripture and confirmed it.” he explained, his eyes wide and excited, “They really exist.”

“What is it like?"

“Wild that’s for sure.” He said, starting in on his food, “It’s a female, young, comes across as particularly spirited.”

“How so?”

“It keeps trying to escape,” he explained, sounding annoyed, “and it lashes out any time we try and communicate with it. We haven’t learned much from the creature itself, but its body has offered up a wealth of information.” Despite the warmth of the room, I suddenly felt cold. I didn’t want to hear about the experiments they were probably performing on it, so I changed the subject.  

“Has anyone been able to communicate with it?" Connor took a sip of his drink and then responded.

“Kent Cromwell.”

I immediately felt better about the situation after hearing this news. Kent Cromwell was a family friend, and unlike most people in our village, Kent never married. There had been rumors about him going around for years, whispers as to why he didn’t have a family of his own. Some said he’d been engaged at one point but his fiancé died under mysterious circumstances. Others said he fathered a child out of wedlock, but the mother and child disappeared. I commonly referred to him as “Uncle Kent”, even though we weren’t related.

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” I said, noticing the frustrated look on Connor’s face.  

“I know you and your family know him fairly well, but I always thought there was something off about him.”

I nodded in understanding. Uncle Kent was different, but he was a smart man. “He’s had a hard life.” I replied, “At least that’s what my parents told me. He lost many people he cared about; that much death can take a toll on people.” We were both quiet for a while as we ate our food. Finally, I became too curious and had to ask about the Sinner again.

“So what has he learned from it?”

“Who?”

“Kent. Has he learned anything from the Sinner?"

Connor smiled darkly.

“Kent doesn’t know that we’ve been recording his sessions with the creature. Mostly it’s been spouting gibberish and lies.”

“Like what?”

Connor finished off his drink before speaking again.

“So far the most outlandish thing it’s said is that it’s royalty.” he replied, chuckling to himself, “Can you imagine?” My eyes widened. “Really?”

“It’s completely unbelievable!” he said, shaking his head “Princess of the Sinners! It keeps saying that her father, the King is going to come for her and kill all of us!”

I stared at him in shock as he burst out in uncontrollable laughter. I’d spent a whole semester researching the concept of royalty and its purpose in history, but I never imagined that a monarchy could still exist.   “Fascinating…” I said, pulling out some note paper, “Their society must be so different.” “I think the word you’re looking for is crazy,” Connor said.

“Maybe not.” I said, writing everything he told me so far down in my notes, “How do you know the things she’s saying aren’t true?”

“Are you joking?”

“Humor me.”

“Absolutely not!” he said loudly, before lowering his volume again, “The creature is clearly out of its mind. Do you know at one point it said the man who brought me here isn’t holy or wise! We were amazed that she even knew those words! “So the Sinners know things about us?”

“Apparently.” Connor said, shrugging, “Then it started saying the most vulgar things about Father Lucas, calling him some made up name…” “What was the name?”

“I can’t remember.” He said, “If they invite you to join the project I’m sure they’ll share it with you.”

I nodded, taking my notes and returning them to my bag.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to head out.”

“That’s fine.” Connor said, smiling “ Don’t work too hard though! Bethany just keeps saying you spend too much time in the Library, and I agree with her”

“Of course you do.”

“She really cares about you.” he said, standing up to walk me out, “I’m really glad you two are getting married, we all are.”

“Thanks.”

“We should get dinner together more often.” He said, “Once you’re married I won’t get to see you as often.”

“Yeah.” “I’ll see you at our house for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.”

Perhaps if I went over early I could ask Father Lucas about his discovery. “Well, I’ll let you run off back to your cave now,” Connor joked, patting me on the back and rubbing my shoulder, “I’m heading back to the Labs. Kent is supposed to be taking another crack at the creature later tonight.”

I turned back towards the Text and Literature Department, prepared to spend the rest of the night researching Sinners and looking for answers.