#‘drink this much by this hour’ bottles that I passively sip at

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

Hello! Just a reminder to take care of yourself, drink water and eat! If you need to take a break, take one! Grab a snack and a drink! Don’t overwork yourself and make sure to enforce your boundaries! Have a good day!

-Hyena Mew Anon

Thank you very much sweet anon. I am doing my best to do all of those things

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 3

Best Bad Decision Ever

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged)

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff; alcohol use; Maree makes a baffling choice

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“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Kix said.

This is possibly the worst idea I’ve had in years, Maree thought. She was under no delusions that the office gossip chain would be any kinder than Denau, though it would likely be couched in passive aggressive little barbs. She doubted anyone would have raised an eyebrow if Kix had only been a client, but his appearance at the gala would certainly fuel speculation that she was pursuing him out of mercenary considerations. 

It was unavoidable now. Kix’s confrontation with Denau had undoubtedly already ignited a maelstrom of swirling rumors. Disappearing with him for hours immediately afterward would only make the pair more conspicuous. The problem was, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She’d been drawn to him from the moment he walked into her office, and every shred of caution flew out of her head the instant he took the blow that was meant for her. It was not so much the fact that he had protected her specifically as the unwavering sense that he would have stepped in to protect anyone who was being targeted by someone bigger and stronger. It was wildly attractive.

Besides, she rationalized, he was only staying in the Hosnian system for a few days, which meant that there was no possibility that he’d be interested in anything long-term. It was perfect. Any scandalized whispers among the staff would die down once he was gone. And Maree would be free to continue her life without interruption, just the way she always did.

They wandered a circuitous path through the garden, passing the bottle back and forth and chatting amiably about nothing in particular. By the time they reached the large central fountain, the wine was gone, and they transitioned seamlessly to the bottle Kix had carried, which turned out to be Pamarthen Port in a Storm.

He took a long drink and then passed her the bottle. She took a generous sip and immediately sputtered.

“That is some high-octane hooch,” she coughed.

“You didn’t know what it was when you grabbed it?” he asked, amused.

“Nope, that’s half the fun,” she said. “One time I made it all the way back here and found out I’d snagged a bottle of Renan Irongut. You cannot imagine the hangover.”

She shuddered delicately, and Kix chuckled.

“My feet are killing me,” she said. “Let’s sit here for a while.”

“On the ground? Your dress is going to get dirty,” Kix objected.

“So’s your suit. We’ll match!” she said.

“We already match,” he pointed out.

She looked down at their complementary outfits and laughed. “So we do. But who wore it better?”

“You,” he said immediately.

“I beg to differ.” She plopped to the ground and let out a relieved sigh. “That’s better. Whoever made those shoes should be arrested for sentient rights violations. ‘Cruel and unusual’ doesn’t begin to describe them.”

Kix sat next to her, lowering himself to the ground with considerably more grace than she had.

“Shall I give you a foot massage?” he offered.

“Uh, probably better not,” she said. “I was walking in only my stockings through the entire library. Force alone knows what’s on those floors.”

“Whatever it was, I guarantee I’ve seen worse,” he said.

“Maybe some other time,” she said.

He leaned his back against the wall of the fountain as she took another sip and grimaced. The liquor burned going down, and she was starting to feel an agreeable numbness in her fingertips.

“You ever bring other people back here?” he asked.

“Apparently it’s frowned upon to hide and drink alone, so yes,” she said. “Usually Valsi. Also Tane, a couple of times. They hate these functions as much as I do.”

“Valsi? Is that Dr. Corruss?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said. 

“I thought you said academics were boring.”

Her head was beginning to spin. Apparently, Port in a Storm worked quickly.

“Valsi and I are the exceptions that prove the rule. We’ve been best friends since university, and she’s been right by my side, cheering me on through every bad decision I’ve ever made.”

“Is that what this is?” Kix asked, passing the bottle back to her. “A bad decision?”

“That remains to be seen,” she said with a crooked little smile, and took another drink.

“What about Tane?” he asked casually.

Maree shrugged. “I don’t know him that well. He only joined the Archive a year ago. I had no idea he had such a bloodthirsty streak. We usually just argue about something pointless, like whether the DC-15A carbine or the DC-17 was the superior blaster.” 

Kix smiled. “And which side do you take?”

“Whichever side Tane doesn’t. The point isn’t really to win the debate; it’s just to get him worked up until he starts ranting,” Maree said. She shifted to face him. “Is your shoulder as comfortable as it looks?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her abrupt change of subject. “I’ve never tested it. Why don’t you find out and let me know?”

She hummed happily and snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and dragged his thumb in lazy circles on her hip, pulling the silky fabric of her gown between his fingers in a hypnotic motion.

“It’s an excellent shoulder pillow,” she said. “Ten out of ten, would cuddle again. I can write you a letter of recommendation, if you’d like, for your future prospective cuddle partners. I write excellent letters of recommendation. All the interns ask me for them. Half of my job is writing letters of recommendation.”

A lock of hair worked itself loose from her updo, and Kix brushed it softly away from her face.

“You’re fun when you drink,” he said.

“Are you saying I’m boring when I’m sober?” she demanded with mock offense.

“Not at all, but I have to admit I wasn’t expecting you to be a clandestine garden snuggler when I met you. You seemed so serious about your work.”

“That’s because I am serious about my work,” she said. “My work takes up all of my seriousness, so I don’t have any left over for the rest of my life. Besides, I don’t snuggle just anyone in my secret garden. Only the ones who throw themselves into danger to defend me.”

Kix snorted. “I was hardly in danger. That idiot couldn’t even land a punch.”

“Maybe not on you,” she said sincerely, “but I don’t know the first thing about fighting, and he could have seriously hurt me if you hadn’t stepped in. Thank you.”

He squeezed his arm tighter around her and leaned his cheek onto her hair.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

Maree’s heart fluttered. He said it with such confidence, as if it were the most natural and obvious thing in the galaxy. She didn’t doubt him for a moment. It was a heady feeling, and she stifled it before she could get carried away. She was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and the lingering pulse of adrenaline. 

“You should come back here in the daylight,” she said, steering the topic in a less fraught direction. “There are some really incredible plant specimens.”

“I’ve seen some wild plants in the Outer Rim,” he said. “Plants big enough to swallow a man whole, and they do it, too.”

“Is that where you’re from? The Outer Rim?”

“Sometimes,” he said vaguely. “I travel a lot for work.”

“What do you do for work?” she asked.

“Asset retrieval.”

“‘Asset retrieval’? As in, bounty hunting?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “At least, not yet.”

“I can introduce you to the head librarian if you’re interested in expanding into the overdue library book retrieval market,” she offered.

He laughed. “I’ll keep it in mind if I ever need a career change. So tell me about these plant specimens.”

“I don’t think they keep any man-eaters here. I could be wrong, but if they do, they’d be in a secure containment tank like the other deadly plants.”

“Amazing how something so beautiful can kill you so easily,” he observed.

“And in such creative ways,” she agreed. “There’s a rumor—I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I heard that a couple years ago, two of the botanists got exposed to a toxic pollen with some—uh—let’s say unique properties.”

He shifted to look down at her.

“What kind of properties?” he asked, intrigued.

She shot him an impish look from under her lashes, then stretched up to whisper in his ear.

“No way!” he exclaimed.

“I swear to the gods,” she laughed. “I mean, it might just be a rumor, but every time they ran into each other for months after that, they both looked like they wanted one of those man-eating plants to swallow them.”

“What happened to them?” he asked.

“That’s the best part,” she giggled. “They got married.”

Kix guffawed. “Do you think the pollen caused them to act on their existing feelings, or do you think they developed feelings for each other after the incident?”

Maree shrugged. “We’ll never know. Supposedly, the Archive director had the plants destroyed so there wouldn’t be any other incidents. If the story is actually true, that could have been a huge liability for the library.”

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” he said.

They talked and laughed and snuggled late into the night, and the level of liquid in the bottle dropped lower and lower until at last it was empty.

“I should get you home,” he sighed into her hair.

“Mmm, big day tomorrow,” she agreed. “It won’t be as fun as this.”

“Do you think the gala is still going strong?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m not risking it,” she said. “I’ll take you out the staff entrance. It’s closer than the main entrance, anyway. We can get a taxi from there.”

She put her shoes back on and Kix helped her to her feet.

“Ugh, I should have just left them on in the first place,” she said. “I think they hurt worse now than they did before.”

“Come here,” Kix said.

“Hmm?” she asked.

“Put your hands around my shoulders.”

“Mr. Kix, are you trying to seduce me?” she giggled as she obeyed.

“When I do, you won’t need to ask,” he said.

He picked her up by the waist and swung her up onto the wide stone ledge surrounding the fountain.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

He turned to stand in front of her so she was facing his back.

“Hop on,” he said. “I don’t know where I’m going, so you’ll have to navigate.”

“Or I could walk,” she pointed out.

“Could you, though? Really?”

“Yes,” she grumbled. “It just wouldn’t be very fun.”

“Well, I happen to think this is very fun, so climb on my back and tell me where to go from here.”

“Fine,” she said, hiking up her skirts so she could wrap her legs around his midsection. 

He hoisted her onto his back, and she whooped with laughter as she clung unsteadily to his shoulders. He gave her a little boost to settle her more securely.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Onward, noble steed!” she exclaimed.

He carried her effortlessly through the darkened library, following her directions to the letter. She marveled at his strength. He didn’t even break a sweat, and she was not exactly light as a feather. Before many minutes had passed, they exited the building and she slid off his back as they hailed a taxi. 

“Where to?” asked the droid driver.

Maree gave it her address as they settled into the back seat. The night air was frigid, and she had neglected to retrieve her cloak from the coat check before they embarked on their garden excursion. She leaned closer to Kix for warmth, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her securely against his body. They didn’t speak during the ride, and Maree drifted pleasantly. When the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her building, Kix told the droid to wait while he walked her to her door.

“This is me,” Maree said.

She was sorely tempted to invite him in, but her lingering tatters of professionalism won out in the end. 

“Thank you for getting me home safely,” she said instead. “You’ve been watching out for me all night.”

“It was my sincere pleasure,” Kix said. “Until tomorrow, Maree.”

“Good night, Kix,” she said.

---

Chapter 4

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar

[i-like-sparkly-things]

Right in front of you

A Halstead!sister

Jay held a strong grip on your upper arm as he led you out to the school hall. "What the hell was that Y/N? Are you happy now? God.... I can't believe you cheated!" he sneered, "EYES UP HERE Y/N!! "

"I'm sorry" you sighed, locking eyes with Jay, silently praying that he would let this go. It was only one time anyway. It wasn't a big deal.

But he let out a hollow laugh, "Thirty percent, Y/N, THIRTY PERCENT. You're going to have to do better than a half-ass apology. What exactly are you sorry for? Huh? For cheating? Or being caught?"

Requested : Yes by @study-coffee-chicago : They found out she cheated on a test in high school...and Jay's the one who has to pick her up.

Warnings : angry!Jay (lots of it), alcohol, swearing, anxiety attacks

Note : I am so so so sorry this so longg 😭 I ended up so far away from the actual request kayela please don't block mee 😭 butt I've learned alot in writing abt active and passive voices and using more imagery Yayy!! I'm so glad that yall are ok with my grammar thank uu🥺

MASTERLIST HERE

The piles of homework and flashcards you needed to memorize had no end in sight, and now that Will was taking nightshifts along with his usual double shifts, and intelligence was tracking down an underground drug cartel, you spent most days alone, allowing your mind to engulf you.

Every time you sat down to study, you felt a striking pain in your chest. In mere seconds the air was sucked out of your lungs and you found yourself panting, desperate to get oxygen back into your body.

You would be surrounded by books and worksheets and you could swear the walls of your room were closing in towards you, trapping you in a sea of incomplete work.

You failed to follow the schedules and to do lists you had made for yourself. Staring at them, hoping the essays would write themselves.

All you needed, was a break. A moment to relax from anything and everything.

So when your best friend mentioned that her brother used to drink a little before he appeared for an exam, your mind was quick to catch on.

Last night you had borrowed a little bit of beer from Jay's stash of alcohol and took a few sips of it as you studied.

The more you drank, the less bitter it became. It was a weird, new sensation, but it worked nonetheless.

Except now, you were sitting in the girls bathroom at school, ramaging through your notes, trying to recollect what you had learned yesterday.

You saw what you had underlined and highlighted— names in pink and important dates in yellow—but your mind came up blank.

Flipping the pages you saw people in wigs, and castles burning to the ground —None of which you recognized.

A wave of anxiety rippled through you unable to comprehend your next thought —you were going to fail.

Your head was throbbing as you ran a hand down face, massaging your temples trying to calm yourself down.

You took out your water bottle that you had filled with beer and swallowed a few gulps, hoping that it would help you think straight.

You groaned, feeling the sting of alcohol at the back of your throat, popping some mints into your mouth, you ran towards the exam hall.

***

Your foot bounced on the polished wood floors as sweat pooled on your forehead.

You thought you were careful —only taking a peek from your friends answer sheet when Mrs.Ling's back was facing you.

Everything would have worked out if it wasn't for that kid sitting behind you. In a split second your teacher turned around, when he dropped his pen, to see you peering over your partner's desk.

Now you were sitting in the principles office praying that Jay wouldn't be the one picking you up.

You could already imagine his anger at you for pulling him away from his case, only to find you cheated.

Unfortunately luck was not on your side today.

You dare not look at Jay as he entered the office, letting out a huff as he sat down. You could feel the rage emitting him, tension filling the room, as he burned holes looking at you.

"I'll get straight to the point" Your principal started.

"Please" Jay growled, struggling to contain himself. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, when he got the call saying that you had cheated on your midterms.

You and Will were alike,at least he thought so, both good at science and math but weak at geography and history. Nonetheless you continued to secure good grades for the most part.

"Y/n here, was caught cheating from a classmates answer sheet. Our teacher caught her red handed. I truly did not expect this from you. These midterms cost thirty percent of your grade..... "

Pretty soon his voice was muffled like he was getting farther and farther away from you. His figure swayed in front of you as you squinted your eyes to keep him in the center of your vision.

" You are suspended, Mrs halstead"

Your eyes widened , your body choosing the perfect time to bring out what little beer you had taken when you heard those words, letting the alcohol mix with the adrenaline.

"WHAT??!! " Damn, alcohol really bought out your courage as Jay stared at you in shock at your audacity.

"Y/n, your lucky I'm letting you retake the exam. That's only because you've had a clean record so far. I strongly suggest you start preparing early Ms. halstead" your principal said in a firm but monotone voice that left you speechless.

Jay held a strong grip on your upper arm as he led you out to the school hall. "What the hell was that Y/N? Are you happy now? God.... I can't believe you cheated!" he sneered, "EYES UP HERE Y/N!! "

Oh god. Every now and then, the ground would sway beneath you, tiles shifting in your vision. But you counted your steps, carefully putting one foot in front of the other, not wanting Jay to find out what else you had done........ until now.

You tilted your head, only to be met with your brother's piercing stare but little did he know, now it made it infinitely harder to concentrate on your walking.

"I'm sorry" you sighed, locking eyes with Jay, silently praying that he would let this go. It was only one time anyway. It wasn't a big deal.

But he let out a hollow laugh, "Thirty percent, Y/N, THIRTY PERCENT. You're going to have to do better than a half-ass apology. What exactly are you sorry for? Huh? For cheating? *Or being caught?*"

***

You rested your head on the seat as Jay entered the truck, flinching, when he slammed the door shut. Your pounding headache was getting worse by the minute, as your ears started to ring.

You blinked a few times squinting to focus on the road ahead of you but the fast-moving cars and the loud horns made you feel like your head was going to explode.

"Y/n," he addressed you, much calmer now.

You forced yourself to turn to your brother, who wore a confused expression.

But the moment he saw your deshelfed hair and your cracked lips, a wave of worry crashed over him. What the hell?

The truck came to a stop at a red light and Jay immediately scanned you over "Y/n?" he grabbed your chin, his jaw dropping, as he came face to face with reality.

"Are you drunk!!?" he barked , steam basically pouring out of his ears.

But your pleading eyes and empty silence gave him the answer he needed. "Are you kidding me??" he snarled as he slammed the steering wheel.

Oh God no. A blinding pain ripped through your head when Jay's palms made contact with the hard plastic. You winched turning your head away from your furious brother, letting out a whimper.

Jay's eyes widened at the sound, his heart breaking, realizing the pain you were in.

If he was going to be mad at you or at least punish you, you needed to be sober.

He stepped on the pedal as the light turned green taking a few breaths, trying to calm himself down.

With the vice lords reclaiming their territory and selling uncut fentanyl, bodies were dropping all over the city most of them being kids.

Kids..... your age.

Every kid at the morgue, just reminded him of you. He saw parents sobbing, begging for their kids to come back but Jay new better. They were never going to come home. Ever.

So he made it a priority to catch these ruthless creatures. He made it a priority over his sleep, over nine hours shifts and unknown to him, over spending time with you.

"Hey , hey" he whispered, not wanting to hurt you again, "We'll talk about this later ok? for now...... just..... it's ok..... I've got you" here reached out his hand, the other still on the steering wheel, to slowly rub your back as you tried to breath through the pain.

" I got you"

***

Jay wrapped a hand around you allowing you to hold onto him for support.

Silently, he deposited you on the couch, laying you down. He knew that he wasn't in any state to talk to you. He needed to clear his mind from his racing thoughts and rueful images of dying teenagers.

His phone rang, indicating that the district was awaiting him. "Here" he reluctantly shook your shoulders "Y/n, I need to go ok? Will will be here soon"

***

Almost half an hour had passed and you were waiting for Will to get out of the shower. You'd heard Jay explain everything to him over the phone.

You thought about how disappointed he would be.

Will —being the nerd he was— always helped you with your projects and gave you pop quizzes during breakfast, before your exams. He taught you how to organize flashcards just like he did in med school.

Even through your blurry thoughts, the image of Will's betrayed face and embarrassed eyes, knowing you cheated, lingered on your mind.

Your body was all over the place. Tiny noises echoing through your ear. Your muscles simultaneously aching and loose.

You were shivering as you tried to curl up into a ball. Your body trying to hold what little heat it had within itself.

But nothing stopped your tears.

You felt water drops make their way down your cheeks forming small splotches of water on the cushion you laid your head on.

And you didn't bother to wipe them away.

Will more or less was in the same state you were in. There was a multi-vehicle accident on the highway and victims were piling in the ED. He was running from one treatment room to the other, waiting to get back home and crash.

Will walked over to you with a huge glass of water and an advil, gently  nudging you to sit up.

Your head still pounded, your eyes zoning in and out of the figure in front of you "Y/n, here drink the whole glass and take this" Will soothed, placing the glass and the pill in your hand "I—I'm sorry" You whispered, distracting yourself from Will's eyes.

Will knew he should be angry. Just like Jay was but he couldn't bring himself to blaming you, not until he had the full story anyway.

You looked so petite on the enormous couch, your legs folded on top of each other, arms shaking as you drowned the glass of water along with the Advil.

Your red puffy eyes and tear strained cheeks,were a contrast from your usual self. or he thinks. He's been pretty busy lately, so he's not too sure. " We'll talk about it later. I'm not angry. I promise"

He assured and was about to head to bed himself when you grabbed his wrist.

If he wasn't angry at you then maybe— just maybe—he would help you.

"Stay" You pleaded , the word falling from your lips just as easily as it had, many, many times before.

And just like before, you were met with Will's soft brown eyes filled with sympathy, ready to help. Ready—to be by your side.

He's slowly nodded climbing onto the couch, next to you. He wrapped an arm around you and you nestled into him, laying your head on his chest.

You found some comfort as he embraced you, talking you under his arm and encompassing you in his warmth.

Holding on to him, you hoped that he would take your pain away, just like he did when you were little.

***

Will woke up to an uncomfortable feeling of something —or someone—   tugging at his shirt.

He slowly opened his eyes allowing them to adjust to the light as he felt another a tug at his side. He looked over to you, but your eyes were shut, brimming with tears, your arm laid across his chest.

You were holding on to Will , using him as a lifeline, grounding you from the pain.

You felt a hand squeezing your own, stopping you from gripping the fabric "Y/n?" You opened your eyes to look up at will who had tears of his own, staring at the state you were in "it's okay, I'm here, I'm right here"

He encircles you, tighter than before, whispering soothing assurances into your hair.

***

With Will's help, the pain slowly subsides, allowing you access to your thoughts again.

You step out of the shower, into the living room and your eyes widen seeing Jay and Will sitting at the kitchen counter.

You didn't even hear Jay come in, but right now taking in his hardened glare, you didn't dare ask.

You knew what was coming and you didn't fight. You couldn't.

"So apparently we're cheating on our midterms now, huh?" Jay's calm voice made shivers run down your spine, starting to take rapid breaths.

"And apparently, someone thinks it's ok to steal alcohol from my stash" He gritted, never breaking I contact with you. "Do you think that's how the world works Y/n? DO YOU? BECAUSE LAST TIME I CHECKED YOU'RE STILL A FUCKING TEENAGER!!" He spat, his thoughts fuming towards your trembling body.

It was every dieing body flashing before his eyes, as the past months' agony slipped off his tongue.

"Jay" Will's voice was stern, giving a knowing look towards his younger brother and didn't bother to give Jay time to argue with him.

"Y/n, we need to know what's going on"

"With school, with tests with....... everything" he stated giving you a solemn look meaning every word he said, promising himself that he would do whatever it takes to figure out what had been going on.

You sucked in a breath weighing all your options. You didn't want them to think that you needed a babysitter or  that you couldn't take care of yourself.

You knew that they had their own problems to worry about but you couldn't take it anymore.

You hated it.

The feeling of your lungs collapsing, struggling to find air for your body, your stress skyrocketing anytime you sat down to study, never getting any thing done.

All day long you would constantly tell yourself to do your work. Every spare second is spent in making a list of things you want to do but when it was time to actually do those things, your mind wandered and emptied.

You took another deep breath, looking up from your feet, your eyes meeting your brothers.

You spilled the past months events from how alone you were all the time and not being able to concentrate to how you ended up drunk at school and cheating on your midterms.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you your hands trembled. You stood crying in the middle of the room until you felt a pair of arms around you.

Will placed his hand at the nape of your neck as he stroked your back with the other "Breathe Y/n, just Breathe" He slowly pulled away leading you to the couch.

God, how he wished he could turn back time. Then he'd been more vigilant to notice the changes that had come over you.

You felt the couch dip on both sides but you intently studied your fingers, fumbling with the hem of your shirt and wiped the tears off your face. They were mad. No, they were furious. You knew it.

But for some reason, they weren't showing it. Maybe they were waiting-

"We're not mad"

You without your head around to look at Jay, furrowing your eyebrows in disbelief. Jay? Not mad? HA.

"but I am disappointed though, but that's only because you didn't tell us......

but stealing alcohol was bad too" he added, earning him a glare from Will.

"Y/n, what Jay means is— we could've helped with school . Homework . Tests . Anything, you name it. We will help" he assured, "But how do we know you need help, if you don't tell us?"

You sighed, taking in the weird turn of events that had happened before you. You had wasted all this time, trying to figure out all your problems out, when the answer was right in front of you.

A mountain of guilt now sat on Jay's shoulders, weighing down on him, pushing him deeper into a wormhole of 'if's'.

Maybe if he'd just been a little more careful, this wouldn't have happened.

Maybe if he'd stop and listen to you once in a while, this wouldn't have happened.

While trying to save kids out on the street, he forgot to care for the kid at home. You were his sister, and yet, here you are in front of him, barely keeping yourself together.

But that would change. Right here. *Right now.*

"Y/n," Jay started "If you would have told us how alone and stressed you were feeling.....I would've taken some time off... Maybe we'd watch a movie or something. All you had to do was ask...... And we'll get you the help you need, y/n. You good with that?" he questioned, his anger and frustration dissipating.

You saw your brother, the workaholic detective, wanting to put his job aside, for you .

You were more important to him, than his job—You realized.

" Yea... Yeah, I am"

Will stood up and got another advil with another glass of water. "and maybe you wouldn't end up drunk and cheating on your test" he smirked, crouching in front of you.

"God, I didn't think it would hurt this bad. I am never drinking again!" you smiled , as you drowned the pill.

"See now that's what I like to hear!!" Jay exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. You squirmed, trying to get out of his grip, laughing, when you were joined by Will.

You know what? Maybe, things are going to be okay? Ya know?

__________________________

Read more of my fics here!!

Tagging : @girlandthemoon @herecomesthewriterwitch @megaliciab @meyocoko @alkadri-layal

[imperfectcourt]

Andreil Prompt:

Neil is an Assassin. Some day something goes very, very wrong. So the first time Andrew meets Neil, Neil has to explain to him that he accidentally poisened him and Andrew has to go to the hospital to get the antidote.

So I was really unsure about this but when I got going I got really excited about it! But I also COMPLETELY MISSED the line where it said "the first time" so this is very much not the first time they meet ;__; sorry! I hope you like it though!

Neil had never panicked on a job before. He’d never made a mistake or killed the wrong person or not killed the right person. He could kill whoever he was told to kill, he could kill however he was told to kill, and he could be whoever he was told to be in order to do it.

Killing Andrew Minyard was the worst and last mistake Neil would ever make.

Worming his way into A. Minyard’s life hadn’t been easy but it had been natural- the most honest work of his filthy, bloody life.

It had to be this way. It couldn’t look like a typical mob hit, anything abrupt and easy would look suspicious. The call had to come from inside the house, or so they say.

Neil tipped the vial into the remnants of the whiskey bottle and poured two modest glasses. It wouldn’t be pleasant for him but he’d built up enough of a tolerance to survive. Odorless, collarless, no paper trail. He’d suffer some hallucinations and maybe some minor liver damage but he’d live and after tonight he’d be free. No more Moriyama’s. No more contracts. No more death.

No more Andrew.

Neil brought one glass up to swirl, smell, sniff, and sip. A perfectly normal glass of whiskey. He brought out onto the small balcony and put them on the rickety table between two lawn chairs. Andrew picked his up and didn’t make the small cheers motion he always did as a silent thanks, didn’t drink. He’d been staring at his closed phone for the last half hour. Neil knew he would say what was wrong in time (if there was time).

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after several long minutes, punctuating the statement with a sip. Guess there was time, after all. Neil sat sideways on his chair so he could watch Andrew light a cigarette.

“That sounds ominous. You’re not a murderer are you?”

Andrew’s top lip curled in a small, vicious smile. “That’s a truth for a different day.”

No, it wasn’t, and Neil found himself reaching for another mouthful of whiskey. Andrew raised a brow at this, having caught on a while ago that Neil liked to draw the drink out as long as possible if it meant he didn’t have to go home yet.

“It’s nothing to form a drinking habit over, calm down.” Andrew took up his drink again and every sip he took felt like friendly fire. “You’re going to see something on the news tomorrow and I’d rather tell you myself than get pissy with me for not bringing it up sooner.”

“Secrets secrets are no fun,” Neil parroted. Andrew kicked out his socked foot to hit Neil’s heel and didn’t pull it back.

“A story will be dropping about my brother’s involvement in a gang bust tonight. Just got word that everything went well but his services had been needed on sight.” With the hand that held the cigarette, he gave his cellphone a little shake.

“You have a brother?” That hadn’t been in the assignment, but family matters were often left out for jobs like this. He couldn’t go in knowing too much and risk exposing himself.

“My twin.”

“You have a twin?”

Andrew threw back the rest of his drink and waved it at Neil’s face. “The only reason I’m telling you is because you’re going to see him parading around on t.v. with my face. We’re not that close.”

A gang bust. Big enough for national news. That couldn’t- that would mean-

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron.”

“A. Minyard. Doctor Aaron Minyard.”

Andrew froze. Looked at Neil so expressionless he might as well have been stone. “I never said he was a doctor.”

He didn’t have to. Dr. A Minyard. Fox affiliated attached to a photograph. Andrew had his PhD and his connection to Kevin Day was easy enough to find if you knew where to look. The Foxes were an elusive bunch of vigilantes but everyone had heard of Kevin Day, son of the founders of the Foxes.

Neil had never made a mistake before and killing Andrew Minyard was the biggest mistake of his life. He knocked the glass from Andrew’s hand only because Andrew let him.

“Now, right now,” he changed, grabbing Andrew by the sleeve and tugging him back inside. It only worked because Andrew let him. Andrew was always letting Neil, trusting Neil. And for what? For this?

Neil let go when he was sure Andrew would follow him and rushed to the tiny kitchen. He took the water glass by the sink and upended the entire salt shaker into it.

“Drink this right now,” he ordered Andrew.

Andrew did not take it.

“Andrew, trust me just one last time. Just this one last time trust me and drink this. Just this once. Just this one last time.” There was time. There was barely time. It had been less than a minute, there had to be time.

Neil didn’t know what he would do if Andrew didn’t drink, if Neil killed him for nothing. No matter what the outcome, no matter Andrew's decision, Neil would die either way.

Andrew took the salt water, drank the whole thing, and promptly threw up in the sink.

Neil watched, hands in his hair and tears clouding his eyes as Andrew righted himself, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“That’ll give you time to get to the hospital. You have to go now, you’ve got time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Andrew put his hand slowly, calmly, over Neil’s throat, “until you explain.”

He pressed him into the wall.

Neil let him.

“You were supposed to be my last one and my contract would be fulfilled,” he said.

“Explain better than that. What does this have to do with Aaron?”

“There’s no time-”

“Then make it quick.” He pressed against Neil’s throat and Neil’s hands came up instinctively to grab his arm. He stopped before making contact.

“I was born into a debt that the Moriyama’s own. I was one of their hit men. A. Minyard. Fox associate. And a picture. That was my last assignment and I could finally… I could…”

Words were getting harder. He had begun ingesting the poison before Andrew and hadn’t gotten any of it out of his system.

“You’re the only one I never…”

“Never what? Never shot like a coward? Never succeeded in killing?”

“Never wanted to.” His hands came down onto Andrew’s forearm even though he didn’t have permission. His vision was swimming around the edges and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drug or the pressure on his trachea. “I didn’t want to kill you. H-hospital. You still need the hospital. You have time.”

“Why should I believe a single thing you say?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” It was so important for him to say that somehow the words came out with conviction. “Never lied. Andrew, you’re amazing and I love you but you need to leave right now.”

His knees gave out and for the briefest moment all of his weight was being held by the hand on his throat. Andrew lowered them both to the ground.

“What did- You idiot.” Ah, yes. He must have caught on. “You did all this to live only to fucking kill yourself? Neil. Neil… Neil!”

Neil had never panicked on a job, but he’d also never woken up in a hospital bed before. He was aware of the spike in noise before he was aware of his surroundings.

“The worst assassin in history.”

Neil groaned but didn’t yet open his eyes. His memory was just solid enough to know what he’d taken and experience told him he wasn’t ready to face the spinning world.

“Can’t say he was wrong, technically,” the same voice said.

“What kind of assassin not only chooses the wrong target but falls in love with their dumb ass?”

“This dumb ass has the same level of education as your dumb ass.”

“My dumb ass has a doctorate of medicine, not in books.”

“Literature.”

“Still dumb.”

“Sssh,” Neil breathed out, testing the waters of control and strength. He had very little of either.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the dumbest of asses.”

“Give him another hour and he might even be able to respond.”

“Now who would want that.”

The second time Neil woke up in a hospital, it was enough for him to look around and realize this was not a hospital but rather a medically furnished bedroom.

“I hate you.”

He turned his head to see Andrew slouching back in an overstuffed, wingback chair. The look on his ever-passive face was angry and Neil would take angry over dead any day.

“You made it,” he slurred. His mouth felt like cotton. “You made it,” he said again because it was right and good. “You made it.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m fine. Got a tolerance”

“Is that something they teach you in the bright sunny world of the Nest?”

Neil made a finger gun at Andrew (why?) and slowly, slowly tilted himself onto his side to see him better. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there were things he needed to worry about, but for now he just wanted to look.

“I’m happy you’re alive.”

“I don’t care.” And he sounded like he didn’t, but that was how he always sounded. Still Andrew. Still him. Still alive. For a long, quiet while they stared at each other.

“I have to go before the Moriyama’s come looking to do clean up. This won’t be tolerated.”

“No. It won’t be. But not by the Moriyama’s.”

Andrew stood in a motion that made him look much older than he was, tired. As he came to stand over the bed, Neil couldn’t help but stare because not killing Andrew Minyard was the only right thing he had ever done.

“The Foxes completed their take down of the Moriyama’s. It’s been all over the news, which you would have seen if you hadn’t poisoned yourself.”

The… the what? Something must have shown on Neil’s face because Andrew pressed him down into the bed a split second before he’d tried to sit up. As consciousness cleared his fog, his brain began catching up enough to understand that he wasn’t understanding. The synapses were there but they weren’t connecting.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. Andrew’s mask twitched.

“Of course you don’t, you’ve been too deep cover to keep up with what was right under your nose. The Foxes won, there are no more Ravens, and you, Nathaniel, are a free man.”

The sound of that name, his name, sent a flinch so hard through his body that it made something cramp in his stomach. Andrew watched, bored, as he curled in on himself. If he knew that name, if his cover was blown so spectacularly, then there must be an ounce of truth to it.

“I’m just… Neil. I just want to be Neil.”

“Well, Neil.” Andrew slid his hand into Neil’s hair and squeezed, not hard but enough to tilt his head back. “If you ever do something that stupid again I will kill you myself.” Something in his eyes, however passive he tried to pull off, told Neil that Andrew was not referring to his own attempted murder.

“Were you… worried about me?” That couldn’t be right.

“I don’t know, Neil.” He kept saying his name like that and Neil didn’t know what to feel about it. “My whatever of a good stretch of time nearly killed himself. How should I be feeling?”

“I nearly killed you. I only poisoned myself a little.”

“Why?”

Why? The easy answer was forensics. Two glasses. Two drinkers. One lucky to survive the ordeal. But that wasn’t all of it. As Neil stared up up at Andrew, here at the other side of it all, he could admit to himself that he was glad for the punishment.

“Because… because I was going to kill you to save my own life and I had never hated myself for anything more than that.”

“I hate you,” Andrew spat.

“As long as you’re alive to hate me it’s fine.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me more about the take down.”

“No.”

“Is your brother a Fox? Do I have to be killed for knowing that?”

“You have to be killed because you won’t shut your mouth.”

A good stretch of time. That’s how long Neil had been worming his way to be Andrew’s whatever. And in all that time he’d never felt safer. He lifted a shaky hand and waited. It took nearly a minute before Andrew released his hair and took the hand up in his own.

He didn’t apologize for trying to kill him. He didn’t apologize for coming into his life under false pretenses. If Andrew was there now, he trusted Neil enough to understand. They could talk about it later.

“Go back to sleep,” Andrew ordered quietly.

“So I’ll shut up?” Neil whispered back. His eyes were already drifting closed.

“Sure.”

[cinnaminsvga]

Dumbo | Jungkook (M)

→ summary: you know what they say about boys with big noses...

{or alternatively: jungkook has a big dick but he doesn’t know how to use it, but luckily you’re there to help.}

→ genre: humor/crack, smut → warnings: they talk about dicks a lot (i.e. jungkook has a big dick), DICK MEASURING CONTESTS (aka jk gets his dick appraised... just boys bein’ boys), explicit sexual content, semi-public exhibitionism, handjobs, blowjobs, sub!jungkook, whining, light dirty talk, mild pain play, mutual masturbation, jungkook has piercings, accidental edging (you’ll... understand), oc doesn’t have a gag reflex lol → words: 17.2K → a/n: @jincherie... you are my enabler and i will die on this hill only if you die on it with me. but of course i know you will die with me. because we only have one braincell and if either of us die, we both do. thank you for commissioning me to write this btw... even though i was already writing this so you just basically sent me money for free. ANYWAY... WORLD IS FUCK BUT I LOVE RHA!! ALSO JUNGKOOK HAS A BIG DICK!! EPIC!!

The club lights make it difficult for Jungkook to see anything. He doesn’t understand why club owners can’t just jack up the lighting for once; it isn’t like you’re going to be able to find a hook-up through echolocation or something. Though, judging by the way people seem to be groping their way through the masses, perhaps there really is no need for illumination anyway.

Jungkook normally hates this kind of scene. Drinking is all good and fun, especially when he’s with his hyungs, but going to overly crowded places makes his skin crawl with anxiety. It takes almost three shots during pre-game for him to get anywhere near this kind of place and it’s all thanks to Seokjin. That hyung thrives in these kinds of environments, like a clipped butterfly relearning how to fly.

“I’m gonna get shit fucked wasted!” Seokjin hollers, his arm looped carelessly around the only other person who hates being here as much as Jungkook does. He watches passively as Yoongi tries to bite a chunk off of Seokjin’s hand, but despite his inebriation, their eldest hyung is able to dodge it quickly.

“Not before I kill you, then everyone else in this place, and then myself, first.” Yoongi growls, nudging Seokjin off his smaller frame. If the world hadn’t been swaying underneath Jungkook’s feet, he might have offered to help his small hyung do the deed. If there’s anyone who hates nightclubs more than Jungkook, it’s Yoongi. Jungkook is frightened to know how Seokjin managed to convince Yoongi in the first place, and he’d prefer not to find out what sort of terrible blackmail the elder must have under his sleeve to accomplish such an arduous feat.

Just as Yoongi is about to connect his steel-toed boot up Seokjin’s freshly bleached asshole, Jimin returns from the bar with three glasses held precariously in each of his fists. Jungkook wonders yet again how this is possible due to the sheer tininess of Jimin’s hands, but then again... What can’t Jimin do when it comes to alcohol?

“I’m back! Here you go, Jungkookie,” Jimin says, seamlessly handing Jungkook a glass of what he hopes is just a regular beer like he asked. Knowing Jimin, he probably ordered the strongest shit they have. He peers at it suspiciously, but it only takes half a sip for Jungkook to confirm his guess. He grimaces, nearly coughing out a lung at the strength of the poison running down his throat.

“That tasted like fucking metal polish! What the fuck, Jimin?”

“I know! It’s great isn’t it?” Jimin smiles angelically, handing Yoongi one of the drinks. Yoongi looks at the swirling piss-yellow liquid as if it holds the secrets to the universe. It appears as if he’s decided something when his eyes light up.

“Oh my god, this drink is gonna kill me,” he says, not an ounce of fear in his voice. Jimin nods, not even trying to hide his deception.

“I promised the bartender a blowie if he could give me the strongest shit they had,” Jimin shrugs. “Dude literally went to the back room and took out this bottle that looked like it came from Napoleon’s secret stash of hooker piss.” He sniffs the drinks thoughtfully. “Yea, I could believe that.”

“I hate this!” Jungkook cries at no one in particular.

“Tough shit! We’re in this together!” Yoongi groans, downing the entire contents of his drink in one go before promptly being swallowed whole by the crowd. Seokjin hoots, hastily waving goodbye to Jungkook and Jimin before following Yoongi and diving into the sweaty masses like a seasoned Olympian.

“I hope they don’t die like last time,” Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to take a big gulp of his drink. It sears against his throat like a brand, which probably has an inscription saying “Jeon Jungkook has bad taste in friends.”

Jimin shrugs his shoulders. “Well, like Namjoon said a while ago, we’re gonna meet by the bar in 2 hours to check if everyone is still alive and we’ll find out then. Okay, Kook?”

Jimin has reminded him of this for the umpteenth time, though he can’t blame him for being extra careful. Last time the whole gang went to the club, Hoseok had gotten stuck in an elevator at his hook-up’s place and had cried for 5 hours straight before one of them thought to look for him. The time before that, Taehyung had ingested two times his bodyweight of margaritas and he had found himself in Japan the next morning with an extra $500 in his pocket.

Yeah. They’re idiots, but at least they’re idiots who will try not to make the same mistakes as last time. Key word being “try.”

Jungkook looks around the club, but he can’t find any awkward looking lanky people anywhere. “Where is Namjoon-hyung, by the way? Haven’t seen him since we split up.”

“Who the hell knows?” Jimin laughs, the sound drowning out when the DJ suddenly decides to play a death metal version of Dance the Night Away by Twice. Jimin’s eyes light up. “Ooooh shit! This is my song! See ya later, Kook!”

“W-wait, those drinks! Aren’t they for the others––“

“Bitch, you think these are for them?” Jimin begins to double fist his alcohol with the thirstiness of a man in a desert, or a twink confronted with two dicks. Either or.

To Jungkook’s horror, the crowd has seemingly grown thrice in size since they’ve arrived and he watches as Jimin’s body is slowly getting consumed by the masses, though he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He leans into a random guy's back, a look of bliss on his face. He salutes lazily at Jungkook. “Anyway. See you in 2 hours, Kook! Try to have fun!”

Try to have fun, his ass.

Unlike Jimin, Jungkook doesn’t particularly feel like being crushed by sweaty hormonal bodies; instead, he chooses to head to the bar. He surreptitiously dumps his drink into the trash, feeling kind of bad for discarding a free drink, but Jungkook doesn’t want to get shit-fucked wasted like the rest of them are. Perhaps he’ll be the designated driver today, even though his vision is still kind of swimming. Well, he could probably walk in a straight line if he used all his brainpower. Which isn’t a lot, but you know. People learn to make do.

It takes him a while to find an empty stool by the bar and he is unlucky enough to be squished between two couples who don’t seem to be aware that public indecency is a crime. He has to endure being jostled for five minutes straight until the bartender finally notices him and allow him to order his can of coke.

(“Sorry, kid. The banana milk is all sold out. Some girl ordered our entire stock for her friends a few hours ago.” And just like that, Jungkook wants to die all over again.)

He does not know for how long he sits by the bar. Well, that’s a blatant lie, because he knows that he’s been sitting there for 18 minutes and 34 seconds exactly. He’s checked his phone religiously every 2 minutes to see if 2 hours have passed already, just so he can ask one of his stupid friends to go home with him. Perhaps he could coerce Jimin into turning in early for once (which is a pipedream, not when the DJ seems adamant to play Jimin’s favorite Christina Aguilera song 70 times in a row.)

So in short, Jungkook is miserable. He could go home by himself, but also he doesn’t want to end up having to walk to the police station the next morning to bail his friends out after one of them inevitably destroys public property again.

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown away his other drink.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice that one of the couples beside him have already left and that another person has taken their spot. He is jarred from his musings when a well-manicured hand is placed delicately on his shoulder, urging him to swivel the barstool around to face his soon-to-be acquaintance.

“Hey,” you say, a sultry smile on your lips. Jungkook feels his mouth immediately fill with cotton as he stares at your beautiful face, the dingy lighting of the club doing nothing to suppress the wicked glint in your eyes.

“Uhh… hey?” Jungkook replies, as charming and verbose as ever. If it isn’t obvious enough, Jungkook is a little lacking in the girls department, or at least, when it comes to girls-who-are-blatantly-flirting with him department. He normally isn’t this socially inept around the opposite gender, but given the connotations of this circumstance, his overactive male brain can only be restrained so much before it starts wandering towards dangerous territory.

It doesn’t help that the neckline of your dress is bordering on obscene, and Jungkook is afraid that if you move one more inch towards him, something very embarrassing might happen to the both of you (probably more so for him, if he’s being quite honest.)

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the club and thought I should introduce myself,” you explain, gaze unashamedly trailing down his body. Jungkook can feel the heat from you radiating in waves, burning him from the inside out as he tries not to melt into a puddle in a pathetic attempt to get the fuck out of there.

“You saw me? But it’s… so dark in here…” Jungkook wants to fucking murder himself. That’s what he decides to say to you? God, no fucking wonder he’s a virgin. Good looks really aren’t everything when he doesn’t have a brain controlling the rest of his body. There might as well be a fucking hamster running laps inside of his skull for all he knew.

Thankfully (or unthankfully––God knows Jungkook’s stress levels aren’t lowering any time soon), you find his response funny enough to warrant a chuckle. You bat your eyes salaciously at him, which Jungkook didn’t even think was possible. People can be sexy? When they blink? Apparently, you can do that.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s true. You caught me in a lie, I suppose. I actually knew you were coming even before you arrived.”

Jungkook chokes on his own spit then, nearly spraying you with his saliva like the dog that he is. His eyes bug out of his sockets, his body going tense with nerves. "You... you knew? What... What does that even mean?"

You point over your shoulder, gesturing vaguely at the crowd on the dance floor. "I'm friends with Seokjin over there. He mentioned you were coming with him to the club tonight so I decided to tag along."

"You know Seokjin-hyung?" The alarm bells in Jungkook's head start ringing wildly out of control. Nothing good ever comes out of being friends with Seokjin, especially since his presence alone has the power to make the creases in your brain to smoothen. Take it from someone who's been there, done that.

"Yep," you say, popping your 'p.' "I met him in my first-year English course, though I still don't know why a third-year like him was taking it in the first place."

"It's because he doesn't know how to read," Jungkook says plainly.

"I can tell. He uses voice-to-text exclusively and Siri can never spell Asian names correctly," you shrug your shoulders. "Either that, or he just doesn't know how to spell your name."

"Yea. I'm permanently John Jung Cock on his phone," Jungkook replies. He shakes his head. "Hold on, we were talking about something before this."

"Oh. About how I casually revealed to you that I was stalking you through our mutually insane friend?"

"Y-Yea, basically." Jungkook doesn't even understand what the fuck is happening right now. "I mean! Not exactly? Like, for all I know, you could've just asked hyung who he was coming with and he mentioned my name and––"

"Listen, kid. I straight up just told you I'm stalking you. Let's skip the foreplay and get to the meat of it: I'm literally following you," you say, without an inch of regret, embarrassment, or morality in your tone of voice.

Jungkook, who despite being filled with so much fear and tension enough to kill the small hamster inside his brain, is somehow able to keep his calm in front of the psychopath in front of him. Either that, or he's already in the middle of a stroke and he's lost all his fine motor skills.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, baby," you murmur, leaning even closer to him until your chest was practically pressed against his. The thin layer of your dress and his well-worn cotton tee does nothing to help the situation (both in general and the one in his pants). He can feel your every curve, can smell the sweet perfume you're wearing; you were enveloping his senses. If he tried hard enough, he could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired with how close you were.

He knows he should probably be running away in terror right now, but he finds himself stuck resolutely to the barstool, unable to move. Maybe Jimin was right... Maybe he did have a fear kink or something.

("Isn't that just called masochism?" Jungkook asks, brows raised.

Jimin only laughs, patting him on the back condescendingly. "Nah, dude. You just straight up wanna die by the hands of a hot person, and I can respect that homie. We all have been there.")

“W-what do you want from me?” Jungkook asks, sweat lining his brow. You’re still looking at him like he was a meal, but he finds he probably doesn’t mind being devoured by you.

Your wicked grin returns, full force. “I just want to play, Jungkook. But why don’t we discuss this… somewhere more private?”

Thunk. Was that the sound of his heart dropping out of his ass, or his brain pressing against the left side of his skull, or his dick hitting the roof? Jungkook isn’t sure, but he does know he wants to see where this night will take him.

He lets you lead the way, squeezing through sweaty bodies and elbowing a stray hand or two. Jungkook swears he feels a guy grope him on the way out, but before he can even sock the guy in the jaw, you’re already one step ahead of him. You hiss menacingly at the dudebro, raising your long acrylic nails in a show of dominance like you’re from some wildlife documentary. The guy audibly whines, running away from the two of you with his tail between his legs.

Jungkook stares at you incredulously. “How the fuck did you––”

“I’ve gone to tango classes with that dude. I have his mom’s phone number,” you explain nonchalantly. Instantly, Jungkook feels himself hardening in his pants.

You manage to get to where the washroom stalls are. You brazenly walk past the line of girls at the women’s section, but Jungkook is even more confused when you also pass by the men’s section. You turn the corner, where a bunch of tables and chairs were being kept. Then, you begin to knock down some of the extra chairs stacked against the wall, which is where Jungkook discovers there is an unused wheelchair accessible washroom.

“Why is this washroom being kept hidden?” he wonders aloud, sneaking guilty looks over his shoulder. No one seems to have noticed that the two of you are blatantly trespassing property, but you don’t look all that stressed about it.

You look at him weirdly. “Dude. You can barely walk in this club without getting groped, poked, or doped. As much as I’m all for accessibility, I don’t think wheelchair-bound people are gonna have much of a good time here.”

Jungkook feels as though he should be saying something profound about the need for establishments to be accessible or something, but the strain in his pants really wasn’t doing many wonders on his verbosity right now. Maybe next time.

You make quick work of the barricade and you get the door open in no time. You push him hastily inside, making him yelp as he tries to find his way around the darkened room. You flip the switch on somewhere behind him, illuminating the washroom to find… a toilet. That’s it.

“Well, they certainly didn’t think about interior decorating,” Jungkook says, laughing nervously as you click the door locked. He turns, watching as you pull the black elastic that was on your wrist and begin to tie your hair. You smile cheekily at him, the implications of what is about to happen very much apparent.

“Nah, they didn’t. But the room gets the job done and that’s all we want, don’t we?” You purr, taking the two short steps you need to get close to him once more. You trail a well-manicured nail down his chest, circling around his nipple teasingly but not doing anything more. His breathing turns more shallow, and he knows for sure that his eyes must look crazed to you right now.

You bring your finger lower and lower, grazing the top of his belt buckle and staying there. You look up at him, licking your lips as your gaze trails down to his own. Once again, he feels paralyzed as you take him in and he wishes for all the horny gods from above that you would finally end the torture and finally close the distance.

Taking some pity on him, you rest your lips against his throat, suckling gently enough that Jungkook knows it won’t leave a mark. His hands instantly come up to grab your waist, as if urging you to go harder, to make it hurt.

You smirk against his skin, deciding at that moment to bite down, hard. Jungkook yelps, before the sound morphs into an unabashed moan. His cheeks pinken, embarrassed at the volume of his voice.

“I-I…”

“Don’t worry, Jungkook…” you whisper, soothing the bite with your tongue. You pop off his skin, your lips slightly redder than before. “I’ll take good care of you, darling.”

See, Jungkook doesn’t doubt you in the slightest. As for his own skills at taking care of you when the time comes… now that’s a little bit of a gamble.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, per se… He lost his virginity during his last year of high school to some girl he met at a party, and suffice to say, he didn’t last long. He’s had a few girlfriends in the past, but none of them ever wanted to get with him once they saw his dick. You see, he had a bit of a problem…

He wasn’t small, by the way. Don’t get him wrong. In fact, he was kinda––

Jungkook is pulled away from his thoughts when you suddenly drop down to your knees, your hands grabbing onto his thighs for support. He’s almost worried that you’d injured yourself from how fast you’d dropped, but you don’t seem all that bothered by how deftly your fingers moved to unbuckle his belt.

When you get it loosened, your hands stop by the button of his jeans and you look up at him with expectation. Jungkook almost whines when your hands drift back to your lap.

You snort, amused. “What? You think I’m gonna do all the work here, buddy? Come on, strip for me.” you say, sitting on your haunches as you wait for him to move.

The strain in his pants was getting downright painful at this point, so Jungkook is more than eager to follow your orders. Still, his hands are shaking the entire time, so it takes him a few extra seconds before he can finally unbutton his stupid jeans and pull down his stupid zipper. Even through his loose boxers, the outline of his dick is very apparent, with a small wet spot already staining the front of his boxers a darker blue.

“Uh, I have to say a disclaimer first though,” Jungkook squeaks, suddenly shy under the intense gaze you were pointing straight at his dick. It twitches slightly, and your eyes follow it like a cat ready to pounce. “I’m… kinda on the bigger side, so I just want to ask if you’re sure––”

“Baby, I was sure even before I came to this club,” you say, trance-like. Your fists clench and unclench by your sides. “Now, shut up before I change my mind.”

“But––” Jungkook doesn’t get to finish his sentence, stunned to silence when you quite literally rip his boxers off of him like a magician trying to prove something. His dick springs up half-way, still not fully hard as it’s always taken him a little bit more goading before he can get to full mast. Yea, he was that big.

You stare at it for a moment, going cross-eyed as you stared at his tip head-on like some sort of perverse gun barrel. You don’t move for so long that Jungkook is afraid that he might have freaked you out with the size of his cock, though you wouldn’t be the first in a long shot. He’s about to apologize, prepared to pull up his pants in shame and walk home with half a log in his crotch. He’s already shifting his jeans back up when you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait. Are you, like, only half-hard right now?” you ask, voice quiet.

Jungkook flushes. “Y-yeah… It gets a little bit bigger when I’m fully… You know…” he says, trailing off.

You’re still looking at his dick, but after further assessment, Jungkook realizes that you don’t look horrified in the slightest. In fact, you look pleased. “Jesus fuck you’re huge! Like… almost abnormally so.”

Jungkook literally feels like he’s going to die (and he hates that it’s kinda making him even hornier). “I guess so?”

“That’s a fucking log! You could stand on that thing!”

“I don’t think that’s possible, but––”

“Seokjin had told me you were huge, but I didn’t believe him because, well, the way he described it was that you had a literal third leg hiding under there. Who would have thought that Seokjin isn’t full of shit after all,” you say, awestruck.

“I’m really not that big––wait, Seokjin has talked to you about my dick? What the fuck? Since WHEN?” Seokjin was just out there in the world? Telling strangers about his dick? That hyung is seriously getting smashed WWE style the next time he sees him, and it’s NOT going to be sexy.

You wave him off. “Oh, don’t worry. He doesn’t just tell anyone. He let it slip because he was defending your honor,” you shrug.

In the midst of Jungkook’s mental breakdown at the realization that one of his closest friends just told a random girl that he’s got a meter long King Kong dong, he doesn’t notice that you’ve already stood up from where you were kneeling. You pull down the toilet seat cover, seating yourself on it and rubbing your reddened knees with a pout. “Ouch. Damn, I’m not used to kneeling for men anymore. Sorry, where was I? Oh right!”

You snap your fingers together, smiling gleefully at Jungkook. “So! I dragged you in here to give you my proposition, you see. I have a deal to make with you.”

Jungkook looks down at his cock, which was still red and dripping pre-cum, before turning back to you. “And this has something to do with… my dick?”

“Precisely!” you cheer, glad that he seems to be on the same page as you when he was in fact, not. “Sorry about tricking you, by the way. I’ll suck your dick after this if you’re still game, but only if you agree with my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Yep,” you say, popping your ‘p’ once more. “You see, I have an ex-boyfriend. His name is Lee Taeyong, ever heard of him?”

Jungkook vaguely knows the upperclassman, though he can’t say he’s ever spoken to him. “Kinda. What does he have to do with me?”

“Well, if you really heard of him, then you’d already be one step ahead. Seeing as how it’s not already connecting for you––” you point to his dick, poking the sensitive head with the grace of a 5-year old at a petting zoo, “––then you don’t know that Lee Taeyong has the biggest dick on campus. Allegedly.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook repeats. He still doesn’t follow.

“Well, I wouldn’t know either because I’ve never seen his dick, so––”

“Wait wait wait. Wait.” Jungkook’s hamster brain is running a mile a minute. There have been way too many absurdities spoken in the last five minutes and he doesn’t think he’s drunk enough to deal with your insanity right now. “Let’s dissect this one at a time, shall we? First of all, how can you not know how big your boyfriend’s dick is?”

“My ex-boyfriend. And we only dated for like three days, and I don’t fuck until a week has passed, okay? I don’t play like that,” you say as if you didn’t just lure Jungkook to this dingy washroom only to give him blue balls and trauma.

“Okay, whatever. So what if he has a big dick? What does that have to do with me?”

You roll your eyes. “How can you not understand yet? I’m on the hunt for our university’s biggest dick, of course! And you, Jungkook, might just be my ticket to the number one prize.”

There is a long pause. Jungkook stares and stares at you, waiting for you to shout “Surprise! You’re being pranked, bro!” and for all the cameramen to come out and shower him in confetti and dollar bills or something. But no, nothing like that happened. He just continues to stand there with his dick out, while you sit on a dingy toilet seat with your legs crossed comfortably as if you were just two friends having a regular conversation.

After a while, Jungkook comes to a conclusion. “You’re being serious.”

You snort, annoyed as if you were the one being inconvenienced. “Of course I am, dude. I don’t stalk just about anybody to see their dick. I’m not that insane.”

Jungkook feels as though your judgment on sanity should probably be taken with a grain of salt. “S-sure. Right. You’re definitely not insane.”

“And you have a big dick! I’m glad you can see where I’m coming from,” you say, nodding sagely. You peer at his dick once more, brows furrowed as you think deeply to yourself. “Hmm… Yea, I’d say you’d be at least equally as big as him. If all else fails, I can split the winnings and get half the amount of money if you––”

“No,” Jungkook says.

You raise your brow. “Yes?” you try.

“Yes–I mean, what? No!” Jungkook repeats, shaking his head furiously. "Are you even hearing yourself? You expect me to get into a dick measuring contest with your ex just so you can, what? Get revenge on him or something?"

"Not for revenge." You lean closer to him, face inches away from his dick but you don't seem perturbed in the slightest. "It's for money," you whisper, grinning slyly.

"Money," Jungkook repeats.

You clap your hands excitedly. "Exactly! So Taeyong and I didn't actually break up on bad terms. We only got together to make Doyoung, his crush, jealous enough to confess his feelings. But now, that dumb bitch thinks that now that he's with Taeyong, he can make fun of me for not being able to handle Taeyong's dark horse cock––"

"Can you please stop talking like an insane person," Jungkook pleads. His comment remains unheard.

"––so we made a bet that Taeyong doesn't actually have the biggest dick on campus and that I'm dating a guy with an even bigger meat thermometer than he does," you finish, snapping your fingers with a flourish. There's a twinkle in your eye: it's misplaced excitement coupled with extreme insanity, Jungkook realizes.

"That's good and all, but there's just one problem."

"What?" You tilt your head, confused.

"We're not exactly dating, are we?"

"Details, details... What Doyoung and Taeyong don't know won't hurt them," you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says, leaning against the grimy bathroom wall. He goes to tuck Jungkook Jr. back into his pants, his dick finally softening after the last ten minutes of psychological torture courtesy of yours truly, but you're quick to slap his hand away, making him yelp in surprise.

"No! I like looking at it," you say. You stare at his dick with rapt fascination. "It's kinda like looking at a weird, deformed baby leg. Beautiful, but haunting all at once."

Jungkook huffs, staring at you in equal parts disbelief and awe. If he thought Seokjin was mentally unhinged, then you're definitely on your way towards uncharted psychotic territory. It was kind of amazing how you could just say shit without any brain to mouth filter, in your own twisted way. "Listen, lady. I don't even fucking know what your name is, but I am not helping you win some stupid bet and showing my dick to even more strangers than I have to, okay?"

You consider him, lips pursing slightly. "Why, do you have any other plans this weekend?"

Jungkook falters. "I... No, I don't––"

You shrug your shoulders, as if that's the end of that problem. "Then it's settled! I don't see why you can't just do this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"For the last time, I won't do it even if––"

"I'll split the prize with you? 50/50? That's $1000 for having a huge dick! Every incel's wet dream!"

Jungkook pauses in his rant, choking on his spit. His jaw drops comically, unsure if he heard you right. "Did you say one... grand?"

Hook, line, and sinker. You know you caught him the moment his eyes bugged out of their sockets. You smirk, crossing your arms triumphantly as you gaze upon his desperate and broke college ass (and dick). “So? Having second thoughts?"

Jungkook is quiet for a moment. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He tries to wrap his head around the number, unsure if he should be worried about how ready he is to drop his pants for money. Have I completely lost it? Am I that much of an idiot? he wonders, but then again… He’d be an even bigger idiot for letting free money go down the drain.

“Where is this money even coming from?” he asks, even though he knows his guard is already dropping quickly.

You wave your hand flippantly. “Oh, Doyoung is filthy rich. I imagine that $2000 is nothing to him,” you say, picking at a hangnail. “It’s not much money to me either, but my pride is mostly at stake here. If you want, you could take all the money as a prize, so long as you make that bitch eat his heart out.”

Jungkook feels his dick twitch and he knows that you notice. “Two… thousand…” He accidentally moans, gripping his thighs to prevent himself from nutting. “That’s…”

You tilt your head, arching a brow. “Not enough? I could put in an extra $500 if you’re really against this whole thing. To be fair, I wouldn’t wanna expose my coochie to a random person either––”

“Two thousand five hundred? Are you fucking insane?” Jungkook exclaims, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, but it still feels like his lungs are on fire.

“Okay, three grand it is but I’m not going any higher than that,” you huff, shaking your head. “Mr. Jeon, you really do drive a hard bargain, though I always notice that well-endowed men tend to think they deserve the universe, so I’m not surprised.” You chuckle to yourself, as if anything about this situation is worth laughing at. Jungkook feels like that one time he had inhaled an entire helium balloon in one breath when he was younger: kinda nauseous but also kinda euphoric. Is it bad that his dick is stirring awake right now? Hello?

You put your hand out, looking at him expectantly. “Well? Do we have a deal or not?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath and accesses his options carefully. Does he:

Give up his low self-esteem for money and enter an actual dick-measuring contest with some stranger;

There is no other option. Jungkook wants money.

He exhales, a migraine already throbbing incessantly in the back of his skull. He thrusts his hand forward, gripping yours harshly in a firm handshake. “I’m in,” he says, without missing a beat. Your smile brings a shiver down his back, and he can’t help but wonder if this is what Judas felt like when he betrayed Jesus, except he’s betraying no one but his own self-worth.

Well, he always did wonder how much his life was worth and three grand doesn’t seem like that big of a stretch. Oh well.

“Nice,” you chuckle, seemingly vibrating from excitement. You slip behind him, grabbing his phone from the back pocket of his jeans (which were still, by the way, pooled around his thighs because his dick was still out. Just to remind you guys in case you forgot. OP doesn’t want you to ever forget about it.) You flick open his phone, cackling maniacally when you realize he doesn’t even have a password on.

Jungkook squawks. “Hey, what are you––”

“I’m saving my number on your phone,” you explain. He can barely see what you were typing into his phone contacts, but he doesn’t miss the way you attach a heart emoji beside your name. You open his texts, sending yourself an octopus emoji that just so happened to be Jungkook’s most frequently used emoji. You snort. “Octopus emoji, huh? Seems appropriate… Can’t help but think it was a sign that this might have been destiny.”

“I just like takoyaki…” Jungkook defends himself sulkily.

“Yea? Well I like cock,” you say. You pause, furrowing your brows. “Oh, I meant to say chicken. Same thing.”

You hand back his phone, grabbing your small purse that you had thrown aside onto the washroom floor. You straighten your dress, looking to all the world as if you hadn’t just offered a stranger three grand to show his dick. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Jungkook. I expect to see you soon, maybe this weekend if you’re free. I’ll text you the details of when we’ll meet next. Toodles!” you wave, sending him a flying kiss for extra measure. Jungkook’s eye twitches, and he wonders not for the first time tonight if he was trapped in a coma and was slowly passing away.

Just as you are about to head out the door, you stop in your tracks, turning back to face him. You give him a curious expression, gaze dragging downwards until you were staring down the barrel of his dick once more. “Hey, sorry about leaving you hanging like that, by the way. I would love to help you finish, but I have a ride to catch. Raincheck?”

Not waiting for an answer, you saunter away with a spring in your step. The door swings back closed, leaving Jungkook alone for the first time in what feels like forever: just him, his dick, and the promise of three thousand dollars on the horizon.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Jungkook groans, sliding down to the floor. He fists his cock in his hand, groaning loudly when he feels the pleasure jolt up his spine like electricity. As he listens to the sounds of his heavy breathing and the slick mess in his hands, he can’t help but wonder if Jimin was right… Maybe he did have a thing for insane hot girls who were out to kill him.

x x x x x

After Jungkook cleans himself up, he marches out of the washroom with as much dignity as he can muster. Which is to say that he walked out of there with his head bowed in shame, meekly navigating the crowded club in search of his friends.

It isn’t hard, considering that Jimin was currently hanging on the fucking ceiling from a disco ball. A group of men stand at the bottom, all of them eagerly eyeing his fat ass as Jimin dangerously humped the shiny ball of metal like his life depended on it.

“Okaaaay guys! The moment this disco ball drops, whoever catches me first gets to fuck me tonight so try your best to grab me~!” Jimin singsongs from his perch, howling madly as all the horny motherfuckers scramble all over each other, desperate to catch him lest he meets his maker.

“I. Hate. My. Life.” Jungkook sighs, striding past the group of men easily with his superior upper body strength. “Move, incels. This twink isn’t letting any of you simps touch his ass. He just likes the attention.”

“Aww, Jungkookie! Don’t ruin my fun~! Unless you wanna catch me and we can finally fu––” Jimin screams mid-sentence, just as the cord holding him and the disco ball snaps. All the guys step over themselves to catch him, but Jungkook is stronger and faster. He catches Jimin mid-air, snatching him in an instant and hoisting him over his shoulder. Everyone cheers and hollers, clapping for him as Jimin continues to giggle hysterically into his back.

“Yay! Jungkookie is gonna fuck meeeee,” Jimin pats him on the ass, but Jungkook ignores him. He goes around the club, searching for the rest of his friends until he has five dangling bodies hanging off his body like some six-headed freak.

Well, it’s soon going to be five-headed after he beheads Seokjin, whom Jungkook is certain just vomited all over the back of his jeans.

“I can’t fucking find Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook grits his teeth, his nose assaulted by the stench of Namjoon’s armpit as the elder contorts himself into a more comfortable position. “Stop fucking moving, you long-legged bastard. Why’d you have to be born with such good body proportions?”

“And why are you so hot, Jungkook?” Taehyung swoons from somewhere underneath Hoseok, who seems to be either passed out or dead; Jungkook didn’t pause to check for a pulse.

“Pretty sure Yoongi went home,” Seokjin slurs, a second wave of nausea hitting him as he struggles to keep the alcohol inside of him a bit longer. “Ugh… Said he saw his roommate and they went home together.”

“God, it better be his fucking roommate and not another person trying to sell his organs again.” Jungkook sighs. “Either way, we’re all going home. We’ve done enough damage for tonight.”

“Jungkookie, did you have any fun at all tonight? Didn’t see you around,” Namjoon quips, managing to wriggle out of Jungkook’s grip and fall face flat on the curb. He whines pathetically, not making a move to stand up again. “Ugh. I didn’t even drink a lot tonight so why...?”

“It’s because you’re Namjoon,” Jungkook supplies helpfully. He lets the rest of his friends down, making sure they are leaning against the wall for support (or sitting against the wall in Hoseok’s case). “Alright, I’m calling cabs. Seokjin-hyung, I’m staying over at your place tonight.”

Jimin, who was already slowly falling asleep where he stands, perks up in attention at that. “Wait, you’re coming home with me and Seokjin? Are we reaaaally gonna fuck?” Jimin tries to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, but to Jungkook, it just looks like he’s having a stroke.

“I’m done nutting for tonight. We are sleeping once we get home and that’s it,” Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms.

“OOOOOOOH? JUNGKOOK GOT FUCKED AT THE CLUB!”

“GET IT BOY!”

“OH SHIT HE FINALLY USED HIS PURPLE-HEADED YOGURT FINGER!”

“DAMN DUDE? DAMN? DAMN?”

“AW, YOU FUCKED SOMEONE WITHOUT ME?”

Jungkook swears he had heard Hoseok speak amidst the yelling from his friends, but his hyung still remains mysteriously hunched over and dead to the world. “None of your businesses. Anyway, a cab is coming soon and I swear to God, if any of you piss or vomit in that poor man’s vehicle, I will make sure none of you live to see the light of day, okay?”

Jimin turns to Taehyung, who just happened to be beside him. “Not gonna lie, but I kinda jizzed in my pants just now. That was kinda hot.” Taehyung only nods in agreement.

An hour and thirty minutes later, Jungkook manages to get the last of his idiot friends home, leaving only him, Seokjin, and Jimin as they tiredly trudge up the steps to the apartment. It takes an additional twenty minutes for Seokjin to figure out where he’d left his keys, only for Jimin to raise his finger for them to wait as he hid behind some bushes while unbuckling his jeans. When he comes out of the bushes, pantless, he has a key raised with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Don’t ask where I keep this,” is all he says and Jungkook is glad that he had rejected Seokjin’s offer to permanently move in as their roommate.

They all stumble into the apartment, with Seokjin falling immediately onto the couch. He curls up into a little ball, snoring the moment his eyes shut. Jungkook wants to shake him awake, eager to interrogate him about what happened between you and him just a few hours ago at the club. Even if he wanted to wake him up, Jungkook is sure nothing can rouse the elder; this fact is confirmed when Jungkook dumps water on him, only for Seokjin to keep sleeping soundly like a baby.

“Well, hyung is dead. Guess it’s time for me to die too,” Jimin says sleepily, the horniness and insanity from the club already wearing off. He pats Jungkook gently on the head, pointing towards Seokjin’s room. “Sleep there. I’ll hand you an extra blanket because I wouldn’t trust that hyung’s sheets. Let’s sleep, yeah?”

Left with no other choice, Jungkook heads to Seokjin’s bedroom, jumping onto the unmade sheets and pretending not to notice the crusty unknown substance on the corner of the bed. He can’t fall asleep, not when he’s left haunted by the weight on his chest (and dick). Jungkook fiddles with his phone, staring wide-eyed at the name displayed tauntingly on his screen.

Y/N L/N.

He was gonna have a nightmare tonight, that’s for sure.

x x x x x

Jungkook wakes up early, much to his chagrin. He’d really like to stay dead to the world for much longer, but the smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking is kind of a hard deal to pass up. Jungkook shifts in bed, cringing when he realizes he went to sleep in his jeans, and more importantly, that his pants felt a lot stickier than he remembered.

He lifts the blanket up, confirming his suspicions. “Fuck!”

Well, guess he didn’t have much of a nightmare last night after all.

He shucks off his clothes, disgusted by the mess he finds in his underwear. He hobbles over to Seokjin’s closet, cringing when he finds only one (1) clean pair of shorts left, which just so happened to have “PEE IS STORED IN THE BALLS” stamped on the back in cursive font. Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

Jungkook tiptoes out of the bedroom, confronted with the sight of Jimin pouring three mugs of coffee and Seokjin still slumped over the couch, a substantial amount of drool dripping down from the side of his mouth and forming a puddle on the floor. Jungkook takes a photo, saving it for later.

“Morning,” Jimin smiles from the kitchen, offering Jungkook one of the cups. Jungkook is certain that Jimin has no recollection of the events from last night, though such is Park Jimin’s way of life. He drinks to get fucked up, then he forgets, and then the cycle repeats itself anew. Jungkook wonders how Jimin always manages to wake up without a hangover, though God might have just given him a super liver in compensation for his lack of height.

“Hyung is still dead,” Jungkook states plainly, walking over to Seokjin and peering at him closely. Jungkook sticks a finger into his agape mouth, collects some of his spit, and then proceeds to give him the wettest willy of his life. Still no response.

“Let me try,” Jimin says, sauntering over to Seokjin with one of the cups of coffee. Jimin leans down, hums gently into his ear. “Hyung, wake up. We have coffee for you!”

Seokjin mumbles incomprehensibly in his sleep, snuggling deeper into the couch stuffing. Jimin tilts his head, still smiling. Then, he dumps the scalding cup of coffee all over Seokjin’s crotch.

In an instant, Seokjin screams with the pitch of a banshee, swinging his arms wildly about and nearly knocking himself out with his own fist. Jungkook and Jimin watch passively from the sidelines, waiting for the elder to finish fanning his nutsack before greeting him a pleasant morning.

“WHY ARE YOU BOTH LITERAL DEMONS?” Seokjin hollers, jumping to his feet with his scorched balls and all. Taking pity on him, Jungkook walks over to the fridge, tossing his hyung a bag of ice. And by toss, it’s more like he pitches the bag straight into his dick with the ease and speed of a seasoned baseball player, eliciting another round of pained howls.

“YOU––ASS––” Seokjin seethes, clutching the bag of ice to his nether regions. He sits down on the adjacent loveseat, expression contorting as he cups his balls gingerly. “God, it’s almost like you guys don’t think I deserve basic human decency.”

“That was just a small part of my revenge for you, after you gave my contact details to an insane woman,” Jungkook sneers, miming a punch onto Seokjin’s handsome face. Seokjin doesn’t even flinch, too busy staring at Jungkook’s legs.

“Hey, are you wearing my thot shorts?”

Jungkook looks down at the neon pink monstrosity around his hips. “You call these your thot shorts?”

Seokjin shrugs. “I got dicked down in them once. You should try.”

“Oh, did I hear something about revenge? I smell tea in here,” Jimin says, coming back from the kitchen with his own cup. “Well, I have coffee but same shit. What happened?”

“This––” Jungkook points an accusatory finger at Seokjin, “––asshole sent my location information to an insane stalker lady last night after he told her that I had a huge dick!”

Seokjin squints at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Y/N! She said you told her about how big my dick was and when she asked you where I was, you told her I was going to the club with you last night!”

“Oh.” Realization dawns on Seokjin’s face, which was quickly replaced by incredulity as he stares at Jungkook. “I assumed she asked for your contact details because she had a crush on you. I was just trying to get you some pussy, bro.”

“Yeah, Kook. Not gonna lie, but I’d be dicking down girls left and right if I had a dick as big as yours,” Jimin says, eyeing the bulge in his teeny tiny shorts with interest. “In fact, I’d probably be a top if I had a dick as big as yours.”

Seokjin laughs, nearly shooting out phlegm from the strength of it. “Oh god, don’t tell me. You couldn’t get your dick hard again? Don’t worry bro, if I had a dick as big as yours, it’d take ages for it to fill up too.”

Jungkook flushes, stomping his foot in embarrassment. “That! Wasn’t the problem! The problem is––”

“––that Jungkook nuts too quickly because he doesn’t have any practice,” Jimin tuts sadly, patting the younger with a pitiful expression. “Don’t worry, Kook. Hyung is open to giving you some pointers.”

“That’s not it either!” Jungkook screams, groaning in annoyance. “She came up to me because she offered to pay me $3000 to enter a dick-measuring contest!”

Jimin and Seokjin tilt their heads in tandem, still not getting it. “So?” they both chorus, giving him a blank-eyed stare.

“Are you guys out of your mind? I got bribed into showing my dick to some strangers like some kind of weird prostitute!”

“It’s not prostitution if you’re not engaging in sexual activity,” Jimin muses, taking a long sip from his coffee. He shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t see how this is a problem. You show some girls your dick, and you get money. Dudes would kill to be in your position.”

“Oh my God, don’t tell me,” Seokjin leers at Jungkook, and the younger almost can’t stop himself from landing another blow against the elder’s abused crotch. “You got roped into some bukkake orgy and now you’re asking your hyungs to help you? Don’t worry, Jungoo… You came to the right people. You see, Jimin and I have some experience with––”

“LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Jungkook jams his fingers into his own ears, screaming hysterically to drown out the sounds of Seokjin and Jimin’s combined laughter. Jungkook pouts at them, glowering pathetically. “Seriously, hyungs! Do you not see how fucked up this is? Who follows a stranger to a club, pretends they’re going to give you a blowjob, only to offer 3K for you to show some strangers your dick?”

“A regular Friday night if you ask me,” Jimin says, shrugging once more. Jungkook stares at him, realizing that maybe it was the wrong idea being friends with these two lunatics in the first place. Knowing Jimin, he’d probably been in much more lewd and compromising situations than Jungkook will ever have. Rumor has it that Jimin had once done a keg stand while having his dick sucked while on vacation in Japan.  

“Well, if you were really against it, then you could have just said no?” Seokjin points out, wagging a finger at him. “I know Y/N, and yeah she’s kind of demented, but she still knows that no means no. Surely, you haven’t considered the fact that you are 1) a pushover and 2) horny for her?”

“Well, yea––No, what––No!” Jungkook splutters, stammering wildly. His two hyungs grin salaciously, gazing at him knowingly. Jungkook can only groan, as he knows that they kind of have a point. He’s always been too weak for girls and money, so when you put those two things together…

“I might be addicted to the BBC tag on Pornhub, but you my friend… You’re in it for the BBCC,” Jimin snickers, patting Jungkook comfortingly on the back. Jungkook groans into his hands, slumping onto the loveseat beside Seokjin, whose icepack had long since melted and caused the seat to be uncomfortably damp.

“BBCC? I’m almost too afraid to ask.”

“Big black credit card,” Seokjin pipes up, wrapping his own arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, bud. We all have been there.”

That’s the problem: somehow, Jungkook finds himself much too ready to accept his fate, eagerly awaiting when you’ll text him next.

x x x x x

After a much-needed shower at Jimin and Seokjin’s place, Jungkook tiredly makes his way to the nearby bus stop, ready to go home and sleep the entire weekend away. Screw his Biochemistry midterm on Monday––if he really is going to whore himself out to you, then he’s going to need all the self-care and therapy that he can get. His phone itches in the pocket of his shorts (yes, he’s still wearing the thot shorts), and he wonders if he should text his therapist and ask for an extra appointment later in the day.

Just as he’s about to pull out his phone, he senses it vibrate once, twice. He freezes in his steps, walking out of the way of busy pedestrians on the sidewalk and into a random clothing store. He sees the lone cashier staring at him from the corner of his eye, but he does not check if her gaze is filled with disgust or disgust. Probably disgust, he surmises.

Flicking his phone on, he sees two new messages from you and his heart immediately starts to hammer in his chest. No one has ever made Jungkook equal parts scared and excited, though he imagines you might have that effect on most people, what with how you look like the type to tie up unsuspecting victims to harvest their organs in your summer cottage up in the mountains or something. Or maybe that’s just Jungkook projecting.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ hey! sorry for taking so long to text you. my roommate tried to make cheesecake at 3am last night and i had to supervise in case he burned down the apartment.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ anyway, i was wondering if you were free later? some time after 5 maybe? let me know!

You already want to meet so soon. Jungkook exhales heavily through his nostrils, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself. Alright, this is fine. Jungkook is a big boy: he can handle going to a girl’s home without losing his mind. You didn’t say anything about this being the actual dick-measuring contest yet, so he can only assume this is just you asking for something else. Maybe to talk more? Maybe he’ll get a down payment for the prize money? Maybe you’ll follow through on your raincheck? God, is it wrong for him to have his dick plumping up in his shorts when you haven’t even done anything to him yet?

(On the contrary, you could say that you have done a lot for him over the past twenty four hours, though maybe not in the way most people would expect.)

from: jjk yeah i can meet you at 5. what’s this for?

from: y/n l/n ❣️ oh, nothing! i just wanted to talk to you about the actual competition and stuff. plus, i want to actually measure your dick, just so i can see how much you’re actually packing down there ;)

from: jjk ….yeah, fine. whatever.

(This really isn’t a “whatever” type of situation, but honestly, Jungkook doesn’t really know what to say anymore. He’s officially lost his singular brain wrinkle. He’s smooth brain McGee over here.)

You follow up by sharing your location with him, and he’s surprised to find that you aren’t that far away from where Jungkook was right now. He really did mean to go back to his apartment first and get changed into something more… morally acceptable, but since he hasn’t been arrested yet for public decency, he should be okay with going to your place in Seokjin’s thot shorts.

There’s something invigorating about going to your place, dressed the way he is… Maybe the shorts are somehow giving him brain hemorrhage by indirect association with Seokjin. Either that or Jungkook simply loves torturing himself by embarrassing himself constantly. Well, at least he showered and combed his hair before leaving his hyungs’ place.

He inputs your address into his phone map, taking his sweet time as he walks the short distance to your apartment. As he passes by the buildings and street corners, he can’t help but think that he might have been around this area before. He tries to rack his brain, forcing himself to remember why this route seems so familiar.

“Oh right. Yoongi-hyung’s new apartment should be around here,” he muses to himself. He wonders if his hyung had gotten home safely last night. He should probably text him to make sure, but he’s got a literal dick appointment to attend to first, so he’ll remember to check up on Yoongi once he finishes up with you.

Does that make him a shitty friend? Probably. But would Yoongi do the same if Jungkook was in his shoes? Probably.

Yeah, Jungkook and his group of friends aren’t exactly role models for a sensitive and loving relationship, though that’s not much of a surprise to anyone.

He arrives at a decent looking apartment complex, complete with its own little water fountain at the entrance. He walks through the automatic sliding doors, peers at the shiny caution tape barring him from using the elevator. He stares at your address on his phone, groaning loudly when he sees “1603” much to his annoyance.

“No wonder she had such great thighs,” Jungkook mutters angrily to himself, preparing himself for the long and arduous journey his glutes are going to endure.

Years later, Jungkook finds himself at your door, his lungs jumping out of his throat as he struggles to catch his breath. He hunches over, elbows digging into his thighs as he wipes the sweat trailing down his neck. He can see your door just near the end of the hall, but just as he’s about to crawl his way over––

“Oh. Oh my,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and Jungkook looks over his shoulder to see…

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook exclaims incredulously, mouth gaping at the sight of his thought-to-be-dead hyung coming out of the elevator. He splutters for a few more moments before pointing an accusing finger at Yoongi. “You used the elevator?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, turning to look at the elevator with a thoughtful look. “Oh right. The elevator works. The maintenance people just forgot to remove the safety tape from last week.” Yoongi looks back at Jungkook, gaze lowering to his legs. “I see that Seokjin has provided you with his thot shorts.”

Jungkook doesn’t even try to cover himself, used to his friends seeing him in varying degrees of undress. Like, what was Yoongi going to do? Take a photo of him and post it to his Twitter for his thousands of followers to see? He wasn’t that cruel...

Snap! Yoongi pockets his phone quickly, clearing his throat. “So,” Yoongi walks up closer to him, peering at Jungkook curiously. “What brings you to my apartment? Not that I’m happy to see you, but I assumed you and the rest of our idiotic gang would have died of alcohol poisoning the night before.”

“...It’s a long story,” Jungkook says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Say... Where did you go last night, by the way? I tried to look for you, but Seokjin said your roommate brought you home?”

“Yeah. She went to the club with a bunch of her friends. She offered me a ride with her because she knew how much I hated it there,” Yoongi says, frowning. “Fuck you, by the way.”

“What the fuck? What the hell did I do?”

“I don’t know. You’re wearing Seokjin’s shorts and my ape brain told me to retaliate out of instinct,” he explains. He takes another long, good glance at his shorts. “Color me surprised that they fit you, by the way. I’d assume your huge ass would be making it rip the seams, or perhaps your dick would be saying hello.”

Jungkook pats his junk proudly. “I know, right? Big guy decided to cooperate, for some reason.”

“Will you guys stop yapping it up out in the hall? I’m pretty sure Mrs. Sy can hear you two idiots from the first floor,” a voice from behind Jungkook hisses, causing the two boys to jump up in surprise. Lo and behold, your head is peeking out from behind your door, a perfectly stenciled eyebrow arched in annoyance. “Well? Are you two coming in or what?” You return back to your apartment, assuming that they’d soon follow.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook. “Wait. You know Y/N?”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi. “Wait. You know Y/N?”

Yoongi squints his eyes. “She’s my roommate. She’s a mutual friend of––”

“––Seokjin,” Jungkook finishes. The two of them pause, a metaphorical light bulb glowing above their heads.

“Ah.”

“Ah.”

“I see. The demoness has roped you into some hare-brained scheme, hasn’t she?” Yoongi nods sagely, rubbing his beardless chin. “Can’t say I feel sorry for you since I have to live with the wench.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Man. She’s insane around you too?”

Yoongi shrugs, walking over to your shared apartment. “I’m dating Seokjin, remember? Everyday, I suffer. Everyday, I feel my arm.”

When Jungkook steps into your apartment, he can’t help but be a little surprised. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected to see a medieval torture chamber in the middle of a metropolitan city, but he wouldn’t put it past you to somehow make it happen. Instead, he finds a fairly cozy-looking home, with comfy couches and filled bookshelves, complete with a small balcony that had a few fresh herbs growing in little pots. It looks…

“Yoongi-hyung. You definitely decorated, didn’t you?” Jungkook snorts, fingering the little kitty-patterned throw blanket draped on your couch. It’s soft and expensive, and definitely something only Yoongi would buy. The elder doesn’t even bother looking embarrassed; he just throws Jungkook the middle finger as he walks towards the kitchen.

You come out once more from one of the connecting rooms at the other end of the apartment, presumably your bedroom. You motion for Jungkook to come in. “Yoongi, you’re gonna bake all day, right? Mind if you let Jungkook and I speak alone in my room?”

Yoongi waves his hand disinterestedly. “Whatever. If you guys are gonna be freaky in there, I’m gonna start playing clown music to drown you guys out, alright? And I mean the remix versions with the extra clown honks.”

You roll your eyes. “Yea, yea. We get it. Grandpa needs his special time alone too.”

Jungkook’s heart jumps when you don’t even bother correcting him. Does that mean you guys really were going to do something freaky? Hopefully, Yoongi has learned to differentiate screams of terror from screams of pleasure, though it’s hard to tell if he’d care otherwise.

He follows you into your room and immediately notices the perfectly made bed and the neatly organized desk. Your curtains are drawn close, but the sheerness of it allows the mid-afternoon sun to brighten the room regardless. Your bedroom smells faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, and he notices the small scented candle still smoking from when you’d put it out.

Nothing in the room indicates that he was inside the room of a psychopath, though maybe Namjoon or Taehyung would argue that anyone who makes their bed every day might be a little out of it. Jungkook continues to stand awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next except to stare.

You plop onto your bed, giving him an expectant look. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there by the door and have Yoongi see us measure your dick or what?” That gets Jungkook to move. He closes the door, pausing for a second before locking it for good measure. Then, he takes the short two steps that he needs to stand right in front of you.

You crane your neck, appraising him silently as he fidgets from the weirdness of it all. Your gaze trails down and Jungkook is not surprised when you stop to stare at his neon pink shorts. You snort, thumbing the edge of his shorts lightly. Jungkook shivers even though you’re barely touching him and he knows that you notice.

“Trying to get back at me for leaving you with blue balls yesterday?” you muse, letting go of the thin material. Jungkook wants to bring your hand back to his thigh, but he forces himself to keep still.

He looks down. “Not really? But I mean… Is it working?” He can’t help the hopeful lilt in his voice.

You laugh, patting him lightly on the thigh. “No worries, Jungkook. I did promise you a little something last night, right? I admit it was shitty of me to leave you like that, despite what you already might think of me. You probably think I’m just some insane bitch, right?”

Jungkook stares at you. “Do you want me to be honest or...?”

You roll your eyes, but you seem more amused than anything. “Save it. I know I’m weird. But, a promise is a promise…” You trail off, winking at him. “Besides, this works out for the both of us, right? I wanted to measure your dick before we meet up with Taeyong and Doyoung tomorrow, and I can help you blow your rocks right after. Seems like a deal?”

“Is it bad that I’m so ready to have you suck me off that I’m honest to God accepting your offer without any sense of dignity?”

You consider him for a moment. Then, “Nah. I know dudes who would do worse things for three grand and to have their dick sucked. I’d say you’re just doing you.” You place your hands back on his hips, thumbing around the garter of his shorts.

Jungkook groans, not even flinching when you rip his shorts and boxers off in one rough flourish. His soft dick dangles heavily between his thighs. “See, I’m not entirely comforted knowing that you agree with my moral dilemma.”

You clap your hands together, excitement glittering in your expression. “Who cares! Let’s get you all hard and ready, shall we?”

Jungkook squirms under your gaze, getting dick stage fright. “H-hey… This isn’t like porn… I can’t just get hard when I want to, you know? I need… stimulation or some shit.”

You nod, humming thoughtfully. “You’re right… And I remember you said something about taking a long time to get fully hard, right? That’s gonna be a problem indeed.” You lean forward, “So. Tell me, Jungkook. What are your kinks?”

If Jungkook was drinking water, he’s sure he’d be doing a spit take right now. Instead, he just chokes on his own saliva, coughing out his lungs at your sudden inquiry. “M-my kinks? What for?”

“To get you hard, duh.” You leave featherlight grazes around his thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It stirs something inside Jungkook, but not enough to do anything yet. You tsk, your brow crumpling as you decide what to do next. “What if I…”

You dig your nails into the meat of his thighs and inadvertently pull him closer. He stumbles forward, his breath knocked out of him despite how little you’d done so far. “W-wait,” he wheezes, shock running down his spine. “I––”

You smirk at him, digging harder until you’re sure to leave white little crescents littered around his thigh. “Aha. I guessed you’d be into that. You liked it when I bit you yesterday, didn’t you?”

Jungkook can’t even answer. He’s trying to keep his breathing steady, squeezing his eyelids shut. He hears you shuffling in front of him, and he soon senses your body press closer to him, alerting him that you have stood up. You wrap your arms around his neck, bending his head down until he can feel your breath fan across his lips.

Are you going to kiss him? But the contact doesn’t come; instead, your hands snake up to his hair, massaging his scalp for a moment before tugging on his roots harshly. It pulls a whine from his lips, the response surprising even himself. “S-shit,” he grits his teeth, urging you to do it again. He opens his eyes slightly, sees you watching him with rapt attention.

You lick your lips, looking at him like a meal ready to be eaten. The heat in his stomach builds, but Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. He doesn’t really have any more room in his brain anymore other than his unabashedly horny thoughts.

“Pain slut, huh? Somehow, it suits you.” You sound breathy, as if you were the one being pleasured instead. It makes Jungkook’s cock twitch a little, coming to life in front of you as you continue to assault his nerves.

“Do you like pain everywhere?” Your hands leave his head, coming down to the edge of his shirt. It’s a silent request, and Jungkook allows you to lift up his sweater, leaving him completely bare before you. You throw it somewhere to your right, eyes raking him up and down. Something about you still being fully clothed makes Jungkook’s inside light on fire, and it rushes blood down south before he can even understand why.

You chuckle, looking at his hardened nipples with interest. “Pierced? What a naughty boy you are.” You flick him there experimentally, and when Jungkook’s breath hitches, that gives you a go sign to do more. You fiddle around with the rosy bud some more, circling it with the pads of your fingers until Jungkook was a whining mess before you. “Sensitive… What a prize you are, Jungkook.”

Jungkook keens at the praise, even though he knows you didn’t really mean it in a good way. He finds himself wanting to please you: to get himself hard for you, to make you want him like how he wants you. He honestly can’t tell if you’re enjoying this as much as him, other than the way you’re watching him closely like a hawk.

He’s nearly half-hard, his cock jutting against your stomach. You peer down, figuring out your next move as he holds his breath, afraid he might do something wrong. Your fingers move once more, tracing shapes across his stomach and causing the muscles there to contract. He anticipates your next movements, his dick steadily throbbing.

“I suppose the easiest way to get you hard is to touch you here, right?” you murmur lowly. You grip him by the hips all of a sudden, your thumbs placed firmly into his Adonis’ belt. You inch closer and closer to where he wants you the most, and you watch him amusedly as he clamps down on his bottom lip, unwilling to sound desperate so early in the game.

(Was it early though? He’s been thinking about this exact scenario since last night, even plaguing his dreams. Still, it wouldn’t look cool if he just… busted a nut just from having his dick out. Even he knew that was kinda sad.)

Despite his best efforts, perhaps the desperation is apparent on his face because you eventually do take pity on him. You wrap your fingers around his length, not moving just yet. You smile secretly to yourself when you hear Jungkook exhale and swallow audibly, but you’re waiting for something. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently as if you didn’t have his dick in your hands.

“What do good boys say when they want something?” You’re fishing, but your teasing tone breaks Jungkook down enough to release a ragged moan. He places his hands on your shoulder, using you for support as you slowly inch your hand down to the base of his cock.

He can’t keep the whine out of his voice when he says, “P...Please. Move?”

Your grin is wicked. “Of course, baby.”

Yeah, if you keep this up, Jungkook is going to come embarrassingly fast and he doesn’t think you’ll be quite pleased with that.

There is pre-cum leaking at the tip of his cock, dangerously close to pooling over and dripping all over your carpet. You are quick to swipe it off with your thumb, dragging it down his shaft for an easier slide. Jungkook’s abs tense, his teeth clamping on his bottom lip so aggressively that he almost splits it open. His grip on your shoulders tighten, but you don’t mind. You keep stroking him languidly, not going fast enough for Jungkook’s liking, but the concentration on your face is enough to make Jungkook release a stilted moan. It doesn’t take long until the wet squelch of your hand jerking him fills the room, coupled with the sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing.

“You’re really wet,” you chuckle, watching with fascination as your words urge another drop of pre-cum to collect at his tip. “Are you always like this?”

“N-not… Really?” It takes a while for Jungkook’s brain to connect, caught between wanting to keep his eyes shut and wanting to stare at your cute hands trying to wrap around his dick. Your fingers can’t even circle the girth of his cock, the realization almost making Jungkook come there and then.

He’d never been one to be overly confident about his penis size, to be honest. He doesn’t really go around proclaiming it to the world, and his meager body count doesn’t help the fact that most people are unaware of the extent of his package. He isn’t itching to tell people either, but he’s starting to see why people would be envious of having a large dick. The sight of you struggling to pump his cock really makes for a pretty picture.

“Ugh, my arm is getting tired,” you complain after a while, getting frustrated when you realize that Jungkook is almost fully hard, but not quite. “Jeez. Your dick is so huge that it really takes a minute for the fuel tank to fill up, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Jungkook wheezes, nearly crying out when you flick your wrist in just the right manner. Your hand pauses by the head of his dick, squeezing tightly enough not to be painful, much to his disappointment. Jungkook is still too shy to ask for more.

You let go of him all of a sudden, causing a guttural whine to escape Jungkook’s lips. Ignoring him, you nudge him back a few steps, Jungkook complying wordlessly. He’s still confused until you reach over to your bed, grabbing one of your pillows before dropping to your knees. Jungkook’s jaw drops, spluttering incomprehensibly as you cushion your knees with the pillow.

You look up, giggling amusedly. “Reminds you of last night, huh? Not gonna lie, I’ve been itching to have your cock in my mouth, though I’m not even sure if any of it can fit. That’s not gonna stop me from trying.”

Oh God. Oh Geez. Jungkook is going to die, isn’t he? He vaguely remembers his dream from the night before, how your pretty pink lips had stretched over his dick, barely going past his head. He whines pathetically, another string of pre-cum finally dripping down and landing on your thighs.

You hold him by his hips, preventing him from moving as your hot breath fans across his wet head. You lick your lips, taking one glance up at him before giving his tip a quick peck. It’s nothing to write home about, but the way Jungkook’s breath catches is enough to encourage you to do more. You suckle his head a little, suctioning your lips and moaning slightly at the bitter tang. Your eyes flutter shut, tongue swirling nondescript patterns as you greedily engrave his taste into your mind.

The image of you enjoying yourself is enough to get Jungkook fully hard. He feels like he’s on fire, from his flushed cheeks all the way to his groin. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, unsure if you’d allow him to pull on your hair.

You must have noticed his plight, because one of your hands leaves his hips to grasp his own, bringing it to your hair. You pop off his dick for a second, lips already redder than before. Jungkook wishes he could kiss you, but he’s still so unsure. “You can pull my hair, but if you push me down further than I’m willing to go, I’m stopping immediately, okay?” Your voice is authoritative and your gaze is steely, but it only prompts Jungkook to moan in reply.

He nods, nearly getting whiplash from how quickly his head bobs. You smirk, appeased by his obedience. You return to your ministrations, rewarding him by going further down and bobbing your head at a snail’s pace.

Jungkook’s sanity is barely hanging onto a thread. He wants to thrust into your wet mouth, never having felt this sort of pleasure in his life. He’s beginning to understand why Jimin is such a slut, and he wonders why on earth he’s been denying himself things like this. His eyes are half-lidded, but he’s determined to watch you as your masterful tongue brings him to the edge of hysteria.

When Jungkook doesn’t think your mouth can go further down, you surprise him once again. You go lower, and Jungkook feels your throat swallow around him until he nearly screams. Drool pools in the inside of his mouth, as if Jungkook’s body doesn’t know what to do with the pleasure. His legs nearly give out, but your hands keep him mounted.

His toes are curling, thighs trembling. “Fuck,” he whines, unable to stop himself when he thrusts a little into your mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean to–”

You glance up at him. Your eyes are tearing up, but otherwise you look unperturbed. You flatten your tongue on the underside of his dick, tracing the vein there as you slowly come up for air. You swallow the mix of saliva and pre-cum in your mouth, licking your lips like you’ve just had a 5-star meal. You look absolutely debauched, though Jungkook knows he’s probably not doing much better.

“No gag reflex. It’s fine,” you shrug, as if you’d just told him about the weather. Your voice sounds hoarse, roughened by the assault of his dick on your throat. “Are you close?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it, but– “Yes,” he says. He’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon, sweat dripping down his neck. You observe it drip down his body, as it curves down his neck and to his chest.

“You aren’t coming until I say so, got it?” You warn. He nods, cock twitching in desperation for your mouth to continue what it was doing.

But instead, you reach back to your bed, and Jungkook finally notices the tape measure that you’d left there. Oh right. Jungkook is brought back to reality, suddenly remembering why he’d gone here in the first place.

“This will only take a second, baby,” you whisper lowly, and Jungkook’s conscience is shot out of his head once more. Call him baby one more time, and Jungkook is sure to bust his load. He’s worried he might gain a Pavlovian response to the word; getting hard every time someone so much as utters “baby” for whatever reason.

You unravel the measuring tape, placing the end of it near the base of his member. You drag it over his length, whistling in awe as the number keeps growing and growing. “Shit, you really are huge,” you gasp in amazement, peering closely at the measurement to make sure you aren’t reading it wrong. “Nearly nine inches. Are you insane?”

Jungkook chuckles in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… nothing?”

You snort, shaking your head at the pure audacity of this boy in front of you. “No need to humblebrag, baby. Unless you want me to degrade you, then stop being coy with me.”

At the word “degrade,” Jungkook’s erection twitches with interest. Of course, you notice. “Oh? You want me to degrade you?”

Jungkook’s face heats up, forever astonished by your brazenness. “N-no! That’s not what I–”

“You want me to call your cock pathetic, huh? Is that what you want?”

Jungkook whines, shifting from foot to foot as he tries to avoid your lustful gaze. “I…”

“Want me to call you names, huh? Took your cock so long to get hard, struggled so much to get it up. What a useless dick that you have…” you trail off, covering your mouth behind your hand to hide your grin.

Jungkook feels like he’s about to fall over. The pressure in between his legs is reaching his breaking point, and Jungkook really doesn’t want to embarrass himself by coming untouched. He has a sinking suspicion you’d enjoy it if he did, however.

Your hand slides back to his crotch, cupping his erection once more. You run your palm along him once, enjoying the way his breath hitches. He’s undeniably close and it fills you with pride knowing that you did this to him. “You’re close.” You say it like a fact.

Jungkook squirms. “Please… Faster… I’m so close, Y/N. Just a lil bit more, please…”

“I love it when you beg,” you laugh, sounding a little mean. “But since you’ve been nice all this time, I’ll let you.”

Your hands speed up, twisting and pulling him in ways that Jungkook isn’t sure are possible. He’s full-on panting like a fucking dog right now, humping shallowly into your hand like he’s lost his mind. He’s so unbelievably close, the heat in his stomach climbing higher and higher until––

“SHIT! Y/N!”

You stop, confused. That shout didn’t sound like Jungkook. You turn to your closed door, ears straining for the sound again. “Yoongi?” you call out. “Did you say something?”

Muffled footsteps come rushing closer. Your doorknob jiggles, but Jungkook had thankfully locked it when he’d come into the room earlier. Yoongi huffs from behind the door, banging loudly on the frame. “Y/N! Help! I fucking dropped the cheesecake!”

“He dropped the cheesecake,” you repeat dully to yourself. You share a look with Jungkook. The banging doesn’t stop.

“Y/N PLEASEEE THE KITCHEN IS A MESS!” Yoongi screams, uncaring of whatever he was interrupting. “YOU OWE ME! I PAID FOR YOUR RENT LAST MONTH SO YOU GOTTA HELP!”

“I hate that bastard,” you sigh, defeated. You let go of Jungkook reluctantly, giving him an apologetic look. Jungkook wants to cry. “I’m… really sorry for leaving you again like this. I…” you hesitate, looking at the door then back to him. “I do kind of owe him, so…”

Jungkook exhales shakily, bending down to the floor to pick his shirt up. He dresses quietly, cheeks burning. Why must you keep torturing him like this? He thinks his balls might explode at this point. “It’s no problem… I’ll just take care of myself at home.”

You peer at him, feeling incredibly guilty. “I have a connecting bathroom. You could use it if you want?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Jungkook says before hurriedly rushing out of there. He refuses to look at you as he slams the bathroom door shut, breathing slowly through his nostrils in an attempt to calm himself. He waits as he listens for you to leave before his hands scramble back onto his dick, loudly crying out as he tugs himself to completion.

His legs give out from under him as he slides down to the floor, spurts of hot cum flying past his fist. Wave after wave of pleasure tingles down his spine as he slides up and down his cock. After his dick shoots its last droplet of cum, Jungkook slams his head against your bathroom wall. He’s exhausted.

He closes his eyes, thinks about how his life has led him up to this moment. Jizzing in some near stranger’s home while one of his best friends cleans up his fallen cheesecake.

“Jesus fucking Christ I hate it here,” he says. He gets up unsteadily, washing his hands of his mess.

x x x x x

Fully dressed and unsatisfyingly sated, Jungkook exits your bathroom with a flush down his neck. He keeps his eyes averted from you, but not before glaring heatedly at Yoongi as he turns to leave. Yoongi cocks his head to the side, annoyingly unaware of what he had done.

“You okay, dude? You look like a bull ready to pummel me,” Yoongi snickers, bemused by Jungkook’s flared nostrils. “Seriously. You okay?”

You slap Yoongi on the thigh, huffing angrily as you stay squatted on the floor, your other hand busy wiping off the cheesecake from the floor with a paper towel. “Shut up. You’ve done enough shitheadery today.”

Yoongi looks at the mounted clock on your fridge. “It’s only 7PM. My shitheadery doesn’t clock out until 10PM today.”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook waves his goodbye. “Well. I guess I’ll see you guys,” he murmurs, inching closer to the door. He walks out in silence, no longer bothering to hide his pouting. He takes the elevator down, ruminating on his existence. When he reaches the ground floor, his phone immediately dings with a notification.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ hey. please don’t hate me. i’m really sorry. raincheck?

Jungkook snorts, stopping in his tracks. It’s always just rainchecks with you. He types up a quick response.

from: jjk it’s not your fault. it’s fine.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ you sure? you got off well by yourself at least, right?

from: jjk yeah. don’t worry about it.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ if you’re down… i could help you through the phone? when you get home? :( i just feel really bad. like, genuinely. yoongi is an asshole.

The offer sounds interesting, but sadly, Jungkook is out of juice for the day. He’s got a lot of stamina for many things, but it turns out he’s out of practice when it comes to his own dick.

from: jjk nah it’s fine. thanks though.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ i hope you’re still down for the contest? doyoung texted me while we were busy a while ago and said that they were free tomorrow after 12?

from: jjk no worries. i’ll be there.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ <3 ty you’re the best!! <3

He groans, slapping himself in the face. God, he is so fucking whipped.

x x x x x

The next day, Jungkook wakes up with a burning headache. He feels hungover even though he didn’t drink at all the night before, and Jungkook wonders if his brain had somehow deflated overnight with how hollow he feels. He grabs his phone from his bed stand, sees a new text from you reminding him of what he’d promised.

You had sent him an address to another apartment complex just a few bus stops away from where he lives and he assumes this must be either Doyoung’s or Taeyong’s place. He shuts his eyes for another few moments, trying his best to remember how to live.

It’s already nearing noon, so he needs to get going if he doesn’t want to be late. He shudders to think what you might do if he ghosts you. Despite how guilty you were yesterday for leaving him mid-nut, he doesn’t think that debt will cover him if he chooses not to show up to the dick-measuring contest.

On the bus, he fidgets in his seat, picking at the rips in his jeans and doing anything to keep his mind busy. He keeps thinking that someone knows what he’s up to, paranoia eating him from the inside out as he darts his eyes left and right, hoping no one can actually read minds. The bus is relatively empty, with only him and an elderly couple sitting near the front. They seem none the wiser, though Jungkook fears what they would think if they knew what he was up to.

He almost wishes he was wearing Seokjin’s thot shorts, as the skimpy excuse of clothing had somehow given him some sort of confidence the day before. Gone is that false sense of (misplaced) bravado; instead, Jungkook is filled with anxiety at the prospect of showing a couple of strangers his dick.

(A fairly human response, but that doesn’t help Jungkook’s current case.)

He arrives at the apartment complex in record time, and he sees you standing by the entrance. You look well-rested, your hands fiddling with your phone. Jungkook has only ever seen you when you were wearing that revealing dress from the club and your pajamas from your home, so he’s kind of shocked to see you look cute in your simple white dress and jean jacket. Not that you didn’t look good those other times, but seeing you look like a normal university student is astonishing, for lack of better word.

You almost look like a regular girl just waiting for her date to pick her up.

“Hey!” You greet him cheerily when you see him approach, waving at him. He waves back, the apples of his cheeks dusted pink from his previous thoughts. She’s not your date, you weirdo. Wait, she’s the weirdo. Get it together man! This shit is fucked up.

“This is their place, I assume?” Jungkook asks, looking at the building. It appears almost identical to your own apartment complex, minus the mini water fountain at the front. Ah, the wonders of living in a concrete jungle.

“Yep,” you nod. You start walking towards the entrance, with Jungkook following closely. “You ready? God, I can’t wait to see Doyoung’s stupid face. He’s gonna be so pissed!”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jungkook mutters, vibrating with nerves.

You both make your way to the apartment, with you humming quietly while he sweats profusely beside you. At least one of you is having fun, he thinks grimly to himself. You reach apartment 322, knocking three times before a boy with neat black hair opens the door.

“Y/N! Good to see you,” the boy says, reaching for a hug. You hug him back enthusiastically, ignoring Jungkook’s bemused stares. If this boy is either Doyoung or Taeyong, aren’t you supposed to… hate both of their guts? Or at least, not be friends? What even is going on?

When you step back, you point at Jungkook offhandedly. “Oh yeah, this is Jungkook. The guy I’m dating.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his own spit, but luckily the boy doesn’t notice. Right… You guys are supposed to be dating. It’s not real, though. Get a grip! “Hi, I’m Jungkook,” he wheezes, shaking the other guy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“I’m Doyoung,” he introduces himself, a small smile on his lips. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard… a lot about you, so to speak.”

Jungkook squeaks, earning a chuckle from Doyoung. “No need to be embarrassed. I think we’re way past that point now. Sorry for roping you into this, by the way. But when Y/N wants to fight, well… Let’s just say I’m not going to be the first one who backs down.”

“Says the dude who couldn’t even beat me at arm wrestling,” you snort, pushing past Doyoung and walking into his home. Doyoung rolls his eyes, gesturing for Jungkook to come in.

“Props to you for dating her, by the way. I’ve been friends with that demon since elementary school, so I know what she’s like. You must be a guy with strong willpower,” Doyoung says.

“I’m… Sorry for saying this, but I’m kind of confused? I didn’t know you guys were friends,” Jungkook says, examining Doyoung’s apartment. It’s a lot bigger than yours, though he does recall you saying that Doyoung was filthy rich. It’s a lot more modern looking for sure, as Jungkook can see that Doyoung has two industrial-sized refrigerators in his kitchen. What kind of university student needs two industrial-sized refrigerators?

“Yeah, we are. She actually only dated Taeyong because she knew we both liked each other but I was too stubborn to make a move, so she did the only thing she knew how to do: be an asshole,” he explains simply. Jungkook nods, needing no further clarification.

“Jungkook! Come with me,” you pop out from one of the doorways deeper in the apartment, beckoning him closer. You point at Doyoung, “And you. Get Taeyong ready. I’m gonna need a few minutes to get Jungkook in tip-top shape!”

Doyoung chuckles, shoving Jungkook towards you. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll introduce you to Taeyong later, I guess. He’s in my bedroom, so we’ll come out in about 20 minutes? That should be enough time, right?”

Yeah. Right. Jungkook walks numbly towards you, arms rigged by his sides as you pull him into Doyoung’s spare bathroom. You lock the door close, whirling around to face him with your hands on your hips. You’ve rolled your sleeves up, appearing like a demented surgeon preparing to dissect him. “Well! Strip!”

Jungkook is clumsy when he unbuttons his jeans, his entire body feeling like it’s being weighed down by pounds of lead. He shucks them off, leaving him in his boxers (thankfully, with no holes in them. He made sure to double-check before he left this morning.) You appraise him silently, thinking of what to do next.

Before Jungkook can say anything, your hands are already on his chest, pointer fingers placed near his nipples. His piercings are visible through his thin shirt, much to your appreciation. You circle them lazily, much like how you did yesterday.

Jungkook can’t relax long enough to enjoy it, however. His shoulders are tense, fists clenched behind his back. He’s trying to stop thinking about what’s going to happen, trying to enjoy your touch. He grits his teeth, swallowing thickly.

“I… I can’t do this, Y/N.” he mumbles. “I don’t think I can get hard. I’m too nervous.”

You pause in your movements. “You’re nervous?” you purr, voice lowering. Jungkook stops fidgeting to stare at you, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “How can I alleviate that, hmm?”

“What?”

You pinch his nipples, hard. He gasps, whimpering right after from the jolt of pain. “I think I know how to calm you down,” you murmur, staring him down like he’s nothing more than a delicious snack.

“You want me to hurt you, huh? Is that it? Answer me, slut.” You say those words, but there’s a small bit of hesitation in your expression, like you’re worried if he truly likes it. When he nods enthusiastically, urging you to go on, you smile softly at him. His heart hammers in his chest, a small case of butterflies beginning to erupt there. You look kinda cute, even if you have his nipples in a twist.

“If it’s too much, just say ‘dumbo’ and I’ll stop, okay?” Jungkook nods once more, eager to get going.

You smirk, letting go of his nipples and gripping his hips instead. Your thumbs stay innocently above his boxers. “Do you like it when I call you names too, huh? You like being pinched and prodded?”

Jungkook whines, already turning needy. The anxiety from a while ago slowly drains away, leaving only lust to cloud his mind. “N-no, I just…”

“No?” You laugh, your thumbs catching on the garter of his boxers and pulling them down until the tip of his cock peeks out, already in the midst of getting hard. “Then what’s this?”

“Nggh…” Jungkook can’t say anything, can only stare helplessly at you.

“Pathetic. You have a nine-inch cock but it’s good for nothing except earning me a bit of money. Shame, isn’t it? Would be nice if you knew how to use it, then maybe I’d let you fuck me,” you say, edging closer to him until your lips find his exposed collarbones. You suck harshly, giddy when color immediately blooms at the spot. You thread your fingers into his dark, fluffy hair – and tug.

It’s too much all at once – Jungkook isn’t ready for any of it at all. He’s panting, whining, drooling a little. He shimmies his hips a little, his boxers sliding down his thighs and onto the marble floor. His cock springs free, already dripping pre-cum but still only half-hard.

“Ah, there it is. Your big useless cock. My, my… Already dirtying Doyoungie’s floor with your slick, huh? You gonna make the floor wet, baby?”

Jungkook garbles something; did he say something? Who knows. All he knows right now is that 1) you’re making him lose his marbles and 2) he’s embarrassingly close. He’s never gotten this hard so fast in his entire life, and he might be suffering from blood loss or something. His head feels light, like he’s floating. His entire body is thrumming, senses filled with nothing but you.

You gently lead him closer to the bathtub where you sit, still paying no attention to his weeping arousal. Your mouth is dangerously close to it though, but you make no move to hold him in your mouth. Instead, you hike your skirt up until it reaches your waist, revealing your white panties. Jungkook zeroes in on the darkening patch, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs. He’s screwed.

“Show me how you pleasured yourself yesterday, when you were in my bathroom,” you say, caressing the front of your panties. You grind against your palm, eyelashes fluttering as your jaw drops into an ‘o’. You exhale through your nose, laughing breathily. “If you do well, then maybe I’ll show you what I did when you left, hmm?”

Jungkook has never moved faster in his life than he did then. He takes his erection into his hands, sighing with relief when he begins to pump. He moves slower than he usually would, unwilling to finish so soon after getting this far. He’s already wound up from your teasing (and if you count the past few days, then let’s say he’s been edged long enough.)

You study him with sharp eyes, focusing on the movement of his hands. “That’s it. It must be easy jerking off with how wet you are, huh?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook speeds up, flicking his wrist and focusing on the sensitive tip of his cock. His attention is pulled when he sees you shift from the corner of his eye. His grip stutters when you push your panties to the side, giving him a full view of your glistening core. He licks his lips, aching to put his mouth there but only if you’d allow him.

“Why’d you stop?” You stretch your leg out, using your foot to urge his wrist to keep moving. “Come on. I want to see you.”

You circle your clit leisurely before dipping your fingers into your pussy two fingers at a time, wet enough for the slide to be smooth. Jungkook quickens his pace, wanting to match your speed. He watches, mesmerized, at the sight of your fingers pushing in and out.

The obscene sounds coming from the both of you is loud enough to mask Jungkook’s desperate mewls. He’s going faster now, wanting nothing more than to cum all over you and your pussy. You’d look good in his cum, the pearly droplets would look good in contrast with your perfect skin.

Your thighs are shaking, your own breathing shallow as you quickly approach your end. You’re moaning in tandem with him, your arousal coating your fingers generously as it begins to run down the back of your hand. You’re scissoring yourself, but it’s barely enough when you compare it to Jungkook’s cock. No, nothing would be enough to prepare you to take him. He’d ruin you, and the thought of him breaking you is enough to help you tip over the edge.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you moan, eyes screwing shut as you are wrought with the strongest orgasm of your life. More wetness drips out of you as you rub frantically at your clit, riding your high. You look at Jungkook through your eyelashes, lips parted. “Fuck,” you repeat.

Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. He knows he shouldn’t cum but the pleasure is skyrocketing at an unparalleled speed. His balls tighten, the heat in his abdomen building until he can’t hold back even if he tried. He shudders once, twice, before jets of his cum spills from over his fist, some of the droplets making their way onto your thighs. He moans at the sight, doesn’t try to change his trajectory as his mind is completely hazed with lust. “Shit, I’m–” Jungkook grinds one last time into his hand, before promptly slumping down onto the floor.

“Jesus, that was a lot of cum,” he hears you say, but he can’t bring himself to look at you. He’s ashamed, having cummed without your permission. He can feel his dick softening underneath him, and he dimly remembers that hadn’t been the plan at all. He was supposed to get hard, have his dick measured, and then finish if he was allowed. And now, he ruined everything because he couldn’t hold himself back.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, hiding behind his cum-stained hands. He cringes when the mess enters his eyes, wiping his palm somewhere on his leg. “Fuck. I messed everything up. You were just… It was too much… You…”

“Should’ve used your safety word, Jungkook.”

“It wasn’t because it was bad,” Jungkook’s cheeks flush, “It was… too good.”

You kneel beside him, cradling his chin and forcing him to look at you. He had been afraid to see disappointment in your eyes, so he’s absolutely surprised to see you look… amused. You’re even giggling a little.

“Sorry. I went a bit overboard. Even I get horny sometimes,” you shrug, wiping a bit of cum away from his forehead. Your own fingers are slick with your own cum, so really, you were just making a bigger mess of his face. Jungkook can’t say he’s opposed to a little mess. “You just looked so good that I couldn’t help myself.”

“You… enjoyed yourself, too? I’m not insane for thinking there’s something between us?”

“Honestly, you’re at least a little bit insane,” you laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “What? I’m cuckoo, and you know it. The fact that you got turned on by me even after all I’d done to you… Really puts you into perspective, huh?”

Jungkook grumbles, but he’s no longer frowning. “I guess. My friends tell me I have a type, and I guess you fit the bill.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that, and it brings a smile to Jungkook’s face. He likes it when you laugh, he decides. “Same here. I guess you’re my type, too.”

You peer down at his flaccid dick. “Too bad about your meat flute, though. Unless you can get it back up in the next 2 minutes, then I don’t think you’re getting that three grand.”

“Please don’t call my dick that,” Jungkook says before shrugging his shoulders. “And it’s no worries. I had the biggest nut of my life and that’s good enough to me. Plus, you said you’d give me one thousand dollars if I agreed to help you out, so you better not back out on that.”

You snigger, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Yeah, whatever. But not before we get out of here and you fuck my brains out, got it? You need to work for it, baby.”

Is it bad that his cock was already beginning to stir once more? Unprecedented, as it usually took Jungkook ages to get back up. Maybe you really were the one for him.

“Deal. Let’s get out of here?”

When the two of you finish getting cleaned up and leave the bathroom with no evidence that you had even been there, Doyoung doesn’t even bat an eye as you walk past him, eager to get out of the door. Taeyong is lounging on the couch with his dick… mysteriously still in his pants, as if he had no intention of taking them off in the first place.

“Sorry, we need to leave. There’s an emergency we have to attend to. See you, Doyoungie!” You tug Jungkook along, who waves his own hasty goodbye.

The door clicks shut, leaving the couple alone once more. Taeyong grins up at Doyoung, “You really are amazing, Doyoung. How’d you know she’d end up with him?”

Doyoung flicks open his phone, showing Taeyong his text messages with none other than Kim Seokjin himself. “All according to keikaku, my love. Kim Seokjin always wins.”

[lightbeyondeden]

Beachouse

Beachouse

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

a/n: i like to imagine this one with like,, season 4 spence cause I think that just the right amount of innocent yet horny for this oneshot but it's up to you. Also i used a bunch of dialogue prompts from this list :) see if you can spot them! 

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: kinda smut!! spencer being horny, alcohol, cursing, makeout sesh with heavy petting lol

masterlist

She was trying to kill him.

 As a man of logic and reasoning, Spencer had concluded the only probable reason his very attractive coworker would insist on parading around the small cabin the team had rented for the weekend in those tiny white cotton shorts was that she wanted to kill him. 

Spencer had always found her attractive. He would’ve had to have been blind not to, and even if he was he still would’ve fallen for the sound of her laugh or the way she left the smell of lavender wherever she sat on the jet or how she was always first to fall asleep after long days spent working cases. 

So maybe he had fallen in love with her - even if he hadn’t quite admitted it to himself yet. Love, however, was not quite what he felt as he watched Y/n walk lazily into the kitchen on that Saturday morning.

Spencer had been sitting on one of the barstools that lined the kitchen counter and sipping on a very sugary cup of coffee. He was passively listening to both the birds chirping outside the oversized cabin window and JJ’s latest story about Henry. He had felt nothing but peace, until she walked in. 

She was wearing a baby blue tank top (with no bra, not that Spencer was looking of course it’s just that as she was walking in and his eyes just happened to graze over her hard nip-, nevermind.) and those white shorts. The outfit was probably perfect for sleeping in the cabin that - even now in the early hours of the morning - remained hot and humid. It was not, however, perfect for just chatting with Spencer, he already felt an uncomfortable stirring in his pants.  

“Hey guys.” She smiled, voice still soft with sleep.

“Hi Y/n, you sleep well?” JJ said without missing a beat, “Lemme get you some coffee.”

JJ got out of her seat and set to work making a new cup of coffee from the keurig that sat on the counter behind her.

“Thank you Jayge, you’re my favourite.” Y/n laughed. 

Spencer watched with intent as she brushed her hand through her bedhead and took her own seat at the counter across from him. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n said as she locked eyes with Spencer. 

Crap, he hadn’t meant to stare. Honestly though, he couldn’t help it. So much of her body was on display and though Spencer considered himself to be a respectful man, he had dreamt of that body more times than he cared to admit and seeing it like this was driving him crazy. 

“Like what?” He replied, hoping that playing dumb would get him out of this.

She eyed him suspiciously, however Spencer was saved from the incoming interrogation by JJ returning, coffee in hand. 

Y/n gratefully took the cup in her hands and sipped in gently. Try as he might, Spencer couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at her over and over again as conversation between the three resumed. 

Slowly the rest of the team began to wake up and wander into the kitchen. Conversation was playful and light, this vacation being exactly the break they needed from their stressful work lives. It may have only been four days, but any amount of time that they didn’t have to spend talking about all the horrible things they saw each day was time they thoroughly enjoyed. 

“So I was thinking we could take a trip down to that hidden beach the airBNB people were telling us about. It would be fun to all go swimming together!” Penelope had said, big doe eyes daring someone to try telling her no.

So that's why a team of thirty to fifty somethings were all walking down a wooden boardwalk together, arms filled with floaties and towing a wagon full of snacks (wagon courtesy of JJ). Spencer just happened to look over at Y/n at the exact moment the beach came into view, and he couldn’t have been more grateful for that because getting to see the way her face lit up when she saw the lake made his day.

“There's a doc!?” She squealed, “Morgan! I’ll race you to it.” 

And just like that  - the two of them took off, splashing into the water and yelling playful challenges and insults at each other, Emily and Penelope close behind. Spencer just chuckled as he settled down into the sand with a pile of books beside them. 

Truth be told he didn’t get much reading done. He chatted with JJ and Rossi, he binged on candy and chips, and most often, spent the day ogling Y/n. He just couldn’t understand how she managed to look so perfect even after Derek had thrown her off the floating wooden dock for what must’ve been the thirtieth time that day. 

When she finally came marching up the beach, soaking wet and out of breath, Spencer wondered if there was ever a situation where she could look bad. Covered in goosebumps - though the sun was sweltering hot - she tightly wrapped a towel around herself and plopped down in the sand between JJ and Rossi. 

“Hey SP!” He chuckled at her nickname for him “Can you pass that bag of chips over here please?”

The rest of the day was spent soaking in the sun. It was full of jokes and swimming and Y/n’s head on Spencer's shoulder. He watched her and JJ pass a volleyball back and forth, he saw the team smile more in one afternoon than he had in the last month. They finally decided to pack it in the sun was nothing more than a sliver on the horizon. 

They walked home to the dulcet sounds of crickets and Penelope's voice retelling all the best stories of the day. Spencer's mind moved much faster than his feet did, but all thoughts were halted when he felt a cold set of fingers grab onto his hand. That was one of his favourite things about her - the fact that she loved physical touch. Of course, at first he had a strong aversion to her love of hugs, hand holding, and cuddles, but as they grew into a close knit partnership he found himself longing for a hug from her after hard cases or for her hand to hold when he's walking to the bookstore. 

When the team got back to their beach house it was quiet for a moment, as everyone was worn down from all their hours in the sun, their skin kissed with its warmth even though it had set more than an hour ago. Emily, ever a shit disturber, broke the serenity the walk home had created the second she broke out the bottles of wine from the fridge.

Y/n’s had slipped out of Spencers as she and the girls got to work pouring and drinking as many glasses as they could get out of each bottle.

“Movie time!” Penelope declared, plopping herself down on the couch between Derek and Rossi. 

Everyone else settled in, and Penelope flicked through Netflix - occasionally announcing a title to the group to gauge a reaction and giving her own opinions on each. She finally landed on ‘Clueless’, a film Spencer had never heard of - despite Penelope and JJ insisting it was a classic. 

Everyone was tired, you could tell that without being a profiler, but the group was so set on finishing their day together that everyone sat and watched the movie with heavy eyelids. Y/n was hit by sleep like a truck, and Spencer could tell. Her head fell on Spencer's shoulder and he let his own arms rest around her. It was fine, they were best friends. Best friends can cuddle on late nights - it doesn't mean anything to either of them anyway. 

Except it did. It meant everything to Spencer. When he grabbed her hand it wasn’t even really a conscious decision, he just reached out and gripped onto her - he barely even noticed that he did it. 

Y/n noticed. 

Her eyes shot up to meet his own. 

“What was that for?” Her tone was joking but there was a realness behind the whispered question. 

“I’m holding your hand because the movie is scary, alright?  It’s a… Terrifying… Rom-com… ” Spencer defended. 

They both looked up at the screen to see a scene of a blonde girl driving a jeep down the middle of the road and burst into laughter, gaining some looks and laughs from the other people in the room. 

“I mean, you’re right. Unsafe driving practices sure are terrifying. Why do you think Hotch doesn’t let me drive anymore?”

“Because it's a hazard to everyone in the car and the berau called you ‘a hazard to the safety of yourself and your team’ when you drive?” Spencer quipped back, earning more laughter from the rest of the group.

Y/n just shook her head and laughed before dropping back down onto Spencer’s shoulder. However Spencer went the other direction, releasing his grasp on Y/n’s hand and setting it at his side instead.

“Why’d you let go of me?” She whispered into his ear. 

Spencer allowed himself to let out some of what he had been feeling for as long as he had known her. He looked her dead in the eyes and and tried to communicate all of his feelings telepathically - but all he said was;

“I was scared...”

She looked at him and Spencer suddenly changed his mind about the whole telepathy thing, suddenly praying she can’t see the longing in his eyes.

“Come with me.”

So they got up, said a very rushed goodnight to their friends, and took off towards Y/n’s bedroom. When she opens the door Spencer is hit by a wall of the vanilla perfume she uses. If it was anyone else, he would have found it overwhelming, but because it was her it was more like something intoxicating. 

She sat him down on the bed and took a spot beside him. Her eyes looked up and met his honey brown ones, and in hindsight Spencer swore he could pick that as the exact moment his heart rate picked up. 

“So are you gonna tell me what’s been going on with you? Why you’ve been acting so strange?” She was still whispering even though the group was well out of earshot. 

He didn’t respond, his head was fuzzy and he was just trying his best to put together a coherent thought.

“I’m your friend SP!” She laughed, trying again “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Sometimes I want to makeout with you, is that a friend thing to do?” 

Spencer's words hung in the air and he so badly wished he could take them back. Why would he jeopardize the relationship he had with her? For what? Some inane fantasy he had where they were together? The silence made the air crushingly heavy, and Spencer got up to leave but was stopped by her gripping his arm. 

She stood up and cupped her hand on his face, and it felt like they stood there like that for an hour. Spencer so desperately wanted to close the gap between them but the paralyzing fear that he was badly misreading her gesture stopped him. 

But then she did. She pushed her lips against his and Spencer immediately melted into her. Soft fingertips on his cheeks turned into hands intertwined in his curls, his own hands finding their rightful spot on her hips. 

They tangled together, the room filled with the sound of their desperate breaths. In an uncharacteristic burst of confidence Spencer ran a hand under her top and rested it on the small of her back. That was all the encouragement Y/n needed to clamber into his lap, never even breaking their kiss. 

“Wait-” Spencer pulled back, breathless, “What does this mean? What are we doing?”

“I love you. It took me way too long to realize it but I just want to spend all my time with you, that's how I know. I love you.” Y/n whispered into his neck, still perched gently on top of him. 

Spencer laughed a little at the absurdity of this moment. Girls like Y/n don’t love guys like Spencer - he almost wouldn’t believe it if it was any other girl. But it wasn’t any other girl, he trusted Y/n with his life - he knew she meant it.

“I love you too. I always have.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again.

~

Click.

Spencer jolted awake to the sound of Penelope’s cell phone camera going off. He moved to rub his eyes but found that his right arm was trapped under a shirtless Y/n. 

Now he understood why Penelope was taking pictures. 

“I got asked to check on you two - you know, see if you were awake.” Penelope was obviously trying very hard to hold back her excitement. “However it seems like I am interrupting something. So I will leave you lovebirds to it.” 

She turned and sauntered out the door, but Spencer heard her laughing to herself in the hallway and he knew that in a few minutes the whole world would know exactly what Penelope thought about the compromising position she had just found them in. 

The world could wait though, Spencer decided. Y/n had stayed peacefully asleep somehow, and he could feel the heat of her bare skin all over him. 

So he pulled her closer, for that one more minute of bliss. One more minute of happiness.

 One more minute of Y/n.

[syuga-s]

The Last Time

w.c 4.3k

pairing. Jooheon x gn!reader

genre. angst, a little fluff maybe, idk how to classify it but it's my take on relationships in real life(?)

a/n. (warnings) I throw some curses here and there, mention of the word "sex" once, tried to make it as gender-neutral as possible, I could really use some help about t/w, feedback is more than welcome, hope you like the fic 🧍‍♀️

Once again you were at the same bar. With the same friends. Same music. Same drinks. It's safe to say that nothing's changed in here but you.

For some reason, you were awfully quiet tonight. Everyone was away from the table by now. All of them talking and dancing in groups.

You were regretting saying yes to going out the very moment Jasmine was at your front door. But your best friend really wanted to get you out of your house.

The thing is you weren’t going to be alone, all of your friends were tagging along. I guess I need to suck it up, maybe I could have fun, despite him.

And you really tried, there was no need to make a scene anymore. All of your friends have had their fair share of nights seeing you 'talk' with him and making things awkward for everyone. It's been a while, though. You haven't seen him in exactly 2 years.

How do I explain this? There's no resentment anymore, no hate for what happened between you. But when there's a choice between spending your Friday night at the same place as him or staying at home? Well...

But tonight was clearly different. Something (Jasmine) had dragged you here and to be quite honest, it hasn’t been half bad yet. Jasmine kept waiting for you to get up from your chair to come and chat with Jackson and Changkyun. Her all-time crush and his best friend.

"In a sec!! Just let me finish this drink!" You said while you showed her your glass. She quickly nodded and turned to keep talking with those two. You have to remember to thank them later for keeping her entertained because if it weren't for them cracking jokes every single second, she wouldn't have let you off the hook that easily.

Meanwhile, you decided to get a little lost in your head. Laughing to yourself because you were feeling like having a main character moment. Being the only one sat down in a place full of people. The mysterious persona drinking by themselves.

But that didn't last long.

"Mind if I sit here?" You shook your head. He put his drink next to yours and asked, "How are you?" And it somehow felt like you couldn’t have avoided this exact situation.

You released a breath that you didn't even know you were holding. "I'm sitting Jooheon, drinking… existing, you?" He forced himself to smile. Trying to hide the fact that he was still feeling uneasy around you. Nonetheless, showing you the dimples that you used to love so much.

“I can see that”, he paused, "it's been a lot since I last saw you, you look different".

You hummed softly, finally making eye contact with him. "So you expected for me to look the same?" You surely weren't going to pass up the opportunity to be passive-aggressive to him.

It still makes you happy to know that he has never minded this side of you.

"I'm teasing, I guess we both look different, it's been what? Two years?"

"I'm not sure, but it feels like a lot" He took a sip of his drink and started to fidget with the glass. Maybe you're not the only one that's changed after all.

In the two years, you were together, you never saw him like this. But let's remember the fact that you never fully knew him back then. It just feels weird to see him this anxious. Especially with you.

"I've wanted to reach out to you for a while now," You frowned at his words. "Guess I lacked a little courage" He let out an airy laugh. "I really want to talk to you".

Now it was your turn to feel tense. What is this supposed to mean? How long has he been wanting to talk? And talk about what?

You tilted your head and opened your mouth to ask him all this, but he didn't give you the chance to get the words out.

"Before you say something, please believe me I just wanna talk", "but not in here”.

"Alright then, where do you suggest we ‘talk’ Jooheon?” He took his phone out to check the time. 10:44 p.m. He pursed his lips and said, more like hesitating, "I could walk you home?"

You stared off into your group of friends. This was going to make their night interesting. Seeing you two go together again, just like all those times before.

Jooheon's been waiting for this since he saw on your social media that you were leaving the city. And Jasmine took care of letting him know that you would be coming back in about 6 months.

That was a year ago. More than 365 days waiting to be in the same room with you. Praying that you would let him talk to you. Not that you would reject him. But he was scared, he was perfectly aware he messed up everything.

As you were both saying goodbyes to your friends, you started to think about how everything had ended between you two.

You know what? Yes, maybe I was wrong in ghosting him but after all, I don't owe him anything. Just like he threw me out of his life two years ago. We didn't work out, he never communicated with me. He didn't choose me back. I just had to watch him get rid of me, no explanations, no nothing. And I find it really hard to believe that he's been dying to talk to me. What could be so important that he wants to have a proper conversation? How will I explain to him that I stopped replying for no particular reason? That I just realized that we weren't good together, and I had to let go of him? Should I tell him that no matter my hard feelings, I still thought about him constantly?

You had left each other in the cold back then.

He called your name, and you snapped back to reality. Didn't even realize you were already outside of the bar when he softly asked you, "aren't you cold?"

You smirked and told him "Well yeah, walking back home in this weather wasn't in my plans dummy, but I didn't bring a jacket though".

He used to be so attentive to you. One of the other things you used to love about him. Always concerned about you.

He simply put his jacket around you and started walking before you could complain about something as simple as this. Like you always did.

It feels nice to know that someone in this world knows you to this extent. The way you’ll react to simple things. How can you still love someone despite knowing that you don’t work together?

You realized he still has this jacket. It's the same one he gave me the first night we spent together. Why do I have to remember this now? Not fair. Maybe he wore it on purpose.

You gave a little run to catch him. Now that you were by his side, you were getting impatient, "Can you please start talking? I'm intrigued by all your seriousness".

You were kind of hating this feeling. Everything about him felt familiar. Suddenly, you wanted to cling your arm to his but thought twice about it.

He chuckled. "Well it's not super serious, I want us to have a nice conversation, you know?" You snorted at this, what does a nice talk mean?

"I can be nice, as long as you tell me WHAT you wanna talk about…", "come on Jooheon, just get to the point".

"Okay!! OKAY… I-" he took a deep breath and continued, "First of all, I want to apologize to you for everything, then I want us to talk about what happened between us if that's okay with you?"

You'd be lying if you didn't say that you wanted this to happen since you drew apart the first time. You always dreamt of having an adult conversation with him.

But the dream left your mind bit by bit. Just like your heart got itself back together after he left you, piece by piece.

Overwhelmed, you could only stare straight ahead into the street. He called your name again. Now your eyes were on his, and you could see his concerns. How his mind was going miles per hour, just like yours.

"I want to apologize too,” you smiled and finally let yourself link arms with him. “It’s gonna take us a while, isn’t it?”.

The walk to your apartment took around 15 minutes. The words you exchanged with Jooheon were kept to a minimum. You weren’t gonna get into the heavy stuff right there in the street.

When you finally arrived, you gave him back his jacket. It was gonna get uncomfortable to talk with him with a piece of clothing that made you remember too much.

“Want something to drink? I have a beer, wine, you name it”. He sat on your couch while you searched for something non-alcoholic in your little fridge. “A beer would be okay”.

You got yourself some water. Otherwise, your head would be fuzzy, and wouldn’t be able to tell him all you’ve had on your mind for years.

You handed him the bottle, and you took your seat on the carpet. Your mind wandered off to the last time he was in here.

When he told you goodnight and planted a soft kiss on your lips like he always did. You knew it wasn’t a simple ‘good night’, for you.

You remembered how your eyes followed him until he closed the door of your apartment.

He took a swig of his drink and by the time he put the bottle on your little coffee table, it made you realize he was sitting right there, in front of you.

Finally, gathering the courage to start telling you what was on his mind. “I never thought I’d get the chance to talk to you again”.

I didn’t think so, either. We both fucked up multiple times.

──────────────────────

You were never a couple. After 5 years, you never understood what had lacked between you. The desire was there. Now and then you had your moments of happiness. Usually on the weekends.

When you met, you weren’t looking for love or a serious relationship. At least one of you.

Jooheon was free, like the wind or like a bird. He flew back and forth and once in a while he needed to land somewhere for a while. Every so often he sought another fire, another bed, other arms that weren’t yours.

The time came when he made you feel a million things inside. Overwhelmed with words and emotions, mostly love. But also turmoil and maybe desperation.

It made you happy that he made you feel so much after being empty for months. You felt different with him. It was the kind of love you didn’t know you had in you. Didn’t even think it was possible to express about someone like this. Until him.

You didn’t need anyone else. You just needed Jooheon. Not only that, but you didn’t care for how long your love would last because you believed that the meaning of the word love was what you had built together.

A few hours together. Every so often the whole night.

But when the morning came, the nightmare started to take form. Texts at inappropriate hours, and even unanswered messages.

You started thinking that you didn’t know better. You started feeling insecure. Replaceable. Maybe he knows better than to be with me.

Desperate to know what you had. But afraid that you would ruin everything with the words “What are we?”.

Tried to convince yourself that all of this was okay. That it was a good thing that you were going slow, giving him the chance to open up to you.

Months kept passing and your trust in him was running thin. He made you feel weird on the daily. Wondering if he was seeing someone else. If he danced with someone tonight. Had they kissed? Is he having sex with someone who isn’t me? What if he’s tired of me?

You wanted to be with him, but It was starting to hurt.

I hate that when I try to get myself to think that I don’t like you anymore… you do these little things that make me love you.

When you were together, he treated you like there was no one else for him. His hand was always wrapped up in yours. Talking until dawn, about college, his family, and your relationship. Those times, you couldn’t lie to yourself about your feelings.

He was the only face you could see in the world. The only guy you’ve ever wanted to keep around. But how did we get to this point?

The day you told him you were starting to fall in love with him, all he could reply was, “I don’t know what to say, I never thought you would be in love with me”.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well what do you want me to say? You took me by surprise”.

“You could tell me how you feel. I’m not expecting for you to tell me you love me back, I-“

There’s no return now, you have to keep talking.

“I’m just tired of not knowing what’s in your head, I’m not sure if you want to have something with me anymore, it’s okay if you don’t so, just be honest with me”.

“I like you”. You stayed quiet after hearing this, urging him to tell you more than just three words.

“I mean, of course, I’m attracted to you”.

At that moment, you liked what you heard. But the more you thought about it, you realized that he didn’t actually care for you, or loved you. Maybe that was a greedy thought from you. Maybe you expected too much.

You were angry but mostly angry at yourself.

Why are you still waiting for him? It's been years and nothing has happened between you. Nothing ever will at this point.

You ended up telling him not to bother you again, that if this was his way of ‘loving’ you, you were better off without it.

But that was a lie, you longed for your phone to show his name, even if it was at 5 A.M. Still thinking that there was no other way to love someone.

Unable to put an end to it, months kept passing and nothing changed between you. Jooheon had many others, and you only had him.

You loved spending nights like this by his side, watching him sleep, wondering for hours about you two. Unable to explain how you could love him this much.

Maybe he did love you, but you can’t handle this kind of love anymore. It’s better for both of you to end this, whatever it was because it's driving you crazy. And you meant it this time.

Jooheon told you goodnight and planted a soft kiss on your lips like he always did.

You knew it wasn’t a simple ‘good night’ for you, this was the last time you were gonna let him in. Your eyes followed him until he closed the door of your apartment. Fighting back your tears while softly saying to yourself, “I’m always going to love you…”.

The texts at 5 A.M. came again, but this time there was no answer. Jooheon started calling and sending texts for days, but you didn’t reply. All your efforts in disappearing from him on social media weren’t stopping him.

He met someone else, yet the texts wouldn’t stop. Until one day they did.

Now and then your curiosity would get the best of you and you would see his Instagram stories with her. An older girl you had met once. They were supposed to be friends.

You wanted to avoid comparing yourself to her but, he never posted something with you. It’s a dumb thing to worry about, but it’s one of those things that sometimes matter.

You tried to understand the whole situation. Accept the fact that you two weren’t meant to be. That he didn’t see a future with you.

Your days stopped revolving around him. You focused your time on getting your degree, learning another language, going out with your friends. Even tried meeting new people.

There were a few here and there. No one was enough for you.

Your ideas of love and relationships were different now. You gave another meaning to the word love. You wanted to find someone who would love you and take care of you. A quiet kind of love, real love.

What you had with Jooheon, was something you never wanted to experience again. Days went by, even months until you saw each other once more; for the first time in Jooheon’s life, he felt a knot in his stomach, he knew he lost you, for good this time.

Months passed and Jooheon left his girlfriend. He now felt different because he looked for you in everyone, yet he couldn’t find you, and he felt empty.

He cursed himself a thousand times for not knowing how to appreciate you and the love you gave him for two whole years. Tears finally fell from his eyes, he couldn’t believe he was crying for someone, crying for love, crying for you.

He took his phone out, swallowed hard, and started typing another text.

“I miss you, and I need you with me now and always, I never thought I would say this, but I’m not happy without you. Maybe I should’ve loved you less and loved you better, I just want you to know that I’ll always be waiting for you my sweet y/n…”

But the message was never delivered. You had changed your number.

It made sense that you would do that someday. It’s been too long, but this didn’t stop him from sending you texts in the middle of the night. When he felt the overwhelming need to have his arms wrapped around you.

──────────────────────

I still love you

(9:05 p.m.)

no, I don’t

(9:06 p.m.)

I’m confused why did this happen

(2:26 a.m.)

I want you to be happy, if this is what it takes then I’m okay with it. be happy. for me. please.

(10:45 a.m.)

I kind of hate you for changing your number

(8:57 p.m.)

I’m sorry

(1:43 a.m.)

maybe if I wasn’t so fucked up this wouldn’t have happened

(3:37 a.m.)

why can’t things be like they were before

(10:13 a.m.)

please come back to me. I need you. You need me

(1:58 a.m.)

I still want you

(4:06 a.m.)

──────────────────────

The day you left town was the day he swore to himself to try his best to get another chance to talk to you, just once more. To make things right, not caring anymore about his pride. He just wanted to let you know everything he didn’t say when you were by his side.

That he was sorry that it took him too long to acknowledge he was wrong. That he knew he was a little too late and wishes that he could say something more meaningful than a simple “I want you back”.

──────────────────────

“I wonder why” You smirked at him.

The more you kept making eye contact, the more you realized you didn’t feel any kind of resentment anymore. You both had grown, and while you didn’t actually need this kind of closure, you figured this was the healthiest moment to do so.

His eyes were avoiding you now, his smile was still there, but you could tell he lost a bit of his confidence. “Okay, so I’m gonna talk first, please just hear me out. I want to rip the band-aid,” He said with a forced laugh.

“I don’t know why I could never tell you that love scares me. That it scares me to be attached to someone”. His tone was soft now.

“I still play in my head the day you told me you were falling in love with me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you not to tell me those things because you could have changed your mind any moment”.

“I never told you how I felt one of the many nights you spent with me. You were stroking my hair and I seriously felt like crying because I was fucking scared”.

“I was scared to lose you”.

“I’m sorry because I know I made you think I didn’t want you for something serious. I’m sorry for being immature”.

“I look at you now, and I’m happy to get to see you like this. You’re still everything I’ve ever wished for and more. You need to know that nothing compares to you”.

“And believe me, I don’t expect you to take my words as a way of asking you for another chance, I know I don’t deserve it… but I would really love it if you could let me show you I could love you better this time”.

You never imagined these words coming out of his mouth. Couldn’t believe how he was looking at you. Hopeful but understanding at your loss for words.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” His voice was barely audible, but you nodded at him.

“Well, maybe it’s not an actual question, but I’d like to know why you stopped talking to me”.

“Look Jooheon, I don’t know how everything I wanna say will come out, so please bear with me”.

You didn’t know where to start, either.

There were so many things to be said that you were getting nervous to start talking. Because once you opened your mouth, you didn’t know if you would be able to piece everything together.

“When everything ended I really wanted to hate you, everyone around me hated you,” you admitted to him, “except for me and I hated that”.

“I knew that all I could be able to do was cut you from my life, so I just decided to stop talking to you”.

It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. “I admit it was a poor way of handling things, and I’m sorry for that”.

You’ve always been scared of having this type of conversation.

You let out a sigh because you never thought that the following words were gonna come out of your mouth, ever.

“I’ve only been in love once in my life, and that was when I was with you”.

“It used to frustrate me that I wasn’t able to make it work with anyone after you. I couldn’t help but compare everyone to you”.

“I swore to myself that I never wanted to go through the same thing we had, maybe because those memories are yours and I don't want anyone else messing that up, you made me feel so safe, I felt alive with you, nothing could stop me when I had you”. 

“You've been the only one I've ever wanted to see every day, no matter the hour or how busy I was, I truly wanted everything with you”.

You hadn’t noticed how he had been looking at you this entire time. He couldn’t believe that you used to feel that way about him. Still couldn’t wrap his head around hearing you say how you loved him.

You quickly wiped a tiny little tear that escaped your eye, hoping we wouldn’t notice. But he did.

You let out a nervous laugh and said, “I’m not sad, I swear, It’s just that I never thought I would say all this out loud, especially to you”.

“You don't know how many times I wanted to call you, run to you”.

“Last year before I left I wanted to see you, I kept trying to convince myself that It didn't have to mean anything, that I was just desperate for any physical touch, but from time to time, I wonder if what I really needed was just you”.

He didn’t say anything. So you just said his name out loud. “Jooheon…” Followed by a long pause.

“I feel so different now”.

“When I was far away from you, I realized that I need someone who isn’t absent when it comes to me, someone that isn’t a ghost in my life”.

While you were talking, you were watching his every move and how he couldn’t stop playing with his rings. You’re still not used to seeing him act like this.

“At this point, I want someone who will take care of me, that makes me feel safe. Someone who wants to be with me because they love me, and they love to have me next to them. I’m beyond only spending the night over, I want whole days”.

You finally got up from the floor and sat next to Jooheon. Facing him, making him do the same. He kept looking at you for a whole minute but it felt like hours.

You didn’t know what to do after his following words.

“What I realized with being away from you is that I was pushing away what I’ve always wanted. I wasn’t confident that I could meet you where you were. I felt it would be better not to waste your time back then, but that was then, and this is now…”

You kept looking at each other a little too long. Both realizing you didn't need words anymore. The love was still there.

[bbnibini]

Your Words (Simeon)

"Simeon comforting MC after a hard day with a story and a song. (The story could be about anything really)"

Requester: Cchinita (AO3) ao3 vers.

So, I got really invested in this HC Request and inadvertently made an AU(?) for this. I already mentioned this in the AO3 version of this post but, I really appreciate the OP for requesting this to be a platonic relationship. I LOVE writing about friendships. As someone who places equal value on both romantic and platonic relationships, this request really warmed my heart.♡ In fact, I love this so much, I might post a continuation for it in the distant future-

(HC/scenario under cut)

It was the same, usual day. Same, usual spiels. Same, usual annoyances. Same, usual, miniscule discomforts. Yet, the same, “usual” made you feel…unusual. The snide remarks you tolerate from your co-workers sounded particularly biting. The broken coffee machine seemed to act up even more than before, even if the hands of the clock overhead indicated you still had plenty of time for your break. It was the same weekend to look forward to, same katsu sandos at the company cafeteria that were a little soggier to your liking. You have gotten used to the polite, yet tiresome indirectness of adult confrontation—on tiptoeing on your every word like a tightrope, with the entire world watching your struggles to acclimate with “the real world’s mundane”, as if were some cheap variety show entertainment. Yet...

Something about today seemed different. It was tiring. Exhausting even. You were one more passive-aggressive remark away from throwing an outburst—even your practised smiles were strained and everyone around you started to notice. Two-faced inquiries of your well-being masked more malicious intentions (whether it’s fabricated from your own overthinking, or it being even the slightest truth did not matter), questions of the breaks and accruals you have never really utilised because of your obsession to catch up with some proverbial Goliath who had dollar signs in his eyes, or your fixation on “making a difference”; on “investements” rang in your head and would not stop until the first drop of tears formed in your eyes.

“Take it easy today.” Were such comforting words if it did not fall from your disappointed supervisor’s eyes, who was as obsessed with numbers and team performance as yourself—in their eyes, you felt less of a human being and more of a defective asset. When had it been like this? When did life start to feel…dull? In your quest to find meaning in your life, you have reached a dead end. Would anyone even care if you tell them? Why would such thoughts ever have meaning if you have “your life set out for you?”

Such crippling feelings always felt less burdensome with a few sips of liquid courage. One shots. Two shots. Cheers! There was no need to pretend you were drinking it if you were in your lonesome. Alcohol definitely tasted better when it wasn’t being offered, nor pressured on you. Your head buzzed, and your cheeks heated with its familiar warmth. The strained voice of the usual balladeer in your favourite bar even sounded melodic in your ears after downing a bottle’s worth of your favourite cocktail. In fact, she sounded really, really good: angelic even, if not a lot more…baritone than you were used to. Her blue eyes lingered on your direction until you heard your name being spoken by him…him? What happened to the shy songstress at the centre stage? And who was this handsome stranger calling for you to join him by the grand piano?

“Do you have any requests for this evening, dear customer?”

He wasn’t the usual singer in the bar at all! You felt the laughable boldness that your alcohol had given you fizzle up and vanish in an instant.

So many eyes were on you that it was hard to pretend indifference. The handsome stranger beside you noticed this and leaned on your ear, whispering the same words your supervisor had told you earlier.

“Take it easy today.”

…but his felt like he actually meant it. He sang your request so beautifully that you momentarily forgot your worries. He even went so far as to walk you home when the bartender worriedly fussed over getting you a taxi.

Before you knew it, you spilled all of your complaints and grievances to the handsome stranger, his blue eyes only narrowing as if he were smiling at you.

“Thank you for working hard today.”

How could he know how hard you worked? You called him arrogant, and he only laughed and admitted you were right.

“For now, let’s walk you home.”

Your next day at work was the same, usual dullness. Monotony. Indifference. The only highlights of your day were the times when Simeon had shifts in the bar you frequent. Oftentimes, he sings a tune for you while he was at work, and in the after hours, he scoots you over next to him on his favourite spot in the empty park, a cup of the nice old lady’s hangover soup at a strategically placed food stall across from the bar at hand.

You found out that he was a graduate student working on his Master’s on literature. His face was beautiful, yet unfamiliar. His pseudonym, Christopher Peugeot however…

“NO WAY!”

“Haha! I’m afraid it’s the truth.”

Why was a famous author working minimum wage at a rundown bar? Came the question in your face, which he had answered with unnerving calm.

“Because it’s fun!”

Fun? You haven’t heard that spoken for a while. Simeon looked over at you worriedly, commenting on your soup getting cold, your reply he had awaited a few minutes too late for any conversation to continue. You promptly apologised once you snapped out of it.

“I…forgot.”

“Forgot?”

You smiled at him, bashful. “How to have fun. It feels like I’m…just here. I…I’m exhausted, Simeon. I don’t know what to do.”

The next thing you knew, you were wrapped in his arms, his gentle hand stroking your head, reminding you of a gentle hand from your distant past doing the same.

When he had wiped your tears and called for your name, it felt like you were seen for the first time in a while. Maybe it was fine to feel this way. Maybe…just maybe…you had a “right” to feel exhausted. Maybe…

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

And he was. He always was. For the years to come-- even when the test of time had placed hardships in your bonds, he had always been.

(To be continued?)

[softsebnbuckystan]

Soul ties - Part 8 (Bucky Barnes au)

“No, I don't wanna know, Where you been or where you're goin'

But I know I won't be home, And you'll be on your own”

Maniac by Michael Sembello was blasting from Wanda's room as she was going through her closet,  looking for something you could wear at the party. You were tapping your feet to the beat and shaking your head softly.

"This is perfect," Wanda said as she handed  you  jean shorts and a T-shirt. Finding something in your style had been hard, but the outfit turned out really cute on you. "And before you ask, I still have your plaid shirt if you want to wear that."

Your sister knew you too well ; or maybe it was just her ability to read minds. You were pretty sure it was a mix of both. You looked at your watch : five in the afternoon were already passed and you knew Nat was supposed to arrive soon, so you went to the kitchen after changing. Actually, she was already there.

"Nat!"

"Happy birthday, girl! How do you feel about hitting thirty, huh?"

"Surprisingly good, to be honest," you answered as you hug her tight. "I'm glad you came by."

"Me too. Steve told me pretty interesting news about some guy." She wiggled her brows, making you raise yours.

"Not that interesting. Yes, he is my supposed soulmate, but I got married last week, not matter how that's turning out."

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't be there, by the way. However, if I trust Steve's words..."

"Don't? Please." You smiled, making her laugh. You really must've sounded desperate, or in denial –  or, once again, both.

"Fine. But I can't promise I'll hold back my thoughts."

"I know you won't," you joked. "Anyway, is the cake already here?" You asked Sam.

"No, Bucky's not back yet."

"Oh, alright. I thought since he left early..."

"He had stuff to do, apparently." He shrugged, showing he didn't know any more than you did. A smirk appeared on his face. "Miss him already?"

"Ugh, I hate you all."

"No, you don't!"

Everyone around you laughed and, frankly, you couldn't hold it in either. These people always had a way of making you forget about your problems, and Darren hadn't crossed your mind until now.  Hours went by and more people arrived at the compound. It wasn't supposed to be a big party, but Tony was obviously unable to resist to Peter Parker asking if he could tag along. This kid loved being around here, maybe as much as you did. Once eight hours rang, almost everyone was there, except for Bucky. You were sure he'd eventually show up, even though you  couldn't help but feel a little anxious while everyone shared champagne bottles.

"Alright, close your eyes," Sam said, dragging you out of your thoughts. He put his hands on your eyes as you giggled softly.

"What is it now, you asked?"

"Patience, lady."

You couldn't see  anything – obviously – but you soon heard voices around you singing you a happy birthday. When Sam removed his hands, your eyes took some time to adjust to the sparkling candles on the big birthday cake. More importantly, it took you a second to recognise the man carrying it. Where had his hair gone?

"Your hair," you whispered once he was close enough.

He shrugged. "C'mon, the candles will melt if you don't blow them out." His own smile quickly spread to your face as you blew out your thirty candles. Everyone applauded and Bucky started cutting it so that people could help themselves. Once seated next to him, you took a bite of your own piece and closed your eyes in delight.

"Raspberries. I love those."

"Yeah, Wanda said it was your favourite," he told you before eating a chunk of cake. "How do you like the party  so far?"

"I love it. Everyone I love is here, so I couldn't be happier, really." You didn't even think about what you were saying. Tony's champagne did that to you for sure.

"Everyone?"

"Of course, why do you ask?" You gave him a confused look  before it dawned on you. "Oh,  I know. Well if he's not here by now, I guess that means something."

"Well I'm not the one saying it. It's your night, anyway, so let's not talk about him and let you have fun." He gently poked your arm – you felt delighted, as it was him who'd  made the move this time. It felt as if he was becoming more comfortable around you : you'd noticed he'd been laughing with you a lot more frequently these last few days.

"So, why the new haircut?"

"I wanted some change. New me, old me, I guess." He took a sip of his beer.

"I like it. Can I have some?" You pointed at the bottle. He gladly handed it to you ; damn, this man did not know what one beer might do to you, especially after champagne.

Wanda spotted you from across the room and stopped walking towards you, interrupting her conversation with Scott Lang.

"I hope that's your first drink tonight," she said with a grin. "You don't want to expose your party demon now, do you?"

You chuckled at Bucky's scared eyes. "I'm taking this back," he said, taking his beer back and finishing it.

"Don't worry, Bucky. I'm fine. I'm just a little more outgoing when I drink, that is all."

A screeching sound made you turn your head : Steve had just plugged a microphone into the speakers.

"Alright, so, as you all know, tonight's Y/n's thirtieth birthday. For the occasion, I'm sure she'll gladly treat us to a speech now."

If looks could kill, Steve would've died on the spot, super soldier or not. You never had inspiration for that kind of stuff.

"C'mon guys,  she needs some encouragement," Sam chimed in.

Tony and Peter both whoo'ed  at you with huge smiles, and you had no other choice than going on that improvised stage which consisted of the space between the speakers. You took the microphone from Steve's hand and Nat handed you a beer.

"Oh my, thanks for that," you said, chuckling. "I want to thank you all for coming. You  might have known me for a while, or not, but hum...you guys are family. I couldn't be happier to celebrate thirty years on Earth with you." You raised your bottle in front of you. "To found family."

Everyone  drank to that, and you jumped as Sam placed his hand on your shoulder and started speaking in another mic.

"So many emotions there, I love to see it. Now we're not done with you. Remember that night in Brooklyn?"

"Oh no."

"Oh, yeah... we're  gonna do it. And you're gonna love it, don't you dare say otherwise."

You stared at Sam before downing your drink. He was damn right.

"Okay Scott, fire away!"

"Toniiight,  I'm gonna have myself a real good time..." Sam started singing this fabulous bop as the music soared in the air. You obviously joined him right away.

"I'm burning through the skyyyyy, yeah." You probably were not singing right, but you couldn't have cared less. Everyone around  you was singing – more like yelling – along and you finally let go of your last inhibitions.  You were singing and dancing,  pretending you were the international rock star giving a representation. For once, you saw a wide smile on Bucky's face that couldn't seem to go away, and you decided to have fun with him a little. You pointed at him and smiled as you basically jumped to the beat.

"I'm a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb about to oh, oh, oh,  oh exploooode!"

He couldn't help but laugh and he even started tapping his feet to the beat as well. You went back to Sam and you ended the song back to back, definitely yelling more than you were actually singing.

"See, I told you you'd love it!" he exclaimed.

You laughed out loud before handing the mic to Scott. "You have fun now, I gotta rest for a sec."

You happily got back to Wanda and Bucky as Scott and Sam were joined by Peter to keep this improvised karaoke going. Your sister was less than surprised, since this wasn't the first party she had with you. Bucky, on the other hand...

"I didn't know you could do that," he said with a grin.

"What, absolutely slay the day with a mic in my hand? Hell yeah I can, only after some drinks though."

"Yeah, I don't know if your cheeks are this red from drinks, dancing or just regular blush."

You chuckled at his laugh, even placing your hand on his shoulder while doing so. When your eyes were done squinting from all the laughs, you froze.

"Darren, I-"

"That science guy let me in."

Bruce shot you a sorry look, raising his hands in the air. "He wouldn't let me ask you for your opinion first anyway."

Damn, you hadn't realised how much everyone disliked your husband. After all, no one had ever been rude to his face, unlike his friends. Bucky turned around to face him and crossed his arms over his chest : his smile was long gone now, as if it had been only a fever dream.

"You put on quite a show there."

"Wow, so not even a 'happy birthday', huh?" You didn't even look down this time : you stared at him, no trace of a smile on your lips. "When I said you could come if you wanted to, I didn't say  that so you could come and be condescending."

"I'm not gonna wish you a happy birthday after I saw you hit on that guy in a fucking song!" he yelled, pointing at Bucky. Darren's anger was so unjustified that you would've laughed at him, hadn't you been remotely nice and equally angry at him.

Bucky didn't say a word as he slowly put Darren's hand down. You noticed he'd used his metal arm, even though you knew for a fact he was right handed and usually prioritised his dominant hand. That was quite passive-agressive ; you held back a smile.

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" Keeping your cool was not an option anymore, and you walked away from everyone. Contrary to Darren's belief, you didn't like 'putting on a show'.

"We're going home, now," he said firmly. "Your little crisis lasted long enough."

"My crisis? You've left me alone at home for days and now you expect me to come back? You're unbelievable, Darren. And you started pulling this shit before we were even engaged!"

"You never complained about this,  so why do it now?"

"Because I can't take it anymore! Is that so hard to believe? Is it hard to understand that I want to be treated the way I deserve?"

You ran a hand through your hair, looking at Darren in disbelief as the anger in his eyes just grew harder.

"You know what?" you continued. "If you have nothing better to say, I might as well just  go back to the people who really love me. As far as I'm concerned, this" — you gestured at the both of  you – "is over."

You turned around, feeling a huge confidence boost that still wasn't strong enough to overcome your disappointment.

"What's that on your back?" His voice was so low compared to seconds earlier that you looked back at him.

"What?"

He walked up to you fast, but too slowly not to be noticed by Steve and Bucky, who'd been watching the scene carefully. Despite their obvious strength, they couldn't get to you before Darren violently lifted the back of your t-shirt, scratching  your back with his nail at the same time. You let out a cry and next thing you knew, Darren was pinned against the wall, held back by Bucky's arm.

"You lied," he whispered. "You do have a tattoo."

Damn. You had always been careful to wear high waisted jeans. All it took was one careless pair of shorts. You had no answer to give to him, so Darren looked at Bucky instead.

"It's you. Right? I fucking knew it." He looked back at you. "I should've known you weren't to be trusted around other guys. You're such a-"

"I think you should leave." Steve had laid his hand on his friend's shoulder to try and calm him down. Bucky let go of your husband and shot you a side glance to check on you. You were crossing your arms on your chest and your eyes had never been more interested in the floor.

"Steve's right," you uttered. "You should go." You  walked away with these words. You hadn't even noticed there was no longer any music playing in the room. Silence was oppressing and everyone seeing you cry was not an option. You walked to your room in daze. Once you felt the door closing behind you, you allowed yourself to break down. It was a knock on the door that made you tilt your head up a few minutes later.

--- You have no idea how excited I am for part 9!!! If I wasn't strictly following my self-imposed rule of having two unpublished chapters at all times, I would post it right away. x) I hope you liked this one!! Feel free to give me any notes you may have : I improve thanks to readers.

Message me if you want to be added to the tag list (seeing it grow is making me so happy)!

Tag list :

@ginger-swag-rapunzel @joscelyn02 @coniumalces @writehistorynotthegrocerylist @bluemoon-icecream @lady-loki-ren @simplybombshell

[flooffybits]

Love To Hate Me

Idol: Kim Bora (Dreamcatcher)

Anon: hello! can i get a scenario ft. sua from dc? her and reader have a rivalry going on (maybe about dancing?) but one day, reader wasnt having it and ends up pinning sua against the wall. they get caught in the moment and kiss. after that, they pretend like nothing happened but secretly cant get enough of each other anymore. Got this idea from Blackpink’s Love To Hate Me so maybe you can base it there? Sorry if its confusing and tnx for your time

Warning: making out

☕buy me a coffee☕

Bora slowly jogged up the stairs to reach the group’s practice room in hopes of going over the steps of your newest song, but when she was close enough, she was surprised to hear the music already playing from inside the room, indicating that someone had already beat her to it.

When she quietly took a peek inside, she wasn’t all that surprised to see you, dancing along to the song, looking as though you’d been at it for hours. Which was actually true, considering you’ve arrived at the company three hours ago.

“Working hard?” A cat like grin appeared on the main dancer’s face when she saw the slight twitch of your right eyebrow at her presence through the mirror and how you promptly ignored her while you continued to go through the steps of the choreography.

It was a known fact in your group that the two of you had this silent war going on between you. She was officially the main dancer of the group, and you were the lead dancer, which meant that fans often pitted you against each other on who was better.

While the older woman easily brushed it off, you were the complete opposite. Even when you try to ignore the comments, you always felt like you had to prove yourself to someone, that you were just as good, even though you initially didn’t care who was “the best”.

Because of that, Bora made it her personal mission to piss you off with every chance she got, despite your leader’s warning about her going too far. The dancer just enjoyed getting a rise out of your usual calm façade, even when there were instances that angering you made her a bit scared.

“Yah! Are you not going to greet me? I’m your unnie!” She tutted before pausing the song, earning a small glare from you, and she could see the way your jaw clenched, a sign that you were holding back whatever snappy remark was pleading to come out of your mouth.

Instead, you let out a deep breath before looking to the older woman. “Hi.” You say dryly before moving away to grab your water bottle and a towel to wipe off the sweat that had accumulated on your face. Bora huffs at the lack of enthusiasm before she walked closer to you.

“Lighten up, Y/n. You’re always so serious and snappy with me.” She clicks her tongue when you continue to ignore her. “What happened to being the dongsaeng that always pestered me to hang out with them? You were always so cute, you know?” She continues to taunt, gauging your expression as more words came falling from her mouth without pause. “You were always so eager to practice together, too.”

You do your best in keeping a straight face, grabbing your things before moving to the farthest area in the practice room, opting to just wait for the rest of your members to arrive for your practice to actually start.

But the most you get to do is settle your things on a seat before Bora began lightly pushing your shoulder. “Y/n, at least say more than one word.” She taunts further, but with all the times she’s been up on your business lately, it wouldn’t take long before she had pushed you past your limits.

“What? Are you really-”

But her words were cut short as her smaller body collided with the cold surface of the wall. Her eyes widen visibly when your body towers over her, eyes boring deep into her own, it being admittedly the closest you’ve been ever since this whole one sided rivalry came to life.

"For once in your life, can you shut up, unnie?" You practically spat the words out as you kept her in place, your noses nearly touching as you stared down at the older woman while her breath got caught in her throat by your sudden actions.

But it takes her a second to recompose herself as the same infuriating smirk crept up her lips. "Why don't you make me?" She shot back. And since you were only holding her by the shoulders, she was able to grab the front of your shirt and dared you to come closer.

The air in the room was growing hotter and the tension was becoming more and more unbearable with each passing second. Your stare off went for another five seconds before you had crashed your lips against hers, Bora reacting quickly as she tightened her hold on your shirt and her other hand went to the back of your head.

The kiss is intense, carrying, not only yours, but the dancer's frustration as well. Her hands cling to you, almost as though she were afraid that you would pull away quicker than she wanted you to, but your arms wrap around her, bodies flushed against one another while you both continued to tug at each other’s clothes, lips moving and tongues meeting.

When your lungs start to burn and air becomes an issue, you’re forced to pull back, both of you panting heavily and staring at each other once again, though not as angry compared to when you had first pinned her to the wall.

There’s an understanding in both of you as you slowly pull away and try to steady your breathing while Bora lets her carefully fix your hair just so no one would question your disheveled appearance, but since you’ve been practicing for quite a while, you could easily play it off.

“Oh! You’re already here.” Minji’s voice greets you both as your members finally enter the practice room. “Have you both finally made up?” Siyeon playfully jokes when she sets her things down and Bora is back to her usual confident self. “I was just trying to help Y/n look presentable for you all.”

“Pretty sure you weren’t teaching her to dance, given how you both already have the choreographies imprinted in your brains.” Yubin comments when she reaches for your towel to wipe your face, making the woman’s eyes narrow but she quickly looks away with a wide grin slapped onto her face. “She was already practicing when I got here. Still needs a bit of polishing.” She shrugs before walking away and you could feel your jaw clench as you directed your eyes to the ground.

Yoohyeon lightly rolls her eyes and pats your back when Yubin puts the towel aside. “Don’t mind unnie. You know she just likes annoying you because you give her the reactions she wants.” The tallest in the group reminds you as you grunted and crossed your arms. “I know.”

The pair just smile at you, and despite the fact you could be sweaty already, Yoohyeon latches on to you and squeezes you tightly as Yubin laughed and shook her head. “Come on, don’t mind it. After practice, we can go out and visit that ramen place you like so much.”

Now that had got you smiling again as you nodded your head, following after your members when Minji called for all of your attention. Though with your place by Gahyeon, you weren’t able to see the pursed lips or the small frown on a certain dancer’s face, especially when you left with Yoohyeon, Yubin, and Handong after practice.

..

“Why are you still up? Aren’t you tired?” Bora was surprised to see you all alone in the kitchen, a mug in your left hand and your phone in the other. “I can’t sleep.” You say before taking a sip of your drink and then setting it back down. “What about you? What are you doing up?” You ask while finally looking away from your phone to check on the older woman.

Bora stood by the entrance, her already small figure already appearing smaller with her slightly bigger pajamas and the way she stood with her arms wrapped around herself.

But seeing you right now had replayed your earlier encounter in the practice room that she found it a bit difficult to properly meet your eyes. “I’m usually up late, remember?” She shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant as she moved to take a seat in front of you.

You only responded with a hum before your eyes were back on your phone and the silence ensued between you both.

And this time, the tables have turned with Bora fidgeting around, silently squirming in her seat whilst you remained passive towards her ever since you came back.

That was the difference between you. While she was able to mask her inner thoughts around others, she couldn’t do that with you, at least not until you had kissed her. Your silence was only further fueling her frustrations, but it was simply your own way of dealing with the earlier incident while also trying to avoid whatever talk you so clearly needed to have.

“Y/n.” She called desperately, but you refused to budge.

“Unnie.” Was your simple reply and she huffed before standing back up. The sudden action catching your attention as you looked and watched as she marched up to you, her lips twisted in a scowl before she was grabbing the front of your shirt and pulling your towards her.

This time, she initiates the kiss. But the result was the same as earlier with you responding to it, hands coming to rest on her petite waist. The kiss was much more gentle compared to earlier, though still just as eager. Her hands released your shirt to cradle your jaw before she would pull back to rest her forehead against yours.

“Listen, I am tired of whatever cat and mouse game we have going on.” She finally tells you, a more serious look on her face compared to all the usual teasing ones she would give you. “We weren’t like this before and I hate not getting to spend time with you without us butting heads. It’s exhausting.” She muttered and you stared at her in disbelief as she finally began to get whatever weight she had off her chest.

“I really like you, but every time we’re together, it felt like you hated me and I don’t know what I did. But annoying you was the only way you would actually talk to me, so I did and-”

“I don’t hate you.” You quickly say without thinking. “I never hated you. I hated how people constantly compared me to you. I just always felt like I had to prove myself to everyone that I could do well, too, and while I admired you so much, whenever I saw you it was like I was being reminded of how much I lacked as a dancer and a singer.” You sighed. “It made me think there was no way for me to even be on your level.”

Now that effectively shut her up. Bora stared at you in disbelief and sympathy while feeling disappointed at the same time.

She knows about the competition InSomnias had between you, and while she was able to brush those off, she didn’t realize that it was taking its toll on you. It angered her that people had pushed you so much to the point of doubting yourself, more so distancing you from one another instead of the opposite.

“You should have told me, or at least anyone in the group. Do Dami or Yoohyeon know?” A shake of your head had caused her to sigh before she sat on your lap and pulled you into a hug.

“Whatever anyone else is saying, you have no reason to prove yourself to them. You’re doing extremely well on your own. Those people are only trying to tear them down.” She whispered while squeezing you and you wrap your own arms around her to reciprocate the much needed embrace.

“We’re going to be okay. We’re going to prove them wrong, just watch.”

[kitaychan]

We need to talk

Summary: After a breakup, Ivan realizes his life was not as fullfilling as he had thought. Reaching out to old friends might prove to be a slow task with interesting outcomes.

Chapter preview: Yao sighed, peering over to the kitchen, he gasped and hurried inside. “How did you set my teapot on fire?”

Ivan could hear Arthur’s alarmed voice and the water tap running. “I don’t know.”

He approached the kitchen, the smell of smoke was stronger and he found Arthur frowning alongside Yao inspecting the blackened teapot.

The brown haired man huffed, leaving the teapot on the sink. “Stop burning things, Alfred is not around, so you can quit gaining his attention.”

“It was an accident and I asked for help, neither of you seemed to notice, are you deaf?”

“You are banned from my kitchen, now. Go and commit arson on your boyfriend’s house, he can manage the fires quickly.”

Ivan let out a laugh. “I am totally going to tell Alfred about this.”

Scrolling down memes on his phone, Ivan glanced at the hour, he had spent at least half an hour just looking at his phone, on the back of his head, deep inside, he knew that he was delaying the inevitable.

He typed out a simple ‘hello’ before erasing it, why was it so hard to start a conversation? Alfred would just send him a random picture and they would talk about it or start a string of random pictures, but now, Ivan found it difficult to send a simple greeting to Yao. What should he say? What if he was busy?

He managed to gather enough words to form a coherent greeting alongside the question of ‘What are you up to?’

Dread invaded him instantly after he sent it. Perhaps that was too vague, or too informal. He sighed, setting the phone aside, it was done and he couldn’t take the message back, that was better, he’d be overthinking the whole day anyways.

This day, he was less worried about the nonexistent alarm that set off in his mind in the mornings, and more focused on the little pang of guilt that told him that he was wasting his time.

He took a breath, reminding himself that he was on vacation, he had nothing to worry about besides his cat and trying not to be a burden to Katya, whom unlike him, had left earlier to give off her classes.

He played for a while with his cat, the entertainment was short as Boris decided it was better to lie on his side instead of hunting the toy, Ivan poked a bit at the fluffy cat to make him move again but it didn’t budge, wiggling its tail.

The day passed rather slowly, Ivan had tried not to go out, not wanting to spend the time by himself in the park again, though the prospect of finding Yao again crossed his mind, he figured the man would be working just as Katya was.

Of course he was, that was probably why he couldn’t answer. Ivan sighed, why did he have to keep worrying about it? this was what he hated about being alone, his thoughts would be nagging at him, he had to find something to do or he would be anxious about a message the whole day.

He sighed, focusing on the lonely plant by the window, he searched around the house, finding some paints. It was time to stop delaying his task and deliver that child’s project.

The base was fairly easy if he remembered well, the background was mostly blue with some clouds around. What worried him was the boat, as he wasn’t used to painting at all, and well, he’d never made a decent boat.

He left the pot aside so the blue paint could dry, perhaps he could ask for help with it later.

Ivan glanced at the clock again, time had passed and Katya would probably arrive soon but he couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at the passiveness of his day.

His phone buzzed, taking him out of his thoughts. The short message displayed made him pause.

“Hi, sorry, I forgot my phone, I’ve just headed back from work. Do you want to come to my house?”

Ivan had to double check his phone.Firstly, to make sure that it was in fact a message coming from Yao, and secondly, to process the question.

Another message appeared.

“Are you busy?”

Ivan smiled, it’s not like he had anything better to do and at this point he’d be delighted to busy himself with anything.

Feeling less awkward he replied. “Not really, I was trying to paint the boat on the flower pot but I am failing at it. Anyway, yeah it’d be nice to talk”

“In that case, bring it with you, I’ll help. Let’s meet at the park, I have to see Arthur there.”

Ivan pondered for a moment giving out an affirmative reply, he wrote a note to Katya so she wouldn’t worry, grabbed a coat, the flower pot and left.

Once in the park, he went to buy some pastries, it would be mean to present himself empty handed, right? He even got another bottle of wine, to replace the one from yesterday. The cashier handed him everything on a paper bag that he carried quite difficulty.

He sat outside on the same bench, it was indeed a nice place. He could see Arthur and Yao approaching, both of them were wrapped with scarves and heavy coats, the latter was holding two cups of hot coffee.

Yao handed him one of the cups. “I’m so sorry, How long have you been waiting?”

Ivan shrugged, taking the beverage. “Not much.”

“For real, you can be as petty as you want, it was Arthur’s fault that we were held back.”

Arthur, groaned, taking a sip of his own drink. “I only said that they didn’t know how to make iced tea, I thought it was obvious.”

“The barista didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“If they want to make iced tea, they have to make tea, let it cool and add the ice. Not use that horrible mix with water.” The Englishman frowned, observing his drink. “At least they make good coffee.”

“Not really.” Yao let off a huff, ushering them to follow. “Anyway, let’s go upstairs, it is freezing down here. Aren’t you cold, Ivan?”

“I’m a bit used to it, it’s more chilly where I live.” Ivan paused, the englishman seemed to notice his hesitation, taking the paper bag and allowing him to finish his coffee and carry the plant.

Ivan walked with them, taking short steps. They questioned him about the city, about his work, his coworkers, Ivan had to suppress his frown at the last topic.

Yao’s apartment was warm, Arthur stepped in casually, making a beeline to the table while Yao took the flower pot from him so he could take off his coat.

Ivan fumbled a bit with his scarf, leaving it on and approaching the table. There were a few stocks of papers and books scattered on it.

Yao laughed nervously. “Sorry for the mess, I was revising some exams last night.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting the bag on the table, the Englishman raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “Yao, did you cook Francis’ recipe yesterday?”

The brown haired man nodded, placing the plant on the table. "Yeah, it took me some time and I had to buy wine because he would not leave me alone until I did."

"You let the frog get away with his quirks, he drinks wine with everything. I hope the dish was worth the expensive wine."

"It totally was." Ivan said, regretting his words as Arthur's expression changed into amusement.

Yao retrieved the books from the table, shaking his head. "Stop staring like that, we met at the store and I invited him."

"Sure… that's why you still have exams to grade, right?" The Englishman taunted, holding out one of the papers.

Yao hummed, fumbling with the papers. “You have delayed exams too.”

"True but why did he bring wine?” Arthur smiled, turning his stare at Ivan. “Are you following Francis’ advice or something?"

Ivan tensed a bit, at this point everything he'd say would be used by Arthur to tease them. “It is polite to bring a present when you visit someone’s house.”

“How dare you speak to me about proper manners,” Arthur chuckled, collecting papers from the table. "Yao has a good collection of books and I need to complain about it, you will help me out, right?"

"Not my fault that you burnt yours to get a date." Yao retorted, laying some brushes and paints on the table and taking a seat beside Ivan.

Arthur gasped. "If you keep that cocky grin on your face, I will kick you out."

Ivan watched in awe as Yao took a pencil, tracing swiftly the sketch of a small boat on the flower pot. "This is my house, you can't kick me out. What books do you need?"

The Englishman stood up, observing the books displayed on the shelf. He turned around with a serious expression on his face “Ivan, have you read ´War and peace’?”

“Uh not really, I have a copy laying around but I don’t think I ever finished it.” Ivan shrugged, toying with a brush.

“What keeps you from reading it? Is it the french parts of it?”

“I am actually fluent in french so...” Ivan saw how Arthur’s smile changed into a grimace, had he said something wrong? He quickly added. “I just hadn’t taken the time to actually read it.”

Arthur grabbed a couple of books, taking a seat. “I remember you once delivered a paper about The great Gatsby, it was very interesting though quite weak at the end.”

Ivan glanced at Yao in an attempt to ask for help but the grin the brown haired man held on his face told him that he wouldn’t get any. He laughed nervously. “I barely remember what I ate for breakfast, I don’t think I will recall something I wrote on highschool.”

Yao’s laughter filled the room, Ivan couldn’t help but stare at him, it was not rare to see the chinese smile, but it was certainly pleasant to hear his laugh, he found himself laughing too, Arthur joining as well.

They shared a glass of wine and devoured the pastries, Ivan painted slowly the small boat and answered more of Arthur’s questions, Yao praised his patience every now and then until Arthur left him alone in order to make some tea.

Ivan watched closely as Yao traced details on the little boat skillfully, silence enveloped them as he finished.

Turning back, he could hear Arthur pacing around in the kitchen but he could not see him.

He took a long breath before leaning over the table, just a bit, in order to gain Yao’s attention, the brown haired man set aside the brush, arching an eyebrow.

“When you invited me over, I didn’t think it would end up like this.” Ivan admitted, smiling sheepishly.

Yao tilted his head, a small smirk gracing his face. “Why?”

Ivan fidgeted with his scarf, he didn’t know how he was able to hold his gaze, he felt his face almost burning with embarrassment but he had already dug his grave so he might as well just die on it already, he reached out to take Yao’s hand, and lowered his voice. “Well… for starters, I didn’t think that Arthur would be acompaining us.”

Ivan considered the idea of not coming back to the town when Yao retreated his hand and chuckled, this was like highschool all over again but perhaps ten times worse because he had hoped to be on the right track just once, and now, he dreaded his sole existence.

No matter how much he tried to shrink on himself, to hide under his scarf, he would not disappear from the situation.

His train of thought was stopped or more accurately, smacked back to reality by a soft hand caressing his cheek. He could barely register Yao’s words. “You are fun to tease.”

Ivan nodded slowly, he was doomed, wasn’t he? He wanted nothing but melt on this man’s hands, he knew he was blushing, but this time, he didn’t mind it.

He gathered enough courage to lean forward, barely brushing his lips with the other, Yao’s hand moved to the back of his head, pushing him lightly so their lips met.

“Bloody hell!”

They both flinched back, Ivan had forgotten about Arthur’s existence, a sense of self awareness flared up in him but it didn’t manage to overcome the annoyance he felt. The Englishman was nowhere to be seen.

Yao sighed, peering over to the kitchen, he gasped and hurried inside. “How did you set my teapot on fire?”

Ivan could hear Arthur’s alarmed voice and the water tap running. “I don’t know.”

He approached the kitchen, the smell of smoke was stronger and he found Arthur frowning alongside Yao inspecting the blackened teapot.

The brown haired man huffed, leaving the teapot on the sink. “Stop burning things, Alfred is not around so you can quit gaining his attention.”

“It was an accident and I asked for help, neither of you seemed to notice, are you deaf?”

“You are banned from my kitchen, now. Go and commit arson on your boyfriend’s house, he can manage the fires quickly.”

Ivan let out a laugh. “I am totally going to tell Alfred about this.”

Arthur groaned. “From everyone you could have chosen to embarrass me in front of, it has to be with the one person Alfred has a direct line with, you are the best of friends, Yao.”

Sending pictures of a burnt teapot to Alfred wasn’t the way Ivan thought his night would end but he was delighted by today’s happenings.

Not only could he get another kiss from Yao before leaving, he had asked him out on an actual date, much to the Englishman's amusement, the remarks the latter made after they left Yao’s house weren’t embarrassing anymore.

Ivan had entered a state of sheepish acceptance, if he had to take on Arthur’s teasing in order to date Yao, then so be it.

[heartsck]

mischa & daci - late night feels

(this is a long thread we did on google docs so all under read more, also tw abuse, violence, death, daci having emotions on main)

@sodaparticles

daciana

A heartrender was meant to know her own body, her own mind, know it and control it such that she could then control others. It was one of the most fundamental tenets of her order, and something Daciana had always thought she was rather good at.

So why couldn’t she sort through the messiness in her mind now?

As she often did when she felt overwhelmed, although she would never admit this, she sought out Mischa. Wrapping her kefta over her thin nightgown, Daciana grabbed the bottle she’d been saving for saints knew what, and then followed the all too familiar path to his room. The halls of the little palace were empty, everyone tucked away for the night, but she didn’t care.

Daciana lingered outside his door for a moment, hearing his heartbeat like a metronome and the melody from his piano. She could picture it easily -  Mischa lost in the music with his long, graceful fingers dancing across the keys, perhaps his eyes were closed. He was probably at peace. She gave him one more moment of this, a slight twinge of something in her chest over her constant need to be the center of attention, and then pushed open the door.

He looked up at her, but she couldn’t say anything. Not now, not yet. The heartrender stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, setting the bottle down on top of the piano and slipping off her kefta with a level of care that did not match her current somewhat manic energy. She draped it over the back of a chair then rushed forward, joining him on the piano bench and kissed him - hard & desperate. One hand snaked around his neck while the other clutched at his shirt - too needy and too distracted for how she usually was.

It didn’t work.

After a moment, or maybe it was several minutes, she broke the kiss with a gasp that might have been a sob. Daciana leaned forward, pressing her face into his chest so he could not see that she was crying.

mischa

“Are you…. Are you okay?” he never thought he’d ask her this question. If anything, the roles would be reversed, and even then he wasn’t sure she’d be as he was. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling back just enough so he could see her face. Seeing the tears staining her cheeks, his chest suddenly felt hollow and his voice was soft and as comforting as he could manage. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Daciana?”

It was late, as late as it always was when he managed to gather the motivation to practice on the piano. It was always a constant for him, and he was grateful he was able to even have one in his room. Sometimes he thought he was beginning to become a snobby grisha like some of the others. Usually he wanted to forget everything about his past, but this was one thing he wanted to keep in the present. He could easily recall the nights he would play for his other siblings while they all danced or played with him, or it was background music for the bickering they would always do. Never a moment of peace in the Essen household. So he became Mischa Baluev, and became his own peace. Only it never really worked the way he wanted it to.

He sighed, messing up for what felt like the hundredth time. He was beginning to become frustrated, or tired; or both. Before he had the chance to completely give up and just go to bed, the door opened. He looked up at her, the other constant that had developed in his life. He forgot how he lived before her. Every moment she wasn’t around was a moment he was not in peace. He was always searching for her now, everywhere he went. Everything reminded him of her, and though most things went unsaid between them, he had a feeling that tonight would be different. She seemed different.

He stayed quiet as she took off the kefta, approached him, and sat on the bench, not wanting to ruin the moment with a stupid joke like he often did. As always, the silence between them was a comfortable one, but he could sense some type of tension radiating from her that was unusual.

When she kissed him, he tried to match her energy, but failed. Through furrowed brows, he placed his hands on her shoulders, almost pulling away before she did it for him. Confusion and horror mixed on his face as she broke from the kiss and still, said nothing. When she burrowed her face in his chest, he didn’t say anything for a moment. What could he say about something he didn’t even know was really happening?

daciana

She could not recall the last time she’d felt so untethered, like all of the benchmarks she’d built her life upon were suddenly gone and she was lost in some squallar’s storm. Daciana did not know what was worse, the conflicting emotions over her mother’s death or the utter helplessness from feeling so out of control. She hated them both.

She loved the way he looked at her.

Mischa looked at her like she was the only person in the room, even across a crowd. He looked at her like he saw every part of her - the good, the bad, and even those parts she kept buried deep behind all that hard glossy armor. He looked at her and she felt seen. She felt safe. But now, there was something else, concern ghosted across his face but he did not speak. Daciana felt the slight hitch in his breath, or maybe his heart, when she kissed him and she almost thought she’d gotten away with acting like everything was fine.

Until his hands moved to her shoulders, pushing her back in the same breath as she pulled away. Mischa knew her all too well, she’d forgotten that in her grief and confusion. His chest was warm, his heartbeat steady even though she could feel it ticking upwards with concern. When he spoke, she broke - the tears running freely onto his shirt and then her cheeks as he gently pulled her face up to look at him.

“I -” she fumbled for her words, she never did that, and her voice was raw, desperate. “My mother died. Or maybe he fucking killed her. And Sacha can’t talk about it, but I need to because I have no idea if I am sad or relieved or angry - no wait I am angry, I’m so fucking angry but I don’t know how to deal with it. And we have to fucking go back there and pretend to be sad and pretend she didn’t sit there passively everytime.” She let out a choked sob, then reached for the bottle of liquor she’d brought.

“Drink with me?” Daciana made sure her body still touched his, needing the reassurance of his steadiness, then uncapped the bottle and took a large pull. The heartrender grimaced, she did not drink often, and certainly not like this. She took another, then pressed the bottle into his hand. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Mischa.”

mischa

The way she acted scared him. There was no other word for it, and he didn’t know if he liked being scared when it came to her. Everything about her always screamed I got this, her confidence and ruthlessness was what drew him in in the first place. Mischa wasn’t used to this version of her. He was used to petty, distant remarks followed by the tip of her finger tracing his shoulder down to his arm with the flutter of her eyelids as she charmed her way into his heart. This stuttering, vulnerable girl was one he did not know. It scared him, but did not scare him away.

He could tell how hard she tried to keep her face stone cold with no expression. He could sense the lump in her throat as easily as he could sense it in his own, because seeing her this way made him just as upset. He would burn cities down for her, bury his own people for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to see her happy, or at the very least, normal.

Mischa thought he was hearing things as she spoke, trying to process everything before she was on to the next thing and shoving a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Sad, relieved, angry; emotions he didn’t know Daciana Zhirkova knew, but she proved him wrong again and again every day. She spoke so fast he didn’t know if he even caught all of it, but he still tried, noticing how she kept her body weight against him.

“Every time?” he dared, not used to feeling like he had to be careful around her. He tried to maneuver so he was looking her in the eyes, his hand instinctively pushing her hair back and smoothing it down in an attempt of reassurance. He didn’t know if it was futile, but he still tried. Mischa didn’t know how to help her, or reassure her. He didn’t know his parents, and he supposed he could just make up a story about them, but he didn’t want to lie around her. He didn’t want the relationship he wanted with her built around lies.

Mischa sat quietly again, trying to think of the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing to say in this situation? He watched as she downed some of the bottle, taking a tentative sip after her. He wanted to be fully comprehensive for this. “Gonna go out on a limb here and say she wasn’t…. The best mother?”

daciana

Rationally, somewhere, she knew this was too much to unload on him at once. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly not the kind of emotional support she was asking of him. But Mischa did not tell her to leave, he did not pull away or act in any way that would make her feel unwelcome. Daciana wouldn’t realize how much she’d needed this until much later.

She couldn’t answer his first question, not right away, and only shook her head quickly. His hand was gentle against her face, that bit of affection nearly broke her focus - Daciana had to squeeze her eyes shut to focus all her power on stabilizing her erratic heart beat. She watched as he took a small sip, then grasped at the bottle again and downed two more large gulps.

Very few people (read: almost no one) knew this, but Daciana Zhirkova was an incredible lightweight. More than two drinks spread out over a few hours and it went straight to her head. It was why she did not drink much, if anything at all. But this was different, and somewhere she knew she was safe with him. The alcohol seemed to wrap her mind in a cocoon, pushing against that hard glossy armor and finding the weak points, the places she could let a bit of her hidden self through. It was the only way. Daciana stood up quickly and paced as she spoke.

“Father is a heartrender like me, and mother a tidemaker. It was just me and Sacha, always has been, and we knew early on the only way to matter was to be grisha,” she glanced at him, “and the right kind of grisha.” Running a trembling hand through her hair, Daciana continued to pace. “I’d been like, I don’t know - affecting myself and Sacha for most of our childhood even before I really knew what it was. He got it the worst, and he always stood up for me - took it for me.” She finally stopped pacing and took a heavy breath.

“Father said he knew before he could walk.” She pulled up the hem of her nightgown over her hip to point out a shiny burn scar across her ribs. “I think we were five or six, and he wanted to see if we were inferni. Sacha must have been too traumatized for it to manifest then, or we were too young.  There were other scars but I was able to get rid of most of them, or cover them up with tattoos,” she rubbed the back of her neck absently. “She never did anything, never said anything, never protected us. She only seemed to remember us when she was drunk and only when we were very little. Like I can’t even tell if those memories are real or wishful thinking.” All the fight seemed to leave her body at once, and Daciana sank backwards to sit on his bed.

“Bit more than you thought you were getting into, yeah?”

mischa

Throughout her entire monologue, he stayed quiet. He didn’t know too many things, but he knew when to be silent. Eyes glued to her the entire time, never once straying. Mischa changed his expression, keeping the pity out of his eyes. He’d hate it if someone pitied his story, and knew her well enough to know that was the last thing she needed at that moment. His heart stung, his body was hot with anger. She could protect herself, but saints did he want to protect her from everything the world made her in that moment.

Mischa didn’t know when the lump in his throat burst and a small sob made its way through his lips when she lifted her nightgown to show the scar. He looked away immediately, rubbing the palm of his hand over his face. The tears that swelled in his eyes were from anger, and he had to swallow it down because he knew Daciana didn’t need that either. He knew better than most that she was entitled to her secrets, Saints knew he had tons of his own, but the ones she’d told him almost made him keel over.

He stood from the piano bench once she plopped back onto his bed, laying back next to her. He leaned on his elbow, leaning over top of her to look at her-- really look at her, as she lay there. This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, and while it broke his own heart, it was nothing compared to what she had to be going through at that moment. Again, he brushed her hair away from her face, letting his fingers brush the stray tears away from her cheek and brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“You could have told me you killed a bunch of poor children and I’d probably still follow you around like a lost puppy,” Mischa said softly, chuckling just the same. Only for a moment, before his eyes returned to the seriousness they were moments before. All at once everything seemed to make sense. “What do you need from me, Daci?”

daciana

He did not look at her with pity, which was the one thing her frantic mind clung to as the secrets and shame spilled out from her lips. This was exactly why she did not drink, she talked way too much, rambled and spiraled and was utterly weak and she hated it. But now she did not feel the burn of shame that she expected, did not feel the need to knock him out and flee as far away as she could. Instead - she wanted to talk more.

“I don’t know why I can’t get rid of the burn, I mean it wasn’t even the worst of them just -” she paused, pressing her fingers into the scar and then winced slightly - too much. “And I’d rather die than ask a healer for help. I couldn’t deal with their pity.” She scoffed, a bit of her old cruelty seeping back into her voice, “Yuilya has probably seen all of Sacha’s scars, I doubt he told her the truth but I couldn’t stand it if she looked at me with that fucking self rightious pitying face.”

Daciana hadn’t been paying close enough attention to him to notice the shift in his tone, the slight sob or the tears - too wrapped up in her own grief and anger and trauma. But she saw how he rubbed his face, and for a moment feared she’d lost him. Still, Mischa stood and joined her on the bed, settling close and leaning over her with that protective, burning gaze she had come to rely on. A few more tears leaked from dark eyes but he brushed them away. Instinctually she leaned closer, her hand drifting up to clutch at the bicep of his hand now brushing across her trembling lip.

“The children had it coming,” she whispered, half laughing and half crying while trying to regain a bit of her old self - not this vulnerable trembling thing. She hadn’t been that girl in almost twenty-five years, not since she learned of her power and found her strength at the little palace. Maybe the suddenness of her mothers death and the conflicting emotions brought back the shy, weak little girl she once was - maybe had always been.

“I don’t know -” she whispered, fingers digging into his arm. “I don’t even know what I need from me. I just can’t be alone, I would fully lose it.” Daciana swallowed another sob then inhaled, holding her breath in until she felt even more lightheaded and exhaled. “Drink with me, please, and stop looking at me like I am made of glass.” She gave a half smirk but it did not reach her eyes. “I never drink like this, aren’t you interested in what other secrets I have?”

mischa

Mischa understood her, to the most basic extent. He had not learned all of her secrets, was not sure he ever would. He was content with this, because even if she never shared something like this with him ever again, he knew he was comfortable having her know him completely. He understood her intentions, though not always clear, it was easy for him to grasp. Even more so now that he knew some of her past, as much as it broke him to hear.

With the most innocuous intentions, Mischa leaned down and just barely brushed his lips against hers before leaving a trail of kisses across her cheeks to melt the tears away before laughing softly against her skin. “Those fucking kids definitely had it coming,” he joked back, leaning back again with a stupid grin on his lips. His thumb caressed her chin, the fingers on his other hand playing with her hair, smoothing it across his bed. He kept quiet and let the words of vulnerability she had spoken hang in the air for moments to come.

He laughed softly. “You’re not made of glass. You’re made of fucking titanium, woman,” he joked, shaking his head. With a few swift movements, Mischa pushed himself off of the bed and grabbed the bottle she had brought in with her, laying back in the position they were in before he moved. In another pathetic attempt to make her smile again because Saints, did he love her smile, Mischa brought the bottle up to her lips and tilted it so it poured into her mouth slowly before taking a swig of it himself.

Mischa sighed, smacking his lips together and leaning back on his elbow with the other hand flesh against the bottle, holding it against his chest, acting as if he were thinking deeply about what he wanted to ask her. Then, he shook his head. “Not unless you want me to know. I could tell you some of mine, maybe? Deep, deep stuff goes on in here.” he tapped the tip of the bottle against the side of his head playfully. If he wanted to be his honest, true self with her, then he supposed it was worth starting at the beginning.

daciana

Daciana let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he kissed her, even just lightly. Anyone else, she thought, would have pressed her further or would have coddled her and suffocated her until she couldn’t stand it. But Mischa was a soldier, a spy, just like she was. And one did not become skilled enough to survive in this line of work without a bit of trauma, a bit of history. She smiled.

“No, I am blood and bones and muscles and spite and cruelty and rage and everything else they say I am.” She moved her hand to his chin for just a moment. “Tell anyone of this weakness and you’ll never walk again.” Daciana innately knew she did not have to threaten him, but it felt more like her old self to do so - even if somewhere deep down they both knew she wouldn’t follow through.

“Yay,”  she opened her mouth obediently (she was only obedient in bed) and swallowed the alcohol with a shiver but less of a burn. Mischa took a sip himself and she nudged the bottle closer to him. “You have to catch up. It won’t matter though, another secret - I might be a lightweight.”

“Secret for a secret - it's your turn,” she nodded solemnly but suddenly realized she was invading his space, taking up his night, and unloading her trauma on him. In a rare moment of selflessness, Daciana reached out to cup his cheek. “You don’t have too, I bothered you with all my mixed up messiness. You don’t owe me anything.”

mischa

It was fair-- a secret for a secret. He knew it, but he had spent two decades rebuilding and rebuilding himself over and over through every person he met. He never thought he would truly be open and honest with someone about where he came from, how it shaped him into the man he turned out to be. The only person who knew who he was, where he came from, were his siblings and the general. With his siblings, he didn’t have to tell them anything. They knew just as he did the hardships that came with the life of being an orphan. And the general, well; the man was terrifying, and Mischa doubted he cared much where he came from as long as he did his job as a spy.

“Lucky for you, I don’t see it as weakness.” he said softly, a smile on his lips though it did not reach his eyes. Mischa smiled as she cupped his cheek, though it was a sad smile, and almost immediately he became detached. The softness in her tone didn’t shock him like it usually did. He was now too worried about being honest to think of how Daciana’s character changed slightly when she drank. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember anything he says in the morning, if he was lucky.

In a moment of fear, maybe even cowardice, Mischa sat up and kept his back to her. Maybe that would make it easier, but even still his heart pounded through to his ears and his limbs felt cold. He took a shaky breath, basically inhaling a long swig of the alcohol and coughing when he choked on it. He needed to take a minute, hoping he didn’t scare her away as soon as he opened his mouth. Here goes nothing.

“Baluev isn’t my last name,” a good starting point, no? Mischa shook his head, sighing frustratedly. His leg began shaking, a tell of how scared he was. He’d never really shown her this side of him, just as she had never shown him the side of her he saw minutes before. “I mean…. I chose it. It’s my last name, but not officially. The name on my…. Adoption papers says Essen,” he felt years of lies and storytelling fall off of his skin as if he were shedding it, though he knew in the morning it would only build up again, a new, shinier skin of stories he’d tell the first sucker to ask where he came from.

“I don’t know my real parents. They died in the fold, I guess, abandoned me when I was a baby. That’s what they tell me, anyway,” he shrugged, avoiding her eyes as much as he could. Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking. “They left me, so I grew up in an orphanage. No one knew the extended family of a random baby left on an empty skiff.” he wasn’t the Mischa he knew anymore, let alone Daciana. He was back in the orphanage, being picked on by shitty little kids who would grow up to be otkazat’sya. “No one liked me there, hard to believe, I know,” though it was a joke, there was no playfulness in his tone. “That’s what the scar is from, on the back of my head. Surprised I didn’t bleed out on the forest ground, to be honest.”

He let the words hang in the air a bit, maybe giving her a chance to walk out and leave. When she didn’t, he continued with a sigh. “When I was 8 or 9, this guy came by the orphanage. Saints knows why, I guess he pitied me, the poor bastard. He took me in, Edmund Essen, along with four other straggly kids. Some of them are here, in the palace,” he dared a glance over to Daci, but scared himself into looking back toward the floor. “I guess I’m…. embarrassed? I don’t know. I make up stupid stories, fanciful backgrounds to….. Make people like me, I guess. Who wants to befriend a pathetic little orphan, you know?” the last few words died on his lips as barely a whisper, his eyes closing as he awaited the damage he’d just done. Mischa expected the worst, preparing himself to lose the one person he actually gave a shit about in this hellhole.

daciana

“Still doesn’t mean you can tell anyone,” she pouted, but it wasn’t all that serious. His face was warm in her hand, and she wanted to let it linger there a bit long, perhaps try to pull a bit of that fire into her own body. Daciana felt the shift in him before he pulled away, but stayed quiet. It was something she’d discovered in gathering information, people tended to speak to fill silences and if one was patient enough, the details would eventually come out. She tried not to think like that with him, but couldn’t help herself - anything he was this hesitant to say was something to store away in case she’d ever need it. At her core, Daciana was a selfish person and would always find a way to protect herself, her position, and her brother.

Before Mischa even spoke, Daciana felt his anxiety flood his body - his heart rate spiking and tremors that matched her own from before. She knew enough about the human body to recognize physical remnants of trauma, enough about trauma in her own life. Without even thinking the heartrender pressed her hand against the center of his back, slowing his heart rate and triggering what she knew to be calming. She’d always done this for Sacha when he was upset, trying not to show weakness in front of their father, stepping in front of her to protect her. It was a habit that now seemingly included Mischa.

He hadn’t mentioned much about his family before this, and she’d never pressed because she was the exact same way. But hearing him lose the confidant, cocky voice she was so attuned to and trust her with this truth jumbled her emotions almost more than her mother’s death. She was angry, fucking angry, that he’d lived so long without knowing how powerful he was. Her hand, now warm from his skin, drifted up his back and traced the scar she’d felt before on the back of his head but she wouldn’t try to fix it. Sometimes people liked their scars, or needed them.

“You’re not pathetic,” she whispered, sitting up behind him and pressing close, her head resting on his shoulder. “You never were. We aren’t responsible for the shit choices our parents make and the situations they put us in, it took me twenty years to figure that out.” Daciana didn’t speak above a whisper, not daring to give her insecurities any more power than they already had. Her arms slipped around his torso, pulling herself closer to him, focusing on the feeling of her heartbeat beside his. It didn’t change the way she saw him, he was still Mischa, her Mischa, all fire and flirtations and cocky smirks but also soft hands on her body and comfortable silence, a lightness and ease she found nowhere else.

Only now, and it would be a very difficult thing for her to admit, she realized she trusted completely and utterly like no one else.

“Was he kind?” she asked, “your adoptive father? I don’t think he pitied you, you have this like -” here she had to pause, moving around from behind him to crawl into his lap. Her fingers, cold again, closed around the bottle and she took another big swig, drunk Daciana craved touch. “This like thing about you, that makes people want to be near you,” she took another sip, the only reason she would ever consider saying what she did, and stared at him with somewhat glassy eyes. “Like charisma or something, warmth that people wanna be near even if you are an asshole sometimes. It wasn’t pity.”

mischa

For pretty much all of Mischa’s life, he’d built this facade around himself. It was all based on this inane idea that people would push him away or dislike him based on where he came from. He assumed that only because of how he was treated before the adoption; sneering side eyes and hurtful comments made about him when he walked by. Did he try too hard? Was he annoying? Not as annoying as all the other kids his age. Nonetheless, Mischa internalized all of it. How could he not? When you tell a child he isn't worth the effort, he believes you. When you tell him he talks too much about something he gets excited about, he believes you.

When he was adopted by Edmund Essen, Mischa was already six feet deep in that mindset. When you add trauma from your own life along with the trauma from the lives of four other kids, put them in the same house to grow up together, something is bound to set on fire. Or maybe they worked just well enough. It varied based on what happened to them during their lives. Sometimes Mischa wished he’d never been adopted at all, maybe then he’d have actually ended up dead by now.

But then he remembered the good things he’d achieved, without lying about his origins. He was one of the most skilled in combat, he was a spy for the general. Daciana. No matter how the two ended up, their relationship would always be one of his greatest acquisitions.

When she wrapped her arms around him, he flinched. He seemed to have forgotten where he was as he explained it all, his mind back in that dark place he was in all those years ago. When he came back, he was sitting on the bed, slouching over and the arms of the woman he loved was wrapped around him so tightly he thought he might dissipate if she let go. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, his own vulnerability still too fresh for him to really dissect, keeping his eyes closed as she offered him words of comfort he never thought he’d hear from her, knowing she most likely told herself the same words growing up. He wished he’d known her sooner.

He wanted to reply in the same cynical way he always did, but he wouldn’t shut her down the first chance he got just because she knew more about him than anyone ever had. It was scary, having someone know your entire truth. He didn’t know how to deal with it. When she found herself in his lap, his arms went around her like they always did. Mischa forced himself to look at her, the glassy eyed girl that had a personal space problem when she drank. He almost wanted to laugh.

“As nice as he could be when you adopt five kids,” he shrugged, laughing softly. As she continued speaking, his eyebrows shot up though he wasn’t as drunk as her, he still didn’t expect her words. “Daciana Zhirkova, was that your own personal way of asking me to marry you?” he teased, though the hollow feeling in his chest that he had just lost all of his own protection was still very comprehensible in his own mind.

daciana

When he flinched she nearly broke. And suddenly there it was, another crack in all that hard glossy armor. Sacha had always been one - her twin soul and shared heart, he knew her before she was even born and would always be a willing weakness & strength. Then there was the child she’d never truly gotten to be but always seemed to slip back into when she and Sacha were forced back to the house that would never be home. The perfect daughter, quiet & obedient, daddy’s little soldier who barely hesitated when he commands her to kill. She hated that weakness, that crack more than any.

But now, there was Mischa. The thought of him in pain, being hurt by others, was so foreign and unbearable she couldn’t comprehend. Mischa - who was one of the only people in the little palace who could actually hold his own against her, so quick witted with those biting comments to her own causal cruelty because they were always playing the same game even if no one else was. He was suddenly another crack, and one she willingly accepted.

His arms slipped around her and she felt like she had him back, having drawn him from the dark place in his mind with the sheer force of her will. Daciana smiled when he laughed and took another sip from the bottle. Saints she never drank this much, she shook her head lightly in an attempt to clear it then settled against his chest. She wouldn’t press him on that answer, not now at least. He’d tell her in time, and if not, well - he was still the inferni she relied on.

She laughed and it was the most genuine she’d had in a long time.

“Did I fuck up and give you too much dopamine or something?” She pulled back slightly, shifting in his lap to straddle him so that they were eye to eye. Daciana set the bottle down on the bedside table and placed both her hands on his cheeks, blinking slowly to try and focus through her haze. “This is why I don’t drink, I’m no good, I can’t focus.” She laughed again but it was harsher & almost cold, she was unable to even focus her power enough to read his heart rate for truthfulness, all she could feel was it's comforting rhythm.

“You wanna be stuck with me for the rest of your life? I’m not a nice person, Mischa, I’m not that girl and I could never be her. I’m cruel and cold and selfish. I’m a fucking monster, just like him, just like he made me.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and trembled. “I think that’s why my mother hated me, cause I have his eyes and his power and I was too young and afraid and desperate for approval that I let him turn me into this.”

“I was thirteen the first time he made me kill,” her hands dropped from his face and into her own lap, her eyes followed. “It was someone local to the town we grew up in, he was challenging father’s position. It was at the market in the middle of the afternoon, he threatened Sacha if I wouldn’t do it. And it was so easy to just reach out and fuck with the man’s heart, too easy.” She closed her eyes to keep from crying. “I didn’t feel bad at all, I was more angry over not being in control and terrified that he might hurt Sacha. How fucked is that?”

mischa

Mischa couldn’t help but feel that all the armor he’d built up over the years was broken into tiny pieces, spread out over the floor with no hope of being put back together. But it was his own fault, wasn’t it? He wanted complete honesty between them, he wanted her in his life forever, no matter the cost. And if the cost was to strip away all he was and give himself over to her, then so be it. That was what love was, what trust was. It hurt like hell, but he wanted Daciana more than he wanted to lie for the rest of his life.

Hearing her belly laugh so genuinely only confirmed it. He would give up everything for her and all she had to do was ask. If someone told him all those years ago he’d find someone he wanted to be around 24/7 he would have laughed right in their face, yet here he was.

“I’m thinking you’re the one with a little too much dopamine right now,” he teased, the smile from hearing her laugh still plastered on his lips. When she straddled him, he only pulled her closer, then rested his hands on her thighs. At her question, Mischa’s face turned stone serious and looked her right in the eyes, his voice not wavering for a single second. “Yes,” and it was the truth. He’d fought this hard for her so far, he wasn’t giving up that easily. Could he see himself marrying her? In time, yes. The answer to that question came as easy to him as breathing did.

“You’re right,” he nodded, the serious tone still hovering over his voice. “You aren’t nice. Not even a little bit. You were forced to survive in an environment that was set against you since you were born. You are selfish, but you aren’t a monster. Not even close, Daciana, and if it takes me telling you that every single day for the rest of our lives for you to believe me, then I will.” his fingers lingered beneath her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“Despite the hatred you grew up around, despite being cruel and cold and selfish, you are so much more. You don’t need to have the entire world’s best interests at heart to be a good person.” Mischa knew it would be hard for her to believe, but he wanted her to hear them. And of course, it wouldn’t have been very much like Mischa if he didn’t immediately break out into a smile and replace the seriousness in his voice with a joking tone. “Now, with all of this being said…….. Will you marry me?”

daciana

She shook her head slowly when he said that she was the one with too much - too much alcohol for sure, but she found she liked how easy the alcohol made telling him things. Because part of her had always wanted to tell someone, to be fully seen and known and still have him look at her like that. Sacha knew her, of course, down to her marrow and knew her before she was even born. But that was different, he would always be there and had suffered the same. Mischa looked down at her bloodstained hands and took them in his willingly.

“Saints, maybe we are both mad.” She shook her head again, but let his fingers guide her chin up so that she was looking at him. Daciana didn’t know if she expected to find fear or pity in his eyes, but certainly not the burning look he gave her now. It melted a bit of the ice that had taken up residence between her ribs. She brought her hands back to his chest and lightly focused on the sound of his heartbeat - steady and true. “Or drunk, I’m drunk and you’re mad.” And maybe that was the reason she said what she did next, or a reckless pent up sort of energy that was a side effect of constantly feeling the need to be in control. Or maybe she just loved his smile.

“Ok,” she whispered, clearly shocking them both. Daciana leaned in and kissed him softly, almost too soft for her and without all the desperation from earlier. “But just for us, not a big thing, no fucking ordeal or whatever. We keep each other's secrets & always fight side by side. You keep me from spiraling and I won’t let you forget how powerful you are. Deal?”

mischa

Mischa was unable to help the soft laugh of disbelief that fell from his lips. Even as she kissed him, he couldn’t fully kiss her back-- was he going crazy? Did he hear what he thought he heard? Did Daciana Zhirkova, the most ruthless woman he’d ever met, renowned for her merciless ways, accept his marriage proposal? The one he wasn’t even serious about? Saints, she must have been completely wasted.

Of course, it was what he wanted, but not like this. A bad man would have taken her acceptance and ran with it, putting a ring on her finger and trapping her with him forever. Perhaps a worse man wouldn’t have joked about marriage at all when she was in as vulnerable a state as this, but Mischa never claimed to be good. He did, however, know Daciana. And he knew that if they were to really get married like this, unexpectedly, on the night Daci had gotten knews of her mother’s death, she would regret it. He knew if he took advantage of her vulnerability like this now, he’d lose the trust she had in him and maybe never earn it back again. He wouldn’t lose her so foolishly.

“No deal,” Mischa shook his head and pulled away, flopping back on the bed, leaning on his elbows and looking up at her. Of course he would make it seem lighthearted, but in truth he meant every word. He just hoped she was too far gone to notice the seriousness behind them. “Not like this. You don’t deserve a drunken proposal. Wouldn’t really be off to a good start, would it?”

daciana

He laughed at her, and the little part of her that had thawed at the idea of him wanting her froze over again. She shouldn’t have been this stupid, this fucking reckless. Her mother was dead, Sacha had sent a letter and her father hadn’t even bothered to tell her himself - yet all Daciana could do was hang on to Mischa and convince him to do things he didn’t actually want. Because he knew her well enough to know that this was rare, yes she was affectionate and touchy around him but she’d never been this raw and open. Had it been a mistake? Would he use this against her? Daciana’s mind raced as he hesitated to kiss her and then leaned away.

“Oh,” she didn’t move from where she sat straddling him even as he leaned back, only dropped her gaze back to her hands. The rejection stung more than she ever thought it could, heat rushing to her cheeks and turning them red. Fuck she hated this, she hated feeling so vulnerable - this was exactly why Daciana had tried to avoid feelings for most of her life. “Fuck, don’t hate me  I didn’t like mean anything.” She brought her hands up to cover her face, to hide the tears. “I’ve never felt this disconnected, I mean even neglect and abuse is better than nothing or absence. I don’t know how to react to this death and I’ve ruined, like, the only good relationship I have.”

“Don’t,” Daciana shook her head, tears still leaking from her eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I’m fucking horrible we both know this, I deserve nothing.” She hated how much she felt at this moment, she hated the weakness and the pain and utter loss. Mischa would look at her differently, she knew he would see the cracks in all the hard glossy armor and not think she was good enough to be his partner. She let out a half choked sob and then leaned forward and rolled off of him, curling up in a tight ball on the side of his bed with her back towards him.

“I know I’m a monster,” she whispered through the tears, “but I didn’t think I’d lose you this easily.”

mischa

Mischa was used to messing things up, saying the wrong thing around her. He should have known, but how could he have known? He’d never seen her in this state before, he didn’t know how much differently his words and regular demeanor would affect drunk Daciana rather than how they affected sober Daciana. His heart sank, and a frown immediately molded onto his face. Shit.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, not knowing what else to even say. How could he process this? What was he even processing? He knew her words and ramblings were just showcases to what it was really like inside of her head when she was sober, she was showing him who she was and what years and years of damaging blows looked like. He hated how he struggled to find words of comfort for her as she rolled off of him and curled up on the other side of his bed. So instead of words, he let the silence linger and then rolled over next to her.

He didn’t move her, didn’t force her to look at him. He let her go through the motions, and began trailing small kisses up her arm and to her shoulder. He sighed softly, resting his forehead against her shoulder and mumbled against her back. “Do you know how much I want you?” he said softly. “You couldn’t find the words to describe how much I want you. All of you, all the time,” by now he had pulled back, placed his hand on her shoulder to pull her back so she was laying against the bed and he was looking directly at her on his stomach. “Agreeing to marry me isn’t even on the list of things you could do that would scare me away,” he chuckled, though his tone was nothing but serious. If he had to comfort her all fucking night, he would. If she didn’t remember the words they spoke on this night, then he’d remind her every day for the rest of their lives if he had to.

“I love you, Daciana. Every part of you, with every part of me. There’s no scaring me away. Monster or no monster, you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

daciana

This was what happened, this is what happened when one opened themselves up to another person - when one let weakness overcome self preservation and rational choices. Daciana wouldn’t let herself make this mistake again, she hated to even know that Mischa had seen her this vulnerable. Maybe he wouldn’t remember in the morning, hopefully she wouldn’t remember. But she knew she wasn’t that fucked up to not recall every second of this night.

For a moment, she thought he left. She was always too much, had always been too much - and so maybe he’d had enough and decided to just leave her alone in his bed until she’d gotten her shit together enough to pretend nothing had happened. But like she’d always been able to, Daci felt his closeness - his affection - before he said anything. She choked out another sob, her body trembling with more emotion than she’d permitted herself to feel in decades - it was almost painful. But she let him pull her back towards him, quickly wiping tears from her eyes.

“Make me that list then,” it was just a whisper, but it was all she could manage before the full weight of his words sunk in. Love. He loved her, all of her. It wasn’t something she was used to, something Daciana could even really understand fully. She loved Sacha, of course, loved him as she loved herself and he the same because he had always been a part of her. But the idea of someone else, someone who’s veins didn’t share the exact same blood as hers willingingly and openly carving out their heart and placing the vulnerable organ in her bloodstained hands - with utter trust and devotion.

“I -” Daciana swallowed thickly - what could she say? What could possibly be good enough to match I love you? Nothing - she could not offer the hollow, burnt out space between her ribs in exchange for his heart. It could never be enough. But part of her, maybe the little girl she once was who still hoped, felt something stir in that empty cage of her ribs. “I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved, I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears still burning in her eyes. “But I want to, and I trust you more than anything, and I’d do anything for you. I just - I can’t say it, not now. But I’d die for you, and to me that’s more important than love.”

[alexis-vaughn]

🍷 (from Rick)

Send in 🍷 to walk in on my muse WASTED from here

“Where the fuck have you been?” was the first thing Alex yelled from the armchair standing in Ricks living room. She had been waiting for hours now and in her frustration and maybe cause of her little attachment to the former sheriff she just couldn’t wait outside and decided to empty his bar instead as a punishment, thank god for her general permissions. Now he was switching on the light and Alex covered her eyes with her arm like a damn vampire.

“For fucks sake Grimes, don’t you see I’m having a cozy time here? Are you trying to blind me?” At least Rick had some manners compared to her and turnt the light off again just to switch on the little passive lights coming from the walls. “Damn, better.” With a sigh she took another deep sip from her glass and sank deeper into the chair while Rick stepped closer and looked at the whisky bottle on the couch table.

“Excuse me, but… this is my apartment. Why are you here? How did you even come in here?” He wanted to reach for the bottle but just earned a warning hiss from Alex, so he just raised his hands in defense. “And why the hell are you emptying my drinks? You should have your own ones, right?”

“Wow, now these are a lot of questions for a little tipsy mind like mine!” Alex mentioned and raised from her chair, nearly stumbling right back into it again. “See, that’s so interesting about you isn’t it? You think you’re so smart, so invincible. The famous Rick Grimes saving the day while in here you gotta listen to the bad and meany girl Alexis who has nothing better to do than emptying your so well deserved bar. Did you even have a bar back at your little…” her hand was waving as if she was searching for the word. “…community? And what about my question, huh? Why the fuck are you so late? Are you planning some stuff here, Grimes? Plotting little things behind my back thinking I don’t find out?”

She was too drunk to even realize that her arms were widely gesturing and the drink spilled everywhere before she could empty the glass, but it didn’t stop her from pointing her index finger right at his chest. “You Mister G always think you’re so smart. Think you can plot against us like you did in your little playground wars at home but I tell you something now: you’re wrong. The CRM has their eyes everywhere. I have my eyes everywhere. It’s too big for you. And if you really wanna get home at some point, you can’t plot things behind my back and think they get you out of here cause they get you rather killed than anything else, you hear me? You don’t matter, Richard. I don’t matter. If they want they kill us anytime. So we gotta work on this together if we want our asses free from here, do you understand?” Proudly she nodded searching for reassurance and wanted to take a sip as she noticed her glass was empty. “For fucks sake. Someone emptied my glass…”

“Okay Alex, I think it’s time for you to sleep now. You can have my bed it’s alright, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. Come on.” Carefully he stole her glass to place it on the table and took one of her hands to lead her to his bedroom while she couldn’t stop babbling.

“Oh wow, now the former gentleman isn’t the gentleman so much anymore, ain’t I right? Bringing me to bed, hah! So you do like me, don’t you? You always stay so silent with all the plotting going on in your head but when it comes to having fun you’re fucking prudish. Never telling me you like me too and everyone likes me in here!” Of course that wasn’t the truth but it didn’t matter anyways cause Rick was ignoring her words already as he covered her with the blanket in his bed, but Alex didn’t stop talking.

“Nooooo… you gotta stay! Someone emptied your bar and broke in your home, we gotta keep watch together so we’re safe!” With big puppy eyes she suddenly hold onto his shirt and pulled him down on the bed with her, her hands sliding along his chest. “Please stay. Stay. I don’t wanna sleep alone, yes?” Without waiting for his reply she just slurred further and wrapped the blanket over his body too so she could snuggle into his arms and cling onto his shirt. Apparently she just couldn’t be alone right now. “You’re famous, Grimes. And I really really like you. I also hate you of course and am spying on you all the time cause they told me to, but I wouldn’t mind just staying here. Here in your arms and sleep with you. Just… sleep. Or more. Cause you’re damn hot, you know that, right? It’s ridiculous how fucking hot you are. How you smell. Fuck I love your smell.” Her eyes were already closed and her face snuggled more against his chest until she fell asleep, not hearing what he would reply anymore. But it didn’t matter anyways cause she wouldn’t remember when she woke with a little hangover and that’s why she didn’t even try to stay awake and gave into the feeling of full exhaustion and full relief cause he was finally back. She wasn’t mad, in fact she was just worried. Worried to lose the only person she learnt to trust in here again.

@wexarethewalkingxdead

[lord-explosion-baku]

Socks (For Lack of a Better Title)

Mirio x F!Reader

Warnings: yellow sour fruit, swearing (??)

A/N: I do not write for Mirio basically because he’s the epitome of sunshine and I don’t think I’d be able to grasp that well enough (he’s too good for me!!!), but I had a small smut idea for him and it’s a very special guy’s birthday. I love them and they deserve the world, but I can’t give them the world so they can take my smut.

“A sub??”

You ignore your other slack-jawed peers sitting around in the same circle you’re in and take a sip out of your bottle, keeping stern eye contact with Mirio Togata, who’s staring at you incredulously because you’ve just deemed him a submissive. You let the frothy liquid slip down your throat and smack your lips, as if to point out that you haven’t said anything too out of this world. You repeat yourself with even more nonchalant confidence with a shrug. “Sub.”

“I think I can kinda see it,” says Kirishima who sits perpendicular to you, but it seems that he’s only trying to back you up because nobody else will. Mirio looks to him, mouth agape, but he keeps his smile present. Pink dusts his cheeks, either from the beer or your accusation. It’s cute and you stand by your point.

“I don’t think so,” Mirio finally chides, taking a swig of his beverage. He looks to his socks, then to you, and you lift a brow.

“Care to dispute my claim?” you say, taking a business-like approach, as if you’re in civil court and your friends around you are the judge and jury.

“Sure,” he says, “I think I’m pretty dominant.”

“Do you have witnesses?” You slap back without thinking, and your friends around you snicker. You don’t actually want to know if Mirio has slept with anyone in the room. In fact, you hope he hasn’t. You and the ex-permeation user have been growing closer if the past couple weeks, and you haven’t been too sure what that closeness entails besides sporadic boba runs and last minute studious cramming. Since the incident that’s left him quirkless, you’ve made it a point to let him know how important he is to you, and you’ve feared that maybe, while trying to be there for him, you’ve made it seem like your relationship is nothing more than platonic. Still, he’s never talked about girls and you’ve never asked, but you’ve mostly hoped that maybe you could be the girl he talks to other people about.

“I’m innocent until proven guilty!”

“That’s exactly my point! You’re innocent. You seem like the kind of guy that would ask permission before doing anything.”

“Is it so bad to be a gentleman?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think you’d have an easier time if someone else held the reigns and guided you.” You pause, trying to think of the perfect thing to equate Mirio to, and your face lights up when you come up with, “a puppy! You’re like a Labrador retriever. Ready to please and receive commands and such…”

“Okay, I can definitely see that,” Kirishima, who’s quickly becoming one of your favorite friends, chimes in.

“A puppy.” Mirio considers this, mouth pushed to the side in that cute way it goes whenever he’s thinking hard about something. He decides not to battle that, instead turning back to you, and asks, “then what do you think you are? A dom?”

Another wave of snickers bounce around the room and you can’t understand them. Is the idea that wild? You don’t think you come off as someone more passive, but until that moment, you hardly considered yourself a dominant either. Now you can, if only to spite your doubtful friends.

“Sure! I would say that I am!”

“What makes you a dom, and me a sub? I’m not doubting you,” Mirio says, though the tone of his voice suggests otherwise, “but I am curious!”

“For one thing, it would mean that the two of you are compatible.” Yaoyorozu, who mostly stays silent during these kinds of discussions, nods to you. You could either kiss her or kill her. She’s dealt with you mooning over Mirio plenty of times in the past, so her adding that in might’ve done a good service for you, planting the idea of you and Mirio together in his head, but you’re now the physical embodiment of the monkey-covering-his-eyes emoji.

“A dom that’s been nursing a beer for the last hour and a half…” you hear someone who’s having a different conversation say. As if your drinking habits have anything to do with you in bed.

“I wanna hear what Ms. Lightweight has to say about this issue.” Mirio grins at you and you can tell that he finds your flushed face amusing. You’re so embarrassed that you can’t even remember your real reason for calling Mirio a sub to begin with!

Throwing any hope of sounding intelligent out the window, you point at Mirio’s feet. “Mr. Togata is wearing socks, your honor.”

The room goes silent. You hear a silent, “socks?” from some faceless individual outside your vision.

You continue, scrambling, “a true dom would make a decision: keep their shoes on or take everything else off. It’s the indecision that says Mirio would’ve done much better if he had someone else instructing him.”

Mirio looks to his socks and you can almost see an exclamation point above his head. You might’ve made a valid point by the looks of it, and he doesn’t say anything more when he sees you wearing your shoes, thank goodness.

Someone says they’re through talking about socks and shoes and the conversation moves to a topic more interesting to the masses. You can’t help but still feel a bit flushed. Two out of five times you look Mirio’s way, you catch him staring at you. Of the remaining three times, he catches you staring at him, and the sixth time both of your eyes meet seemingly at the same time, he smiles. It’s not the same smile he shares with the group for when Denki Kaminari says something stupid. This smile is warm and genuine, with a hint of curiosity.

You make a decision to get up and excuse yourself, explaining the the one beer you nursed throughout the night has made you sleepy. You brush off friendly objections and make your way to the stairs. You don’t go up before looking back at Mirio who holds the same curious expression he did before. You part your lips and climb the stairs. You hope he doesn’t know how embarrassed you are.

Once you’re in your room, you make no rush to get ready for bed. You’re not actually all that sleepy; you just spent too much time around everyone else when you really would rather have just been with Mirio. You think about texting him— maybe he’ll wanna see a movie tomorrow, but as soon as you decide against it, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Mirio, a sockless Mirio, leaning against your doorframe. You furrow your brows, but before you can speak, he says, “I’m here to dispute your claim.”

Your cheeks grow hot. He can’t mean… he can’t really mean… anything by that. Could he? You’re so struck with bewilderment that you don’t even realize you step to the side to let him in until he’s gliding past you. You close the door and hear a surprising click! You did that, but you don't remember making the decision to lock your door.

Your room has never really seemed too small to you, not until you see Mirio standing in the middle of it, talking in all that is you: your thoughtless tchotchkes, your messy bedspread, your various posters, until finally his eyes land on your bookcase.

You don’t know why you’re suddenly so embarrassed about the collection you’ve got going on. You’ve got Paula Fox and Khaled Housseini— books that you could speak endlessly about, though at the bottom shelf, you have books that you read in middle school that you choose to ignore, but haven’t wanted to part with.

You step in front of him with intention, but Mirio is so much bigger than you, and he still manages to read out loud, “Broadway Musicals of the 1980’s?”

Your blood boils. “You wanted to… dispute your claim?” you urge, trying to draw his attention away from anything other than your books, but Mirio isn’t having it, probably sensing your embarrassment. He has to get you back somehow.

“You’ve got… quite a few books about musicals…”

you clear your throat. “Your claim?”

“In a moment— what’s this?” Mirio reaches around you, his arm just barely brushing against your stomach. You swallow harshly, bringing yourself into full defensive mode, because you know what he sees: a bottom shelf book about vampires that you failed to put back on the bottom shelf!

“I love musicals!” You admit, turning to face your bookshelf. You seat his hand back and you’re too aware of how close he is behind you. Your heart flutters, very unlike a dom, but he isn’t allowed to see the look on your face.

“Do you?” He asks with genuine curiosity. It could have easily been something to tease you about, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks you to talk about your favorites, particularly the ones from that damned book, your lifeline.

You speak. He listens, only asking a few questions about things he’s genuinely curious about. You wonder if he actually came to your room to do anything, or if he just wanted to check in on you... because he’s your friend and a good one at that.

Your breath catches when he snakes his arms around your waist. You feel a chill while he moves his face through your hair to find your neck, and suddenly you’re jelly as lips press against your skin. He kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, large hands squeezing your sides and you think you’ve lost your sense of sight, the second thing to go after you find yourself unable to speak.

Mirio grins against you, lips brushing farther up your neck. You allow your eyes to close and lean your head to the side, granting him more room for his lips to roam. You try to steady your breathing, but it’s heavy; you’re too obvious and Mirio knows you’re trying not to sigh.

“Keep talking,” he purrs, fanning your ear with warm breath, but it’s not him. At least, it’s not the Mirio you know. This Mirio’s voice is deeper, aggravatingly alluring, dark and husky— a fantasy you didn’t know you had come to life.  “I wanna know more about 42nd Street.”

You’re certain he’s teasing you now and you want to be mad about it, but you can’t. It’s sweet that he’s paying more attention to your words than you are. You could keep talking after you’ve gained some ounce of composure. Hell, you could babble his ear off until the two of you lose the mood and decide to do something else to pass the time. You have board games— you could easily beat him at a game of battleship, but will you truly be winning if things escalated to battleship? Figuratively speaking, you could keep speaking until Mirio eventually trails his hands down past the hem of your pants, but, figuratively speaking, that would mean he’d win. He’d be the dom making a mess of you while you held no power, and you aren’t going to let that happen.

Screw battleship. You had a boat right behind you and you’re going to steer it.

You turn abruptly to face him. This catches him off guard for a split second and you use that to your advantage. You reach up to the back of his head, grab a fist full of his surprisingly soft, not-so-gelled hair, push yourself up against him, and your lips collide with his like stormy waves crashing against unsuspecting beaches. Mirio’s quick to grip onto you from behind, pulling your body flush against his hardened chest. He’s warm and you feel good pressed against him. It’s not fair. It’s not fair because it’s not enough.

You run your tongue along his— he doesn't taste like beer like you expect him to. He tastes faintly like Colgate washed out a couple times, and a more prominent minty flavor. You grin against his lips. He must’ve stopped by his dorm to brush his teeth before he came to you. He wants to taste good for you and he does, but he doesn’t want you to know that he wants you to think he tastes good.

You eye your bed, the goal. Your hands slide down to his shoulders and you add a bit of pressure onto him, trying to push him back all the while you struggle to deepen your kiss is far too apparent. Trying to move Mirio is similar to trying to move a mountain. He pulls away, eyebrows raised, with a complacent grin that tells you he enjoys watching your struggle. You huff.

In a higher, more loving voice, Mirio asks, “what is it, girl?” while cupping your cheek with his large hands, and you vaguely recall comparing him to a Labrador retriever while you tried to explain yourself earlier. You scowl back at the motionless mountain and his grin widens. He brushes his thumb against your pursed lips. “What do you need? You may speak”

Even though you know Mirio is only taking on this contemptuous persona to prove a point, it infuriates you. Frustrated, you leap up at him, wrapping your legs around his torso, and striking. him with another deep, impassioned kiss. He stumbles back a bit, and you think that maybe you could win, but the sturdy Mirio catches himself with one leg, pushes back, and slams you into the book case.

You gasp at the short pain pinching your back, but it’s nothing compared to the sensuous feeling of Mirio’s desperate lips grazing your neck. You moan, one hand holding onto Mirio’s muscular shoulders, while the other grips the second highest level of your bookshelf. Paula Fox falls to the floor, followed by Khaled Housseini, and you couldn’t care less.

You find yourself craving more of his touch, more of his warmth, more of his skin, so you grip onto his jacket and usher it off of him. Mirio holds you up one handedly while his free hand rips through your blouse, the buttons of your shirt scattering to the floor to dance around Fox and Housseini. You knot your fingers into the back of his shirt and whine. In the position you’re in, you won’t be able to get his damn shirt off, and he doesn’t hold that same predicament. He’s able to unclasp your bra with singular, nimble fingers and that joins your buttons, your tattered shirt, and your books on the floor.

“Mirio,” you hiss through your teeth as his own teeth graze one of your puckered buds. He doesn’t stop, but he looks up at you tentatively. He slides his pink tongue out to lav over your sensitive nipple, and your body melts into him.

“Bed,” you say with less ferocity and Mirio complies, bucking you up so that you’re even higher and easier to carry towards your mattress.

Mirio’s knees reach the edge of your bed and you try to use the weight of your body to make the both of you topple over. He laughs in response, seeing through your obvious advances, and swings you around to the bed, but you kick your legs just enough that you land on your feet on your sheets, towering over him.

You feel a little ridiculous standing on your bed when it should be used for much more than that, but you’re finally able to get his shirt over his head. If you weren’t flushed enough before, you certainly are now. Everyone has seen Mirio naked, there is positively no avoiding that, but there’s something different about being right in front of him, feeling the heat of his ripped body so close to yours that make your stomach turn to knots. He chuckles at you because you don’t realize you’re gawking.

“Yeah?” He says, both as a question and an affirmation. Mirio isn’t one to say something as preposterous as, ‘this is the real deal,’ but he says so much more with a simple, ‘yeah.’

Instead of replying with a ‘yeah’ yourself, the easy route, you grab his hand and lead it to your side. His eyes mellow as he runs the back on his pointer finger up and down your body, over to wear the waistline of your jeans. He kisses you right above your naval, then right below it, and your body shivers in response.

“So soft,” he muses so quietly that you can assume it’s not meant for you, rather he’s voicing his thoughts aloud. His fingers go to the button of your jeans, but he pauses, purses his lips, and narrows his eyes.

You begin to fret over the thought that maybe he’s finished. Maybe he’s come to prove a point and just by getting you flustered and topless on your bed, that point has been proven— game over, goodnight, see you never, bye. Then his eyes meet yours, and his brows furrow gently.

“Can I?” He asks, pulling slightly on your jeans.

Mirio Togata is a glorious mountain, a cute Labrador puppy, and a polite gentleman. You find victory in the fact that you were half-right about something, and despite being absolutely charmed by the man who you’re going to let fuck you senseless, you must gloat a little bit.

You bring your thumb and forefinger to his chin, tilt his head up, and say, “I don’t know. Can you?”

Mirio’s eyes flash and you can see the heat of desire in his longing stare. The pools of his eyes grow heavy as he unbuttons your pants, kissing you right above the hem of your underwear, and says, “let me.”

And you do. You let him. You let him ease you down, you let him push your body onto the mattress, and you let him relieve you of your jeans, your bottoms, your doubts, your inhibitions. And it’s fine, and it’s good, because his cheeks feel fantastic brushing against your skin, and his tongue is extraordinary teasing you between your thighs.

Mirio is a gentleman and the way his tongue paints maps against your quivering heat would be charitable, if not for the fact that he’s enjoying himself as much as you are. He hums when you sigh, tentative to every twitch of your body, every sudden gasp you elicit, every surprising tug your tangled fingers give to his beautiful, golden hair. Mirio draws coils deep within your belly, building a tension that’s dark and deep, until he has you arching your back, squeezing your eyes tight, and seizing as pleasure bursts and breaks and floods the entirety of you.

When you’re no longer grasping at the sheets and you’ve gained some sense of composure, you look down to see Mirio practically wagging his tail, ready to receive affirmation— praise for a job well done. You smile and pet his head, probably a little too smug with the picture he portrays even though you’re wordlessly thankful for all that he’s done, and say, “good boy.”

The eager look on his face is replaced by something more mischievous. He brings his lips to your fluttering bliss and gives it a long lick, calling back your senseless shaking.

“M-mirio,” you mewl, shaken and overly-sensitive to his treacherous tongue. “What are you—? I’ve already—!“

His fingers edge the center of your desire while he pushes the rest of his body closer to you. He levels his head with yours, fingers running circles between your thighs, causing you to squirm and pant underneath him.

“Have you?” He asks, even though he knows too damn well that you have. He captures a wistful moan with his lips, tasting your pained pleasure as if it were only an appetizer for a grand feast.

“Yes!” You say breathlessly just as his fingers curl into you. Your mouth hangs open and he watches you lose your mind with delight.

“but you’ve been such a good girl,” he whispers huskily, slowly pumping his fingers, setting you up to blow you away, “and I might not be so innocent.”

He bites into your neck and you claw at his back. It’s only then that you realize he’s lost his pants. You don’t think he realizes he’s slowly grooving against you, erect and throbbing, and your eyes roll back imagining him inside of you.

“I want you…” you whisper as his tongue glides against the shell of your ear.

“Mmm?” His low thrum tickles you in a way that’s both sweet and enticing. That’s what he is… sweet… you want him to know that you think he’s sweet. You want to make him feel good, too, maybe even while demonstrating that you still have some fight in you, despite your shaky hands and uneven breath.

You reach down and gently pull his hands away from your center. You roll on top of him so his back is to your headboard and you look down on his cute, surprised face. You lean down to give him a sweet peck. He sighs against your lips, “you’re beautiful,” so you kiss him again, deeper, memorizing the curve of his lips and relishing the soft groan he gives when you reach around to grab the base of his cock. You pump it, edging yourself closer to him until the two of you are aligned.

The tides of his eyes are heavy with need while his palms smooth over your thighs. You bite your lip and look towards his abs, clenching and unclenching from anticipation.

“Let me?” You say, posing it as a question, when really you know he wants it just as badly as you do. His answer comes when his hands grip tightly onto your hips and he pushes you onto him.

You roll your hips, wielding a steady rhythm, only allowing Mirio to keep shallow and slow thrusts as you get used to both his length and his girth. He’s breathy while the head of his cock accepts most of the attention; he’s sensitive and you can tell by how he shudders every time you sink a few centimeters lower on him.

“Please,” he rasps, and you don’t realize it until you see his brows furrowed above desperate azure eyes scanning over you that you’re torturing him and he’s letting you. Your hands cover his and guide them up and down, picking up your pace until you’re finally hitting his hilt.

You moan, loud enough for anyone in the next room over to hear, though you’re relieved by the fact that most of your friends are probably still downstairs, playing the same game that’s lead you and Mirio here.

Your name teases his lips, lost to a mixture of swears and grunts. The yes, god, please, fuck, you feel incredible, god’s fill the room just as much he fills you. You groove against him, skillfully trying to keep hold of the reigns, but Mirio’s strong body has more control over you even while he’s the one against the sheets.

Mirio’s large enough that you feel a stretch and the thought sends jubilant waves cascading throughout your body. He thrusts into you, making you cry out in glee and pleasure while bouncing on his shaft. Sweat wedges between your motor bodies and you don’t care, because  it’s wonderful; you feel him. You coil around him, nails imprinting tiny crescents into his muscular back while his lips roam your collar bone, your chest, your breasts, until they find yours, and he kisses you like it’s his god-given right.

You’re in ruins when he tangles his hands in your hair and pulls your face away, still close, but not close enough that you can kiss him once more, just enough that you feel his panting fanning your face. He eyes hold you steady— you don’t think you could look away even if you wanted to— and tears prick your eyes when you’re swarmed with the realization of what those beautiful, round eyes hold: adoration.  

Mirio loves you, and he’s displayed that not only with your ambiguous friendship, but with the way he’s handled you on this singular night. Even while trying to prove a point (he’s the dom), he’s shown restraint. Even when he slammed you against the bookcase, he could very much have hurt you more than that simple pinch, but his arms guarded you and kept you safe and still.

Hell, he could have ripped your pants off at any second of the night, but he wanted to make sure that you wanted the same.

Mirio loves you and he’s displaying that now through his touches, through his whispers, through his liquid eyes that show much more than fiery lust and circumstantial desire. They show care, and devotion, and reverence. You want to tell him you feel the same, but you feel a tugging pulse from your belly.

“Mirio,” you choke out and just as you feel a jolt, he stutters inside of you.

He grasps your sides and flips you onto your back. He says your name likes it’s a hymn as he hammers into you, praising you with loving kisses and nips. You squeeze around him, feeling the surge build up and spill out. You can’t let go of him while your body sings pleasure and gratification in energetic waves flowing up from your toes to your shoulders— overwhelming ecstasy taking you over.

He spills onto your sweat covered stomach, bowing his head against your shoulder. Your fingers tickle his sweat covered back and you coo at him, happy. He lets his body hit the mattress next to you and he stares at your body like he can’t believe what’s happened.

“You-” he breathes, but shakes his head, deciding that whatever he was going to say can’t amount to what he’s feeling.

“You,” you agree, sinking into your pillow. You’re not sure that you can believe what happened either, only the evidence lays out clearly through the tingles in your fingers and the mess on your stomach.

He tries again. “That was—“ but he’s at a loss for words. You brush his hair back and kiss him. He wraps his arm around your torso and brings you into a warm, already-too-familiar embrace. “Should I get like a towel or something?”

“No,” you say, “not yet. I’m happy here. I’ll probably just shower anyway.”

“Can I join you in that shower?”

You snicker. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Hey.” You feel him grinning against your shoulder. Then, he laughs. “Don’t forget to take your socks off before the shower.”

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter@unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix@smbody-stole-mycar-radio@zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @captain-sin-allmight-queen@psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

[barnesandco]

Spies and Secrets

Bucky buys a new jacket that is... uncharacteristically bright. Sam ribs him for it, and you- you don't know what to do with yourself.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language. Heavy makeout session.

A/N: Inspired by Sebastian Stan’s 2016 photoshoot - more specifically that yellow jacket - for August Man Malaysia. Written for @redgillan . Hope you like it, Maisie! It was so much fun to write lmao. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Look at you!” Sam exclaims, jumping to his feet. Steve and Bucky stand in the kitchen, arms laden down with shopping bags. The object of Sam's attention, however, is the mustard-yellow jacket Bucky is wearing. "What, were they all out of decent, normal outerwear at the mall?"

“He looks good, Sam.” Steve defends, putting his bags down by the door, and heads over to the fridge. Finding what he was after - a beer - he sits down at the kitchen table, and looks back at his teammates. Sam splutters indignantly, hands on his hips. Bucky looks like he's ready to high-tail it back to his room.

“Really? You, Mr. I-only-wear-plaid-shirts-and-vintage-jackets, are giving out fashion advice. No wonder he bought that monstrosity.” Sam gestures to Bucky, who has thus far remained silent, but is now struggling to rein it in. He was hesitant about buying it - not his usual color - but he thought he looked good in it. He knows Sam's joking - it's just banter, Nat calls them an old married couple - but he's so out of his depth when it comes to the new millennium, and everything that is associated with. Everything except making women swoon. That’s stayed the same since he fell off that train in Austria.

“Shut up, Sam.” He says gruffly, shuffling to grab his own beer and return to his spot in the doorway, ready to leave. Sam ruffles Bucky's hair, flings his arm around his shoulder, grinning madly.

“I'm only messing with you, Bumblebee. Lookin' like a real lady-killer in that thing. Bet the chicks dig it. Matches their fur and all.” He laughs. 

“Ignore him, Buck. You look great, trust me.” Steve says earnestly, beer bottle resting on his thigh. 

“Sure, sure, trust the centenarian when it comes to 21st century fashion.” Sam waves his hand dismissively, biting into an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. Bucky picks his bags back up, and heads for the elevator.

“Whatever, Wilson.” He throws over his shoulder.

-----

“Is Sergeant Barnes going to be here?” You ask, eyes flitting around to see if he’s here yet.

“He said he was coming. Why? You can barely speak when he's around. And now you're eager to see him?” Nat says, leaning her elbows against the standing table they're at. She looks at you intently, fiddling with the umbrella from her cocktail. 

“Not eager, Nat. Just curious.” You answer, turning away from her sharp gaze to survey the room. She does the same.

“Speak of the devil.” Nat says, jerking her head towards the entrance, where Bucky has just arrived.

“Dear Lord.” You whisper under your breath, grateful for the hubbub of the crowd. It disguises the words, but not the sound and Nat turns to you.

“Did you say something?” She wonders.

“No, I- nothing, nothing.” You excuse, coughing as the man in question approaches. He looks good. So good that it takes all of your willpower not to physically drop your jaw. All black - his jeans, his t-shirt, his shoes - with the exception of a delicious mustard yellow jacket. Out of character, possibly. Hot as hell, definitely.

“Hello, Barnes. New jacket?” Nat greets cheerfully, taking a sip from her drink. Bucky swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and puts his hands in his pockets, drawing attention to those muscular thighs that have fueled your thirstiest dreams for weeks now. He nods, and a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes. You resist the urge to tuck it behind his ear.

“Yeah. Went shopping a few days ago. How are you lovely ladies doing?” He asks, running his hands through those chestnut brown locks you want to use to tug him down till your mouths meet. You touch your lips subconsciously. Is your mouth watering?

“I'm good. I think our resident IT genius could use some help, though.” Nat says delicately, glancing at you from her peripherals. You cough again.

“No! Help with what? I'm fine. Totally fine.” You say, hands flailing. Broken-record repetition must worry them further instead of alleviate their concerns. Behind Nat’s cocktail glass, you can see a thinly veiled smile. "It's good to see you, Sergeant Barnes." 

“Bucky, please, doll.” He smiles at you, and your heart skips a beat. Another one. Butterflies turn to elephants in your stomach, and you shift your weight.

“Right. Uh, you- um, you don't normally come to these things.” It’s a statement, but you trail off at the end, leaving room for a question he could answer. You rest your chin on your fist, trying desperately to look casual. 

“Didn't have anything better to do tonight. Why, you wishing I stayed home?” He jokes.

“No, no! I mean yes. I mean, I'm-”

“It's okay, I get it.” Bucky reassures you. He looks around, and seems to spot somewhere else he needs to be. “It was nice talkin' to you, I'll see you 'round.” Saying this, he pecks your and Nat’s cheeks, leaving you blinking and dazed.

“Bye, Barnes.” Nat is unfazed. Your shoulders drop automatically, releasing the tension - and the breath - you weren’t aware you were carrying. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“What was what?” You say innocently, praying she drops the subject. You’re a terrible liar, and Nat’s an excellent spy. The two factors combine to make for the fact that it is damn near impossible to hide something from Natasha Romanoff if she doesn’t want you to. You’re proud that you’ve managed to for as long as you have.

“You, all stutter-y and flustered. Do you have a crush?” She says conspiratorially. That glint in her eye is back, and that’s bad news for any and all of your secrets regarding Bucky Barnes.

“You're crazy, Nat. Bat-shit insane.” You dismiss, finishing off your drink. She doesn’t let up.

“You have all the symptoms, you know.”

“No, I don't know. All I know is that you're crazy, and I need another drink.” You push away from the table and head for the bar, hoping you don’t run into Bucky again. Heart attack sounds preferable to dealing with him in that outfit.

Two hours later, and you’re sitting with a group of Avengers who have just started a round of poker. The company party is in full swing, S.H.I.E.L.D. employees taking full advantage of the bar, both for alcohol and karaoke. Thank goodness that the latter is in a faraway corner of the room, because while most of these people know more ways to kill a man than there are grains of sand on a beach, none of them can stay on key to save their lives.

“Where did Barnes run off to?” He asks. Maria Hill snorts.

“Why, you miss your boyfriend?” 

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Sam responds mockingly. He has an excellent hand of cards, though, so the joke is on Maria really.

“Said he needed a break.” Steve pipes up, preparing to lose, good and righteous as he is. Can’t lie to save his life. Sam is gleeful, unaware that Nat has the best hand out of the lot of them. You’re not playing. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays well, even to non-superheroes, but you’ve never been much of a gambler. And it’s far more entertaining observing everyone, occasionally whispering suggestions to Nat - not that she needs them - hands on her legs draped over your lap. But your attention has been diverted to a certain ex-assassin, who plays your heartstrings like a guitar. You wait five minutes - five excruciating, torturous minutes - before yawning and pushing Nat’s legs off you.

“I- uh, I think I should head back. I'll see you guys on Monday.” You say, waving feebly to the group, and leave the room to echoes of goodnight and requests to drive safely. Little do they know you’re not leaving yet. You consider the floorplan, and try to figure out where he might be. Eventually, you recall Bucky’s preference for the stairwell designed as an exit in case of emergencies. He mentioned briefly how it was the quietest place in the Compound. Peaceful. Serene. Not to mention the open top means he can smoke.

“Hey, Sarge.” You smile shyly as you lean against the door, hands behind your back. As expected, he’s sitting on the stairs, jacket falling open to reveal a shirt stretched taut over those pectorals you long to touch. You haven’t had an opportunity to rendezvous in weeks, between his missions and your new research project. It’s not like you’ve gone all the way physically even when you do have the opportunity to see each other like this, but the way he’s looking tonight makes you want to change that.

“Was wonderin' when you'd show up.” He says around the cigarette between his lips. The serum stops it from affecting him, so he feels comfortable maintaining this particular habit. Gives him something to do with his hands. Avoids it around you, though. Tonight is no exception. Removing it from his mouth, he exhales one last time, and stomps out the half-burnt blunt under his leather boot. Passive smoking isn’t fun.

“How did you know I'd find you?” You ask, standing between his bent legs, carding your fingers through his hair. He nuzzles your stomach, nips at your dress.

“I'm magnetic, baby.” He smiles up at you, then stops when he sees your facial expression. You’re torn. “Why're you lookin' at me like that?” He asks, holding your hands, rubbing your knuckles gently with his thumb.

“Like- like what?” 

“Like you don't know whether to eat me alive or run for the hills.” Bucky is apprehensive now, worried he’s done something wrong. 

Your gaze moves from his concerned eyes, to that damn jacket, and back up to his lips. Something shifts inside you, and you tug him to stand upright, fists clutching the lapels of his jacket. You pull him down to meet your lips.

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes.” You murmur, mouths grazing against one another before they press together fully. He gasps at the pressure and passion behind your movement, and you take the liberty to engage his tongue in a dance with yours. His arms wrap around your waist, bending you backwards a little, but you’re too occupied by the taste of chocolate and whiskey on his breath. Too surrounded by everything Bucky. The feel of his hair between your fingers, the scent of his cologne enveloping you like his embrace. Panting, you pull away, moving to his neck.

“Hey, woah, what's gotten into you?” Bucky’s gasping for air, hands moving up and down your sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He settles for resting them over your ass, and nips at your earlobe. 

“You complaining?” You ask, hands on his chest. He shakes his head, and that’s all the confirmation you need as you resume your task, sucking a hickey onto his collarbone, fingers curling in the loops of his belt. He tries to continue speaking, muttering in your ear.

“Hell no. But you're always so shy, and - oh, jeez, sugar.” His sentence falls apart as you rake your nails gently down his abs. You stop at the exclamation, also intrigued by the new pet name. 

“This stupid fucking jacket.” You say, pecking his lips chastely. You lean your forehead on his shoulder, unable to look him in the eyes after your outburst. Everything is hot. The air, filled with palpable electricity between your bodies. Your body itself, on fire from head to toe, concentrated on a spot between your legs. Legs that are shaking as you strive to stay upright.

“You don't like it?” He asks, holding you to him. All shyness or shame dissipates into thin air, as your head snaps up to meet his insecure expression incredulously.

“Are you shitting me? It's the hottest thing I've seen all week.” You tell him, pushing up on your toes to kiss him again. And again. And again. 

“I think I can top that.” Bucky says between kisses, cradling your face in his hands, yours clutching his sides.

“I'm sure you can.” You answer, smiling wolfishly at the double entendre. 

“You know what, I have a better idea.” He pauses, waiting for your signal. You give it.

“Yeah?”

“Why don't we go up to my room, and you try on my jacket. Just my jacket.”

Taglist: @buckyreaderrecs @corneliabarnes @mermaidxatxheart

[evebeforethefall]

Moving On || open

{ An open starter to all, set six years after the conclusion of the Amber Spyglass. }

The sun beat down against the top of her head, heating up her dirty blonde locks in the height of Midsummer. As Lyra sat against the familiar bench in the Botanic Gardens, she could feel certain weights lift from her shoulders. She knew Will wouldn’t actually sense her and she had no way in knowing if he would actually be there on the same bench in his world but part of her wondered what if he was and that they both were upholding their promise to one another all those years later. Pantalaimon climbed on to her shoulder and the pair stayed there for at least an hour before deciding to head off.

Lyra led the way, weaving through the pathways of the gardens and out on to the High Street. “Let’s go grab something to drink,” she said, abruptly, turning her destination towards the Covered Market further down the street. Her Oxford was bustling with people, all accompanied by dæmons of various forms. On her way down, she passed an elderly woman, with a squirrel-dæmon on her shoulder, whispering something into her ear. “Afternoon!” Lyra announced in a friendly tone, as she passed the woman. The woman glanced up, nodded and said, “Afternoon, Lyra!” and went on her way. No one stuck around for long when it was busy. Letting a sigh escape her lips, Lyra dipped into the Covered Market, soon surrounded by stalls of local and handmade goods, that she always loved to see when it was busy. Something told her it was more interesting amidst the bustle of people coming and going.

In time, she came to a little café on the corner, one that she had been to many times before. The attendant behind the counter gave her a friendly wave and a smile, as she entered, the bell above the door making a loud *ding* as she did so. “Hi Dick,” She replied, equally friendly, “Ginger beer please!” Her friend gave a nod, bringing a bottle of soft drink to her table, as she took a seat. Pan hopped off her shoulder and on to the table, turning to look at her. His expression simply read boredom but she took little to no notice of it. “Thanks,” she muttered, pushing a small amount of gold coins into his hand before he left her alone - well, leaving her and her dæmon alone.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, rather snide, as she scrunched up her nose at her dæmon, “We always go to the bench on Midsummer.” Pan just sighed, “What if he’s given up going on his end, Lyra? You’re never going to know the difference.” Lyra scoffed, as she took a sip of her drink. Pan curled himself up, sitting comfortably against the table in his pine marten form. “It’s been six years, Lyra. You’re both eighteen, what if he’s met someone?” That, Lyra gave a thought and she couldn’t try and hide it from Pan. Despite the separation they had gone through, he was still part of her and knew what she was thinking. “And so what if he has? We thought of that, didn’t we? We’d still go, and I trust him,” she said, stubbornly, “Anyway, I thought you liked Will?”

“I do like him, but it’s like you’re holding on to something that might not be there anymore.” Pan had always been right in some respects, as much as Lyra hated to admit it. In the end, when she couldn’t come back with something, she just huffed and left him in silence. This time, making a passive-aggressive sip of her ginger beer. Will wouldn’t just leave her like that, would he? I mean, how would she knew if he had?