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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

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So We Refuse To Take it Tragically

A/N: I’ve just accepted my fate is to be obsessed with this man, so here’s yet another Obi-Wan fic. There will be a second part to this, and I’m thinking a mini series of in-between moments. I won’t give spoilers, but this is NOT my normal type of fic, but he’s an exception to every rule in my book, apparently. Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my beta on this, I don’t know where this would be without you!

Thank you also to @beskars for her post here that birthed this. Always blessing us with fuel for the thirst.

And to the one I know IRL that found my tumblr, one I will refer to as Top Voice, this is your final warning to gtfo before feasting your eyes on unprecedented filth and sap.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! Fem Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Cumeating, hair pulling, Comfort Sex, ANGST!! (It has a happy ending later, I promise, but it starts after ROTS, so it’s par for the course) If you’re gonna write not-particularly-pertinent-to-plot-porn, might as well make it unnecessarily detailed, right? As usual, too many feelings for porn, More warnings will be in the tags to prevent spoilers

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

Tatooine is no place for a baby.

There are no soft surfaces, nor comforts, nor surplus of anything. It’s desolate and deprived and oppressive, but you watch as Obi-Wan shields the child from its harsh, sand-pelting winds with his whole body, despite the fact the child fits in the space between his wrist and elbow. It’s overzealous, but you don’t say anything of it.

The past two days have ripped away nearly everything he held dear, insisting on devastating every tender place. Nothing sacred has been left untouched.

He broke the code long before he met you, and you know part of why his love for you came so easily, why he had no qualms with breaking his vows, was because he’d long since loved the man that became his family in every way that matters.

Love and Light so tightly knit together the fabric of his being one could not be separated from the other.

And you could take on the entire Force with your two fists for how it had rewarded him for it with Hate and Darkness coming from someone so close it shattered something foundational in Obi-Wan.

Yet even now, there isn’t Darkness surrounding his signature. There’s brokenness and his ever-present equilibrium has been replaced by jagged shards. But despite it all, those rugged pieces still reflect light erratically in their shine.

It’s a loss and betrayal that spans many different planes: on one level, there’s nowhere you look in the galaxy beyond just the two of you that isn’t marked by the Empire’s rise in power, marking the end of the Republic he fought for and the fall of the Jedi, his community, comrades, and only home he’d ever known. And on another level, you’ve seen the weight of war and worse in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but nothing, nothing like this.

The pain is panoramic, but it’s also profoundly personal.

Even still, his attention isn’t on himself, but on the fussy bundle in his arms.

You wonder: is it the galaxy that doesn’t allow this man time to heal? Or is it his own choice to throw himself into the need of others so he has a tangible reason to avoid his own torments?

When he places the baby into the arms of the young couple, you know the times ahead will give the answer to that.

Because there aren't the cries of the past few nights to wake either of you, there’s silence.

You long to fill it, to try to bridge this insurmountable void with something, anything you could say. But you know it’s bigger than you. So, so much bigger than you.

Monumental obstacles and tremendous loss find themselves standing in the threshold of an abandoned hut smaller than your flat was on Coruscant.

“Well… it’s not much to look at, certainly. But the moisture vaporator seems to be in repairable condition, and we’re just far enough from town to avoid any curious neighbors. What do you think?” He turns to you, and his eyes, dark circles under and all, turn sharp in their assessment of your response.

“I told you. I’m going wherever you are so long as you’ll let me.” Your voice is gentle but adamant as you remind him.

He walks up from the living room to the threshold of the kitchen where you are, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “Be that as it may, I’m asking your input on where we’re going, or living, as your happiness means a great deal to me.”

There’s still no smile, but it’s the brightest his energy has felt since the last time you saw him before he came to your door in Coruscant days ago, whispering a rushed, heartfelt farewell, which you quickly countered with an emphatic, unshakable, “I’m coming with you.”

You look up at him, gliding your hand across his cheek into the hair at the nape of his neck. There’s Darkness at the door of his soul that he’s fighting off every moment, and he has the audacity to speak of your happiness.

You don’t dare bring up his. It’s irony, at best.

So you smile, timid, knowing the gesture in itself might be blasphemous to the tone, but genuine all the same. “We can make a life here. I know we can.”

He scans your eyes, looking to find the authenticity in your statement. “Are you certain?”

He’s not asking about the hut anymore. Or, at least, not just the hut.

“Obi-Wan, I never had any delusion that any life I had with you would be easy. I thought I’d only ever be getting you in secret, sparse moments. Although I’d never, ever wish for it to be under the circumstances that it is, having you like this is better than I ever hoped.”

There’s silence as he processes your words, then a wry twist of his features. “How I wish that your expectations needn’t be so low.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” You incline your head, trying to find the words to convey what you mean.

“Nothing any person or any planet anywhere has to offer me holds a candle to what I’ve found in you, nor will it ever. I’d never trade unshakable wholeness for the transience of materialistic happiness.”

You know this has to resound with him. Is it not within the core set of values he was taught to forsake comfort in any avenue for something far greater?

His eyes flick between yours, gauging, and you can feel him reaching out to feel at your signature to solidify the truth.

If you knew him any less, you might be insulted at his questioning of your trustworthiness. But it’s not you he doesn’t trust. It’s something good willingly giving itself to him that causes his wariness.

The Force can have your middle finger along with your fists.

Then he’s relaxing into you, letting out an exhale that seems heavy with more than just air, and burying his nose in your hair for his next inhale.

****

By the end of the day, you’ve gathered enough supplies for basic necessities and to start on the repairs of the hut. You both snarf down a ration bar before shortly thereafter clearing the blown-in sand off what must have been the bed of the home. It’s a half circle indenture in the wall, and it has a dip obviously made for a mattress or cushion of some sort, but as all that’s available are the blankets bought in town today, you set to fluffing them to some semblance of comfort.

Fatigue pulls you into it far sooner than the suns setting. Last night was your first night without Luke, spent in a room you rented in town. Today was spent traveling to and from the hut, discussing details on what needs to be done, and you? You are absolutely exhausted. You can only imagine what he must feel like.

Obi-Wan secures the lock on the door before sitting on the side of the bed, looking off into nothing for a long, long moment.

You push up to your side, placing a hand on his back. “Obi…”

His shoulder nudges toward your hand, but he cuts you off. “It’s going to get quite cold when the suns set, and since the stove isn’t properly ventilating yet, we’re going to have to work with body heat.”

“I’ll try to mask my reluctance,” you retort.

He turns his face to you then, and just a smidge of humor sweeps across his eyes before he sheds his cloak, followed by everything else until only his pants remain. You’ve long since stripped down to your own sleeping comfort level, so before he can fold his cloak along with the rest of his discarded clothing, you take it and cover yourself with it.

He shakes his head a little at you once he’s done, settling down next to you, throwing the covers over both of you.

“Tell me what you need.” You’re face to face with him, but his expression is unreadable.

“I… I don’t know.” He considers you as if you held the answer to the question you just asked him.

“What about want, then? What do you want, Obi-Wan?” You wish he didn’t have his shields perpetually raised these days. It’d be so much easier to just read his energy.

His hand reaches up so he can stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You’re tired, darling. Rest.”

Ah, there it is. If the answer to the question of desire is him counter offering his own response with the fact you’re tired…

“So are you. But you still want.” You press your body fully against his, dropping your voice down to a whisper. “And so do I.”

You won’t push anymore than that, letting him take or leave the invitation. For you, it’s not even a question. It’s been four months since you last saw him. Since you’d last felt his touch.

You’d spent the last few nights in each other’s arms, but between Luke's shrill cries and the deafening devastation of the events of the days prior, it’d been just that: sleep. Or, what tousled, disturbed counterfeit the circumstance offered you both.

For him, though, there’s an abysmal weariness that digs far beyond lack of sleep, and you don’t dare infringe upon him in any way.

But there’s still a longing present, and even without his Force signature to guide you into his feelings, he can’t hide his eyes.

You watch the moment he makes a decision solidify across his countenance right before he presses his lips against yours. You sigh into it, letting the draw of his skin on yours pull you into orbit.

Because that’s exactly what happens. It’s a kiss for a kiss’ sake, for flavor and fervency and the fullness of each other, but it quickly gains its own momentum when his tongue parts your lips truly.

It’s an acute absence. Not having his energy surrounding you with his shields so far up. But it also gives sharp attention to the press of skin against skin, makes it an anchor and an outlet for all that is still too tender to even acknowledge.

You find grip in his hair, purposefully running your hands the opposite of the way he combs it as he takes your face in both hands and pulls you into him all the more.

When you both need to breathe, he only moves so far away that his lips still brush against yours on every exhale. “I..” he starts, then stops.

The hand still in his hair rakes through it gently, scratching your fingertips against his scalp as you wait for him to complete his thought.

“Let me taste you,” he says at last. You know it's a question from the way he stills, waiting for permission, but it’s phrased as nothing like it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical quest…”

“Oh, hush.” He’s already nudging you over onto your back, situating his body over yours, claiming your lips again. You allow yourself to sink into it, cherishing his weight over you, his hand roaming your ribcage, before pulling back to speak.

“I’m sorry, are you now getting on to me for my sass? Because… oh!”

He finds a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, pinching softly with a small tug.

“By all means, continue. I was most intrigued.” His smirk is back, but it fixes you with a tinge of worry when it again proves to be a smile only skin deep.

You place two fingers just shy of his forehead, but he catches your wrist in an almost painful clasp. The alarm casted by his expression quickly is washed away by a carefully constructed impassiveness, and your heart sinks.

He has to see it, because he bows his head in apology. “Not tonight.”

And before you have any room to respond, he’s shifting himself down as he lifts your shirt up, placing a single taunting, wet kiss on each nipple before moving even further down, nipping at the skin right below your belly button.

He’s distracting you from what he’s not allowing you access to, and you know it, and you let him anyway. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Distraction from the barrage of the mind. If that’s what he needs, that’s what you’ll give.

As he toys with the hem of your underthings, and you lift your hips to assist their removal, you realize it’s exactly what you need too.

Except he apparently isn’t planning to remove your underwear at all. With a casual flick of his hand, your legs are parted and held like that with a no-nonsense sprout of Force energy. Then he’s simply pulling the cloth to the side and brings his mouth torturously closer, but stops just before contact.

You push up to your elbows to tell him you can’t take much of those teasing breaths he’s taking, blowing hot air against sensitive nerve endings. But when you hear his breath stutter as he just looks, unhurried in admiration, you decide against it, even as you flush at the undivided attention. Sprawling his palms out over your inner thighs, he dips down to press his mouth between his fingers, sucking not-so-gently into the soft skin, sending the flesh into tremors before he’s even really done anything to you.

He says your name as he opens you up with his fingers, parting your folds so everything is bared to his view. You start to squirm, the exposure starting to feel a little too heady, and you’re starting to appeal with the beginning of his name when he leans forward, straight away connecting his lips to your clit. You try to thrust up into it as some shameful noise leaves you, but there’s only so much movement you have with your legs still pinned.

He loves to tease, so you don’t expect him to retract the energy that constricted your legs at the first resistance. Instead, he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you on to his tongue and lets you push your hips into him unchecked.

He hums at your enthusiasm, the reverberation sending your hands into his hair again, which gifts you with even more noises from him.

It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re coming undone on his tongue, biting into your forearm to dampen your cry.

He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, signaling your tender surrender. He obeys, looking up at you from between your thighs, absolutely besotted, eyes shining a shade brighter than before.

Then. Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps his eyes on yours before dipping his head and tilting his jaw, running his beard right where you’re still open and vulnerable, abrasion grating in a way you know you’ll be feeling all day tomorrow.

He licks his lips as he moves back up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on him.

He goes easily when you gesture for him to lie on his back so you can straddle him, carefully avoiding any contact where he’s throbbing for you. His hands fall right to your waist, stroking gently as he waits for you to initiate.

You focus your study on the section of his hair that’s fallen in his face, twirling a finger in it, happy to have anywhere to look but his eyes.

He’d normally at least be in your mind by now, and even though you understand it, well, the drought of it is as appropriate for the planet as anything.

You remember too late to raise your own shields against any accidentally too-loud thoughts, as Obi-Wan cups his hand on your chin, forcing your gaze to his, saying your name quietly in calling.

“You have to know, it isn’t anything to do with…”

You interrupt him. “No. No. I won’t have you addressing my insecurities of all things in light of…”

“Please listen, love. I need you to know, it hasn’t anything to do with the love I have for you. That hasn’t changed and never will. I think I need… “ He pauses, solemn in thought. “Time,” he finishes finally.

You knew this already in the pit of your stomach, but hearing him say it, hearing him affirm that it isn’t you insufficiency… you hate that you needed it as much as you did.

And if he needs time? That’s what you’ll give. But he also has a want, evidenced by the brush of him against you when you scoot yourself down his torso.

You take the hem of his pants with you when you continue down, ridding him of them and his shorts. But when you wrap your hand around him and begin to lower your mouth, he grips your chin again, shaking his head.

“I can’t… please, just.” It’s always an anomaly when he’s at a loss for words, usually ever-so articulate.

A gasp chokes out of you when you feel the phantom of his mind. Not in full, no. With barriers, and it’s projected out, not at all the same sensation to being within it.

It’s desperation. For how long it’s been, for how drained he feels, how he’s not sure how long this will last, and how much he yearns to be inside you.

There’s not even a second of debate in your mind as you take your position on his lap again, lifting your hips, intention apparent. He takes his cock in hand, holding steady so you can start to seat yourself onto the thick push of him.

The hitch in his breath is your only warning before he seizes the undersides of your thighs, halting you from taking him any further.

His eyes are tightly shut, and you know from watching him before that his facial expression is an attempt at borderline meditation, except it’s several long seconds before he achieves anything resembling calm.

It’s as good a time as any to push his hands off you and squirm around to take him a little deeper. You plan on rubbing your victory in, but your smirk is wiped away with a whine at the elation. Instead of stopping you again, he almost imperceptibly thrusts up, and it’s your turn to falter, slamming your hands into his chest, nails digging in, working against your weight trying to pull you down onto him.

It goes on like that, until you’re both bordering on hysteria before you’ve even fully taken him. You can’t figure out if it’s a worse torment to keep delaying or continuing.

Obi-Wan seems to have come to his own conclusion to that, as he finally opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he places his palms flat on the tops of your thighs and pushes down until your skin is flush with his.

You pull a hand up, biting on your fist, trying to stifle the exclamation in your throat.

He pulls it away, voice ragged as he speaks. “I want to hear you, little one. We needn’t hide anymore.”

It’s a dimensional statement. For one, no one is around for miles, a stark contrast to your quarters on Coruscant where you at least attempted to be considerate of your too-near neighbors when it came to noise. For another, it’s the irony of being in hiding from the Empire, but being allowed to be open in your relationship with each other finally.

And the deepest irony is that you both have your barriers up so firmly right now all you can concentrate on is bared skin.

Oh, but what a beautiful spanse of bared skin he is. Freckled and almost luminously pale, bending and curving with the strength of the form underneath.

He sits up slowly, generating a breathless plea from both of you at the new angle. A search of your eyes asks you a question, and you’re nodding, kissing him with the full brunt of your craving.

You slide up and then down again just as he drives up, and you’ve found your rhythm, just like that.

His hands push you onto him every time you pull up, and his tongue laves your breasts, sucking and biting along your collarbone, as you rake your nails down his chest, over the backs of his shoulders, his scalp, anything you can touch.

It’s enough to send him into a chorus of groans, shoving himself hard up into you.

He doesn’t even speak it aloud, just projects the apologetic warning that he’s on the edge.

When his thumb finds your clit, everything in you goes tense despite the relief. You clench around him, hard, and he instantly moves his hands to your shoulder blades pulling you flush against him as he lets out an unrestrained sound against your breasts.

You push his thumb away from where it’s stilled against you, replacing it with your own. His fingers twitch in their bruising grip, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

You stay like that for a moment, just letting him ride out his bliss, whispering sweet affirmations into his hair.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are glassed over. You wonder if it’s ecstasy that is the cause, or something from the bedrock boiling to the surface.

He doesn’t give you a chance to elaborate, flipping you over on to your back. The moment he withdraws, you can feel the mess dripping down your inner thighs.

It takes everything in you to not come at the sight alone as Obi-Wan dips further down your body, parting you and lapping his tongue right where you’re weeping evidence of desire.

You know you have to be making a mess of his face and beard, but he certainly doesn’t seem to mind, indulging on his own spill infused with yours.

When he adds two fingers in you and curls them strategically, searing heat shoots through your lower stomach as you arch against his mouth, his name a high whisper with absolutely no suppression, echoing across the empty stone walls of the home.

He leaves a final tender kiss against you before lying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, and you pull him into yours right back when your limbs remember how to function.

His head drops against yours, and his eyes flutter shut, taking a deep inhale, like he’s trying to fill his lungs with more than just oxygen.

Nothing is fine, and the world is crumbling. But right now, as the suns finally leave the house in dark, as you clasp each other in tight embrace, as sleep pulls you under, you can pretend it’s fine. If only for a moment.

*******

There’s a flash of feeling that startles you awake and into the disorientation that comes from waking in a new place. The sensation worsens when you feel the reverberations of the equivalent of a slammed door in the Force.

You sit up quickly and look over to Obi-Wan, who sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands, fingers brutal in their grip.

You move toward him, and he turns around at the sound. “Go back to sleep, darling. it’s nothing.”

When you fix him with a gaze that essentially translates “bantha fodder,” he just lies back down, pulling your back into his chest, and you doubt the fact you can’t see his face like this is a mistake.

The rhythm of his breathing betrays the fact he is nowhere near sleep, but you find yourself fading off soon again anyway.

****

When you wake in the morning, you’re alone in the bed, which is no surprise. He’s not one to lounge, and if the height of the suns peaking through the window has anything to say, he’s already been up for a while.

His cloak is still tangled in the blankets, though, and you wrap yourself in it, padding outside after doing something about your morning breath.

The hut is situated on a cliff, overlooking a barren valley. The suns glare with their unrelenting eyes of heat even so early in the day, and you stare back as best you can without squinting, daring them to do their worst. They know nothing of the misery that’s already visited this home. They have no hope of competing.

You find Obi-Wan cross-legged near the edge of the cliff. Cross-legged and levitating.

Of course, you know he can do things like this. It’s just such a different thing to see him doing it . You’ve never had a proper morning with him like this, seeing his routine. He was always up before the sun, you with him, gathering moments and soaking them in before he had to leave again.

He looks almost peaceful now, not at rest, but peaceful.

How?

How does he still have so much trust in the Force?

A more lighthearted thought emerges through the grim train, as you notice he’s opted to not put his tunic back on yet.

It doesn’t matter out here, you suppose, there isn’t any other living being for miles around. For that matter, you wonder why he even left the pants.

His voice damn near startles you, not even opening his eyes to address you.

“Although that may be the case, there are some locations more bearable to get sunburn than others.”

You blush at being caught, and gently ensure your thoughts aren’t accidentally projected again, but he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it.

“Join me?”

As he opens his eyes and descends the couple inches down back onto the ground, you feel your heart do the same. He’s taught you little things, here and there, and you’ve enjoyed it, learning to tap into that constant humming you never had the tools to channel before.

But now?

What interest do you have with The Force that failed the man who served it without fail? You could burn it down for the atrocities it’s committed even in negligence against the man you love.

But there’s been enough burning.

Obi-Wan won’t speak of what transpired on Mustafar, but you’ve caught glimpses. Last night wasn’t the first night you’ve had him back, and it wasn’t the first you’d woken to a severe troubling in his aura.

You’re still not sure if Luke is a fussy baby or simply a very responsive one, as it seemed Obi-Wan was already awake before Luke started crying.

It was only mere seconds before his shields came slamming down, firmly in place, every time.

You can’t tell if he’s trying to shelter you from his feelings or blockade them away from himself.

Maybe both.

But those seconds? They’re long enough. For just a flash of a charred, severed body. Of hateful, pleading, golden eyes.

There’s been enough burning.

“I can’t ever be a Jedi, Obi.”

“That’s not what I’m asking of you.”

He knows your criticisms as well as your compliments over the Jedi. You’ve both discussed it at great length many times, always over a firm understanding and respect, but you’ve never really had long enough to have a conclusion. But you’re not going to push now, not with the fall of it all still so close behind him.

“I should think our relationship itself is testimony that I don’t inherently agree or adhere to all Jedi teachings.”

You drop your eyes, trying to ignore the sweat starting to trickle down your skin from the relentless heat. “I thought maybe you were with me in spite of your better judgement.”

His brow furrows. “At first, that’s what I may have thought too, but it made itself clear that although what transpired between us was forbidden by the Code…” he trails off for a moment, almost hesitant. “...the way Light was and is exemplified any time I have you in my arms presented a solidified case that not always is the Jedi way synonymous with the will of the Force.”

He says it wholeheartedly, but you can tell it pains him. It’s easy to never speak ill of the dead, either of individuals or groups. To glorify and wipe away any transgressions to ensure their memory sparkles as you grieve it.

The harder thing is to grieve everything, both the good you lost and the bad you experienced from the same source.

And there’s another level there. Something that has him patting the spot beside him and giving a heartbreakingly forced smile.

Even through it all, wariness of aspects of his own religion included, he seeks unity with the Force without reservation or resentment.

You don’t fight him anymore.

The war is over, but the battle has just begun, and so help you Maker, you’re going to fight for him to have the chance to heal.

So you sit, mimicking his position.

When he smiles again, it’s much smaller but not at all fake.

“First, clear your mind.”

*****

The days are afflicted with an underlying gloom, full of work that busies the hands but leaves the mind to wander, which wasn’t at all a luxurious thing.

But the nights are filled with unclaimed time, time in an abundance you never had with each other before.

Sometimes it’s shot with silence from the weight of the day, reveling in the presence of another as you work together on the supper dishes.

Or sometimes there’s almost an excitement, despite the labor ahead, of the plans for the place that’s now your home.

“Wouldn’t we have to have some sort of larger equipment to hoist that over the cliff edge?” You wonder aloud to Obi-Wan, speaking of the replacement unit for finally getting some very basic temperature control for the hut. “The way around back is too rough and would scratch it up, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to try pushing it up manu…”

You stop at his smirk he’s trying to hide with tilting his tea cup higher over his lips.

“...Or there’s a Jedi solution to this problem that requires neither, and you’re just letting me ramble on anyway.” You punctuate the end of your statement by tossing a pillow his direction, which just stops. Midair.

There’s so much legend surrounding Jedi, you haven’t really been sure what’s factual and what’s fairytale.

You certainly knew of some of his abilities, but he didn’t tend to elaborate on details of his missions before, and you never argued, knowing it was a liability for you to have that kind of information if anyone ever found out what you meant to Obi-Wan.

He chuckles, not even trying to look a little guilty.

Once you remember to shut your mouth, you get back to planning. “And that same principle just applies to objects of any size?”

He nods. “Same principle, just more concentration required.”

You tuck your feet under you on your chair as you think on that for a second. You’ll have to ask him to teach you that one next. Mediation alone could get rather dull.

“So, for instance, if a great amount of concentration is being spent Force-lifting an object up the cliff, it would leave a Jedi vulnerable to, say… projectiles thrown?” You throw another pillow at him, which just as easily halts next to the other, gravity defiant.

He could have lowered the first one by now. You raise a brow at the knowledge he’s putting on a show for you.

“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

More often than not, the time of the evenings are spent loving and lounging in sheets, savoring the difference of unhurried lovemaking, with no heart-wrenching farewell on the horizon.

But every time you gently ask to reach his mind, he pushes the request and your hand away.

*******

Obi-Wan’s visits to see Luke are met with a level of hostility. The man, Owen, seems wary of him, doing everything he can to cut the visit short as you and the woman, Beru, if you remember correctly, look silently to each other for some relief in the tension.

They already likely know his actual name, but you’re careful to only address Obi as “Ben” here, along with everywhere else that isn’t your hut. It’s precautionary, but if it’s for the sake of protecting Luke and Obi-Wan himself, you’ll do it without any further questions.

But Luke seems to be doing well, and that is ultimately what matters most. It’s hard to believe how quickly he’s grown in the mere weeks that you’ve been here.

The boy might be by far Obi-Wan’s greatest purpose being on this planet, but it’s not his only.

Master Yoda had given him Jedi texts, yes, but also another task for his time here.

You’re thankful to talk about either, as it seems to be one of the few things he’ll open up to you about as it pertains to himself.

But when he goes to meditate alone, calling for his mentor, his father in every right of the term, he comes back more empty than he left.

When you look at him with a too-knowing look, too infiltrating for his comfort, he easily slides into a quip.

“My old master, it seems, won’t appear unless on his own terms. I’m not sure what else I expected, honestly.”

******

You also learn that the man does not cook. Not that you consider yourself an expert, but at the very minimum, you know how to use spices, which on Tatooine come as hot as their weather.

��“Is it a Jedi thing to have tasteless food, or is that just you?” You tease as he dices some sort of root at your direction while you sift through the cabinet.

His eyes are full of mischief when he’s quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I would argue there’s concrete evidence that I’m quite happy to indulge in the pleasures of taste.”

You can’t help your blush as his very pointed look.

Dinner is long forgotten after that, but the night is delectable all the same.

*****

Something has shifted in your own Force signature. Something you can’t put your finger on.

It doesn’t seem harmful or threatening in essence, but it makes you wary in a way that makes your skin itch with more than the dryness.

You try not to think much of it. After all, there’s plenty to do between tending to the vaporator, hunting, fending off the Sand People, and your learning to wield the Force.

After rumors of Tusken raiders being nearby, you ask Obi-Wan to teach you combat. This would be starting long before he normally would teach someone, he explained, but he does it anyway. It’s not exactly using the Force at first, having to start with how to even move your body in the event of attack, slowly enhancing those skills with the Force as you become more confident in them.

You look forward to it more than any other task. It gives you a strength you haven’t had before, and it’s a whole different level of connection to the Force when you trust it physically, not just in your mind.

It’s also another level of trust with Obi-Wan, knowing he’d never hurt you even as he enters the role of a potential threat, guiding you through how to handle it.

So you don’t know why today your stomach won’t agree to the way you want your body to move. You push through it anyway, despite Obi-Wan’s concerned questioning.

You lose your lunch into the rocks, and you really wish he wouldn’t pick you up to take you back into the hut, because the shift of what’s up and what’s down doesn’t help at all.

And you wish he wouldn’t dote over you the rest of the day, as if you didn’t feel useless enough already, as if the illness didn’t leave as quickly as it came.

You make a mental note to ensure you don’t let yourself become dehydrated again to that point.

*****

The trips into town are kept to a minimum, trying to keep curiosity away from the new couple. Also, there wasn’t much to do except barter and spend credits, something you both tried not to do a great deal of.

Obi-Wan was sent off with enough Republic credits to get you started here, but it was hit or miss if the vendors took them that day, and he also didn’t want to spend too much at once.

Nothing was more suspicious than surplus here.

The woman you brought the limited produce available from seemed… different this trip.

Obi-Wan was a couple of stalls down from you, negotiating with a man who had obviously jacked up the price on the items needed. Poor man didn’t know what he was in for.

You turned your attention back on to the woman in front of you, and tried to decipher what was different this time and why it felt so familiar.

As you pointed to a basket of hubba gourds, inquiring of the price, she gave you one that you knew for a fact was higher than last time.

You counter offered the same price as last time you were here, and she firmly stated her price again. Ready to stand your ground, you go to state your price again, she puts her hand to her belly, bringing her skirt in around, revealing a small bump.

“Can’t afford your low-ball offers with this one on the way, understand?”

The sky suddenly falls around you in thunderous clamor as the physical realm around you moves on, unaffected and unreachable. Almost mechanically, you place the credits she asked for on the table, not even capable of addressing the obvious manipulation.

Understanding drenches you in its brutal weight as you realize the source why she felt so different this time.

Your hands shake in their clasp on the basket as you pull yourself into a side alley, heaving your breakfast up.

Because you recognize the same difference in her is the exact same one that has changed your Force signature.

It’s because there’s a flickering light of another being’s Force signature within you.

Tagged as requested: @maybege

#obi-wan #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #Obi-Wan fanfic #tw: violence #tw: pregnancy #tw: trauma #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x oc

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cosmiccandydreamer · 4 years

Text

Insecure Chapter 1

~Summary: What happens when life starts to intrude on the sick dark fairy tail you have found with the Firefly family? Is this softer side of our favorite hillbilly slasher bound to run out? ~

PARING( OTIS DRIFTWOOD X Reader She/Her)

(I do not own these gifs)

The sun peeked through the cracked blinds, slowly illuminating the once pitch-black room. Although it was already close to noon, the Firefly family was fast asleep still. Y/n rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stretched out your left arm over your head while yawning. It happened to be a long night, one of laughter and sex and violence, everything that entailed an excellent time in this family. You were celebrating the second anniversary of being proposed to. While most people might find that to be a silly thing to celebrate but you weren't most people; no one here in this house was like most people.

You hurried to get closer to your husband. To say that you love this man was an understatement, for love could not express the bond that you are too dark souls have created. You lifted your left hand to examine the scar on your palm, the same one that Otis had on his. You thought back to all the past events that had led you both to where you were now.

"Now, sweetheart, why would you ask me a thing like that?" Otis was glancing over at you, who was on his truck’s passenger side as they drove down a long dirt road in Ruggsville, texas. It was a warm day, and you had the front side window down as you stuck your hand out lazily into the warm air. You had on tiny jean shorts and a tank top, y/h/c flowing in the wind from the open window; you twirled one strand as you looked toward the passing flat scenery on the way home.

You and Otis had stopped into Spaulding’s roadside attraction to drop off Otis's latest artwork." I'm just curious because lately, I feel like you've been trying to incorporate more of the corpses into lovemaking time, and I just I don't know... I was wondering if you were starting to get tired of me," you asked him as your voice began to trail off at the end of your sentence. You shot him a playful smile, but he could tell that behind your eyes, there was doubt and insecurity brewing.

It started that he just wouldn't take the corpses off the bed when you two had started your lovemaking. Now you were open-minded, and you were pretty much into anything. Still, you noticed more and more that it was less of him moving them because of an inconvenience, and more or less he wanted them there. It had become an argument the last time. You’d always told him that if there was anything he wanted to try with you, you trusted him, you loved him, there was not anything you can think of that you would deny him. Still, if he was more attracted to dead bodies, that's going to be a problem.

"I already told you you're my everything. You're mine forever; there’s no way I could get tired of all this'' he says as he reaches over and rubs his large hand on your exposed thigh. You looked over at him and tilted your head. "I mean, I know it's something that you enjoy, and I'm so glad it's just that, you know dead girls if there are other girls you're having sex with..." she looked away from him and out the window staring again towards the fields. " I don't even see them as girls anymore; they’re just vessels for my rage and anger. I mean, I'll kill anybody, but I only sleep with someone I love, and I only love you y/n'' Otis said, shooting her a toothy smile. " I mean, I don't even look at another woman the way I look at you and shit, I've given up all the whores and, what not.

The moment you became mine, you know that. " he looked over to you again while simultaneously looking back at the road with one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh, now rubbing small circles on your skin. "I know that you take whatever I give you in the bedroom," he chuckles. "I know we get rough, wild, and downright freaky… but I also know that you've breakable, and I also know that I can hurt you badly, hurt you so bad that you may not be here anymore with me and I can't accept a reality where you may not be with me".

You turned to face him, now taking your arm from the window and placing it under your head to rest it against the door. " You know the devil lives in me, sweet, heart," he says as he looks back to the road, never moving his hand from your leg. "And sometimes when the devil side comes out .." he coughs a little and clears his throat, " what comes out I need something that I can release without worrying about if it hurts or if it breaks or if it dies." He's looking toward the road now, but his eyes seem empty, like he's lost in thought and far away.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and crawled over to him and laid your head in his lap. "So you scared you’d break me ?" You asked him as you stared at him from on his lap. His long silver hair is flowing in the wind, his large, strong hands both now grip the steering wheel " of course I am," he says but softer now like more to himself than to you.

He looks down and places his hand on your cheek, and gives you a small smile. You set your much smaller hand on his rubbing his thumb. " Remember when I said I wanted to be inside your darkest everything and know everything? Is this you showing me that? By allowing me to be aware of the bodies or whatnot". " It is, " he replies, looking down at you again. Still one hand on the wheel and one on your cheek." I knew you were the one for me who no matter what I showed you, no matter what I told you you didn't love me you didn't get frightened you came closer I want you to be inside my darkest everything forever" you blink and smile" I love you my devil monster " "I love you too kitten I love you too.”

Despite your conversation in the car, things were a little awkward for the next few weeks; it was evident that he was not bringing up the topic around you and seemingly avoided you; you weren't sure why but it was starting to piss you off. The whole house could feel the tension; your usual loving demeanor was not as present. You confronted him the next time you saw him " so what you mad at me or something? " You asked him, crossing your arms in the doorway of his art studio down in the basement, " no what the fuck you are going on about," he replied, not looking up from his work, you couldn't even begin to figure out what was on that table. " I just feel like you're avoiding me. If you have a problem, I wanna talk about it" "don't you start with me y/n, I ain't got to problem you the one that had a problem, so I'm trying to not cause one by keeping my work separate.” You decided that the next time there was a corpse in the room you were going to take the initiative with, you figured that was the only way to help him with his uncomfortably considering he was not great at communicating .about it. It was obvious you had to take matters into your own hands to help fix this awkwardness.

You knew that Otis had relations with them when you were out You've walked in a couple of times. You're not going to lie and say you weren't curious. Still, it was hard not to feel insecure, mainly because you've had bad past relationships. Other men in your life have always made you feel like they prefer the company of others, other women, compared to you, and granted, this was not a liability. However, the idea that you had to compete with something was not sitting well with you, e especially something that reasonably would be unfamiliar to anyone. The times you did walk in you weren't sure what to do A lot of the times, Otis would stop and come over to you and usually finish with you. You started getting anxious about when the door is closed if you're going to walk in on him with the corpse, and if so, what do you do. Even if you were interested in understanding this part of his world where would you start?

Otis was uncharacteristic soft with you in those tim.es If you'd walk in and lowered your eyes and say sorry he would always say, " this is your room too Darlin where ya going, which would usually follow him giving you open mouth kiss trailing down your neck slowly leading you to the bed where you may have to push the unfortunate dead woman over to the side. Well, technicality wasn't a real woman so to say it was confirmed in the sense that she once was alive but is it still cheating, or is it the same as if he had a blow-up doll? You already knew about the comings and goings in the basement. Was this so shocking that this was occurring? You know you loved him and you knew that there would be nothing that would break up in the bond that you two had b, ut you weren't sure e how to handle this. You decided to embrace it. If this was something important to him, it would be necessary to you, and you were going to learn to incorporate it the best way you could.

You thought back to the conversation in the car, No, he technically can't stab you in the abdomen while having sex or you won't be around anymore, and that makes sense; he has to release his rage in some way. You had already agreed no more raping of live women and no more picking up whores ( that wasn't an issue when it came to the live women he wanted you and only you) You did things to his mind. His bodies that no other women have ever done or could do, he more or less got the whores. He lived women when he needed a release after all this adrenaline, but now he had you for that.

So just as luck would have it, some unfortunate hitchhikers became the next round of victims in the home. You told Otis that you would be going with Baby into town. You don't know when you'll be back, knowing that when you were gone, he would probably take the time alone to have relations with the corpses. But you had a plan; you knew that if this was going to work, you would have to open your mind even more. You wanted to be in Otis’s world. You wanted to know everything that made him happy and turned him on and made him tick, so you decided to be part of it 100% jumping in without looking back. You waited a while until the house was entirely changed into your favorite lingerie with the silk robe and wandered up into the room. Sure enough, Otis was at it; he still had one corpse lai,d out on the table spread eagle for the world to see while he thrust into it angrily while stabbing the abdomen with two large hunting knives. "I see I'm missing out on a good time," You say slowly twirling the belt of your robe.

He turned around and looked at you, startled " I thought you went out with Baby.. " he was out of breath blood, splattered onto his chest and in his hair with wide looking his eyes, both knives still in his hand and at that moment something clicked, he seemed,d so feral, so primal so .. sexy... you knew you had to have him. Slowly dropping your robe you walked over to him "please don't stop on my account, handsome," you said, confusion washed over his face. You walked over to the chair next to the dead body, flung your legs onto the table, and proceeded to take care of yourself, running your hands down into your warm flower while crushing your breast. His eyes widened bigger than you've ever seen a smile crept across his face; he took a deep breath, " I fucking love you, so God damn much, you know ?" he started to thrust again in between every thrust he raised his voice " I .. love .. you..so .. fucking ..much ".

If you enjoyed my work please consider donating to my coffee fund or cash app! Link is in the masterlist.

#otis driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #three from hell #thedevilsrejects #rob zombie #bill moseley #otis firefly #slashers #the devils rejects #otisdriftwood

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newobsessionweekly · 4 years

Text

First time in love🌿

Arón piper x reader

a/n: I edited it and I like it. I’m not a writer, or at least I don’t think I am, and it’s my first attempt to write something like this. It felt good. It’s my first attempt to write something in English (English is not my native language) so I hope I didn’t messed up anything. Tell me what you think and tell me if I should do that again. I liked it though. 🌿

warnings: none, I am still not good at this

Word count: 3k

Y/n watches the first season of Élite with Miguel, her best friend and only friend here in Spain. They became friends in college in LA and the passion for ocean brings them closer and closer as the years flew by. Her biggest dream is to fly around the world and in their four years of friendship, they travelled together to the most unique places she never dreamed she would see, Indonesia, Himalaya, Ibiza. But the place she loved the most is Spain, Miguel’s native country; her obsession with the Latin country began at a very young age when her parents took her to Tenerife for her tenth birthday. She only dreamt of living there, because her parents were strict and planned a different life for her; they chose her high school classes over the years and even the college, wanted for her to become a successful actress, just like Miguel. But now she decided to take her life into her own hands after a big fight with the people that bring her into the world and raised her to be this amazing woman she is today. It didn’t take long for Miguel to convince her to come with him in Spain and to start a new life there, with him by her side.

Staying with legs crossed in front of the TV from Miguel’s living room, he is trying to explain for the third time already every actor´s real name but she wasn't really paying attention to his words. In high school, though she was so obsessed with Spain, she just couldn’t understand this language and learned properly only a few words. And now she was desperate to learn faster a few phrases and focusing on TV, hearing the actors talking and keeping up with the subtitles she thought was helping. Tonight she is supposed to meet a few friends of Miguel’s, and she didn’t understand the importance of knowing every actor from the cast of Elite in order to know at least how to introduce herself to everyone. He promised her a million times they are going to love her while they were dressing and again a gazillion times while he was rushing her out of the flat because the cab was waiting for them for ten minutes already.

She was so nervous that the whole ride to one of the most luxurious clubs in Madrid, her hands were caressing her dress over and over as her bottom and upper lip were switching turns between her teeth. She is very insecure and wants to make a proper first impression, hoping that maybe after this night she could call them her friends, not only Miguel’s.

What she didn’t knew, was that Miguel already spoke to his friends and told them that his date is a little shy and is worried about not making through the night. Well, maybe to be more convincing, he used the words “she is fucking freaking out right now” with some laughing emojis. He subtle asked them to try and talk to her first and give her a chance, because she became one of the most important people from his life, he could already call her his little sister. They love each other, but there are no romantic sentiments involved; Miguel is over heels in love with Aitana and Y/n is secretly crushing over his co-star, Arón Piper.

When they arrived, her hands started to shake and she was constantly telling herself that she wouldn’t survive the night. Miguel is different than Y/n, he is very dynamic, smiling maybe too much and he has a lovely personality so no one could resist to him, or this is what she thought. She didn’t believe him, she is convinced that his friends wouldn’t like her. But Miguel rolled his eyes again at the sight of his dearest friend worrying so much; he finds her so funny and amazing, with a golden heart and the best in everything. Seriously thought, he couldn’t understand how she is can perfectly change a lighting bulb and also fix everything around the house, emanating so much seriousness and experience. And also he couldn’t understand how she is so smart, astonishing him with so many random facts about any subject he could made out, even the weirdest one and not so usual. He is so sure she would make friends easily that if he could give her all of his assurance, he would take her worries away without blinking.

Danna and Ester were waiting for them in front of the club, supposing about Y/n. Miguel had sent Danna some funny videos of Y/n and some cute photos since they live together and she could tell she’s as peppy as he is and there is no coincidence that Miguel calls her his sister, they are alike. Danna couldn’t wait to meet her and Ester is scrolling down on y/n’s Instagram and appreciates her beauty and let a few appreciative comments about her the talent for modelling to slip her mouth. They already like her.

As they approaches the trio – Álvaro joined his girlfriend soon enough to hear a part of the conversation about y/n – that was waiting for them already for fifteen minutes, Miguel put a hand over her shoulders and smiled to her before turn to his friends and smile to them too. He shake hands with Álvaro and hugged him as he tells how much he missed him. Álvaro come to introduce himself and then followed two kisses on your cheeks – a very strange habit that those Spanish people have, but y/n finds it very sweet actually.

“Well, Joder chica!” Danna exclaims as she approaches y/n and kiss her cheeks as greeting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Miguel talks about you nonstop!”

She blushes at Danna’s words and accepts Ester hug. Y/n smiles bright that soon enough her mouth and cheeks will hurt her. She is happy, they all seem so nice and finally understood why Miguel tried to familiarise her with the names of Elite cast. She thought that he wants to introduce her to more surfing friends and when she asked, he refused to give her any details, fuelling her worries even more.

As the night flew by, her worries were found sinking in one of the many drinks, maybe in the fifth glass that once was filled with y/n’s Mojito. Danna is laughing at one of y/n’s jokes and squeezes Jorge’s hand even harder. Everyone is laughing, starting with Miguel who is so proud of her for letting those worries away and continuing with Omar who couldn’t introduce himself properly and doesn’t even know the name of the funniest girl at the table. Even Arón is laughing while studying her face and the way she’s trying so hard not to burst into laughing while telling another funny story of hers.

Miguel smiles bright at the sight of his best friend integrating into his group. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about her, she is surrounded by his dearest friends and already being part of the family. That’s what made her felt a little bit overwhelmed; y/n found herself standing beside these amazing people, so talented and so fucking kind for allowing her to feel again that family vibe she’s been missing, due to the fact she is so far from home already for an entire month.

Her eyes couldn’t move away from where Arón was dancing and singing to the remix hearing through the speakers, with a drink in his hand and, sometimes she saw him with a cigarette in the other one. Arón is the life of the party, she knows that, every other girls knows, even he knows that. He is a very good-looking man, that screams all the looks that are destined to him, but y/n can see beyond that. She can see how good friend is with other members of Elite cast, she can see how much fun everyone has around him and all she could do is to stand there and watch him with her mouth opened in surprise as Arón started rapping to one of his favourite songs.

This is far from her favourite music genre, she couldn’t help smiling and enjoying that moment so much that she even considers listening to that king of music more often. Why everything sounds so perfect in Spanish? Why is everything so perfect in this country?

Y/n didn’t speak to Arón much, only few phrases related to his drink and her wanted to sit next to Miguel, but that was all. A few drinks later, Omar initiated a Poker game and though it was y/n’s first time playing, she surprised everyone – even herself – by winning too many rounds and collecting too many useless cigarettes, a bunch of them coming from Arón. That was Arón’s idea, to play with usual cigarettes instead of money, it makes the game more interesting to him.

There were far too few hours until the sun rise when the party was over, and y/n is barely keeping her eyes open. Standing outside the club, saying goodbye to everyone, made her heart heavy; she didn’t wanted to say goodbye to anyone, she didn’t wanted the party to end because she is so sure she’s never goona hangout with them again. But when y/n felt Danna’s hand patting her softely on the shoulder, asking for y/n’s phone number, talking about a future gathering, maybe a shopping session, just the girls, made y/n’s heart skip some beats.

Arón didn’t remain untouched to her charm, he saw something in her too, and all night was trying to somehow catch her attention. He hoped that she is maybe more brave than he is, he hoped all night she would come to his side and start a conversation. But when the party ended, he realised he has to do something – however little – and not just let her go. He wanted to hangout with her again, to have a chance to speak properly and know more about the girl that beated the shit out of him at – what he thought poker was – his game.

Y/n watches as Danna get into the cab and from the corner of her eyes, she saw Arón approaching. Her hands started shaking so hard, she had to hide them in the pockets of Miguel’s jacket. She admits it feels weird to wear his jacket, but it was all his fault that she forgot hers back at his place, because he was rushing her. She never worked well under pressure.

“Nice played! I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can beat my ass at Poker.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He has the most gorgeous smile y/n has ever seen and her legs almost yielded, but she put the blame on the beers and the high heels. Y/n hates wearing heels, but even she knows sneakers don’t really fit for clubs.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone with so many cigarettes. Like, the world is ending and you had to make your full?” she smiled as she watched him laugh. He has a beautiful laugh too and his face just lights up when he’s not putting on that bad ass face Y/n finds interesting and hot.

“Speaking of cigarettes, here, take them!” she handed him the packs she won at the game, excluding the ones that she owes Miguel because he shared his so that she would be able to play.

“I figured you’re not a smoker. Damn, that’s what I call a profit. I arrived here with like two packs and I’m leaving with three. And I smoked a lot too.” Both of them laughed, and Y/n just couldn’t believe he’s a funny one as well. Damn, this boy has the whole package.

When Miguel informed her about the cab’s arrival, Arón smiled and opened his arms. He likes hugs and likes hugging people, being affectionate to them. So doing this move to her, the fact that he was maybe into y/n couldn’t be recognised. She looked at him astonished, but accepted his invitation anyway. Since the first time she saw him, she wondered how it is to hug him, how does his body feels and how his cologne smells. It was neither a short hug nor a long one, just perfect for them to memorise each other’s shape of the body and to share their perfume on each other’s clothes.

—————

Y/n moved out from Miguel’s place a while ago, but she was around a lot so she’s not really missing many things. He often makes little comments about it, but he didn’t mind having her around; y/n and Aitana are very close friends now and them allying together to beat Miguel’s ass at some video game is going him nuts, they are sometimes successful.

Everything reminded her of Arón. Y/n even started at some point comparing the hugs Miguel gives to that one stupid drunk hug outside the club when she met Arón. Miguel is taller than Arón, but also much more imposing. Arón is tall too, much taller than she, but he’s body isn’t that worked out, she felt his biceps in that stupid hug and hurt pretty bad when she accidentally hit her head to his jawline. But despite that, she finds so hard to stop staring at his Instagram profile and not to be excited when he posts something new on his profile or he films something for his Instastory. She had to admit at some point, he’s a total snack, even though he doesn’t have a six-pack. Y/n didn’t like that kind of boys anyway, she finds Arón perfect as he is, with his beautiful brown eyes, those little tattoos that can be seen on his naked torso and his messy, curly hair. When Miguel told her that she had a type and that in the category fits Arón perfectly, y/n just ignored him and rolled her eyes. After that she couldn’t stop thinking about it; he did it to see how her face is changing and to strengthen his suspicion.

Arón was thinking about Y/n a lot lately, and the short videos with her laughing or doing something stupid or funny that Miguel shares on their group chat isn’t helping. He couldn’t focus on set, in the last few hangouts with his friends, he hoped to see her and hear her laugh again, he hoped this time would be able to look her in the eye and made a proper conversation. But she didn’t show up at any of them. Everyone was asking about her, but Miguel just waved his hand at them and told everyone y/n has her own life and her own problems; she didn’t have to show up beside him at every gathering. Arón soon enough found out that Danna was keeping in touch with her and asked maybe too often about her. When he texted Miguel and asked what is y/n’s Instagram, Miguel understood soon enough that Arón got the hots for y/n.

Y/n was going back and forth through Miguel’s kitchen as she was trying to make a healthy smoothie for her and Miguel, with his dogs following her everywhere. Miguel’s dogs are her favourite and she always makes fun of him saying that she’s around this much because of the dogs.

“Aye, chica” she turned her head towards Miguel who was standing on the couch in the living room watching some boring Tv show on Netflix.

Y/n was dwelling on these dreams of Arón. He was hanging out too much inside her mind, being there with his lovely eyes, his bright smile and the dazzling cologne coming after her. She was one day walking through Madrid and somehow recognised it. It’s like he was following her everywhere.

“Sí” y/n answered back when she figured he wanted to capture his attention.

“Check your phone” he wickedly smiled and that made her raise her eyebrow at him, with only bad things running through her head because that smile of his means only trouble.

“Instagram: @aron.piper started following you”

She froze. What the heck is going on? Y/n stalked him maybe too many days on Instagram because she never thought he might find her through his endless list of likes or followers.

“Joder!” she almost screamed when he responded to her story. Miguel was laughing his ass out at her reactions, he thought she is very funny.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who is more obsessed with this tv show than me”

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can make me listen to that rap music kind of thing and made me like it. But then I met you” she responded.

And then they talked over and over and almost every night. On some point they ended up where he just likes her message, not knowing what to say more. And those moments made Y/n think “That’s it, the conversation ends here and I might never talk to him again”. She fears every times that happens this way that that might be the end of the most beautiful moments she has had in the past couple of months. And while he’s looking for any proper response, she’s clenching every time her heart between her teeth and allows herself to be a pain in the ass and just write him one of the many random facts she knows.

She has never felt this kind of emotion before, neither one of them. She has never felt the love from another person. Of course, Miguel loves her, he’s her best friend, she laugh at her phone too when he sends her funny messages, but she never felt like she could fly any moment and never thought her cheeks could hurt so much from smiling hours and hours at a phone talking to this amazing man. He is so beautiful inside and out and her stomach hurts when she thinks about him and that stupid hug.

Arón’s not less than Y/n. He’s also confused by the feelings from his chest and the thoughts that are containing Y/n in every single one. He also wonders why does he smiles like a sociopath at his phone and why he feels the need to talk to her any moment of the day. Y/n fascinates him in a way he never thought any woman would.

“You’re so in love, tonta!” Miguel smiled at her and rolled his eyes again. She has been neglecting him for the previous hours, and he is kinda pissed – he had to play alone their favourite game, for the countless night in a row – however he doesn’t make any comments. He has never seen her so happy; he is very proud,because two of his dearest friends managed to find someone right for each ohter.

For the first time, she’s in love. In love with the best person she could find, with a curly haired boy that smokes too many cigarettes but still manages to smell so good. Arón found out a few days later than Y/n that he’s heart had been stolen by the most brilliant woman he has ever met. But both of them are as scared of that.

#aron piper #aron #aron x reader #aron piper x reader #imagines #aron imagine #aron piper imagine #miguel #miguel bernardeau #danna #danna paola #ester #ester exposito #elite #netflix #elite imagines

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lokidrabbles · 4 years

Text

Heated Shelter II (Loki x Reader

Part 1). Reader and Loki wake up the following morning; Loki continues to have some doubts.

A/N: Second part to this little oneshot, this time from the Reader’s perspective. Also another, kinda part of my Loki x Reader Winter series? Let’s say yes. A always, gender neutral reader!

Tags: @desparadowrites Hope you enjoy! (if anyone would like to be tagged in any particular stories or series, please don’t hesitate to message me!)

Warnings: Slight angst, implied smut

You had woken up, your body already accustomed to awakening at a certain time. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft light from your Christmas tree in your living room. It was morning by the looks of it. A soft blue hue shone from your window; the sun would be rising in a couple of minutes. Soon the memories of that night hit you, and you looked down to find a familiar weight on your lap. Your heart began to pound rapidly at the sight of Loki, still sleeping in the exact same position you had left him. His hands were still placed gently over his chest, which rose up and down in such a smooth manner. His face was peaceful, completely unbothered by the awkward position you both had knocked out together.

You debated whether to wake him up or to let him continue to rest a bit more. Although he hesitated on providing details about why he was in such a state last night, you understood well enough from his non-verbal language. He was exhausted, mentally tired of having to deal with the acculturation of Earth, and of course with dealing with Tony, who was no walk in the park. You wished you could do more for him and hoped at least this tranquil night allowed him to recuperate from whatever difficulties he was experiencing.

But your thighs were killing you. And you needed use the restroom.

How do you wake up an Asgardian? Or Loki for that matter without having a dagger appear at your throat. You felt stupid just shaking him or calling out his name. Surely there’s another way to approach this without placing yourself in danger. Instead, you opted to gently poke his cheek, hoping the odd sensation would slowly push him awake.

“Hey.” You said lowly. No avail. The man continued to remain still, still breathing soothingly. A thought ran through your mind, thinking how it must be a crime somewhere to look this good while sleeping.

You poked again, a bit harsher and cleared your throat.

“Loki. It’s morning. Wake up.”

He grunted a bit this time, obviously annoyed at your finger jabbing his cheek. A bemused look formed upon your face. How far could you possibly take this?

You lowered your head to reach his ear closer with a devious grin.

“Loki! Hurry! Thor’s about to take his pants off!”

Loki jolted awake, eyes wide, and arms and legs spazzing out of control. The intensity of the reaction pushed him off of your lap, sending him crashing onto your floor.

“Oh my god, Loki!” You reached out to him, holding back an uncontrollable laugh. “Are you okay?”

He groaned, pushing himself upwards from the floor and wiping an eye with the palm of his hand. He immediately narrowed his eyes at you, irritation all over his face.

“That is not funny.” He responded, sending you into a fit of giggles. “Aren’t you supposed to be an adult?”

You covered your mouth, doing your best at restraining your humor. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. God you looked like a frightened cat. I swear your hair even puffed up.”

His frown impossibly grew even wider. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have just told me so.”

“Oh don’t be a baby.” You retorted, standing up at stretching out your sore legs and arms. “It was just a bit of mischievous fun. You like that, don’t you?”

“No, that was simply mean. I’m certain you don’t enjoy being rudely awakened by such a shrill sound.” He remained on your floor, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeesh. Fine, I’m sorry. Hey look, how about I make us some breakfast and we’ll call it even?” You said, clapping your hands enthusiastically.

He rolled his eyes at your eagerness. “I suppose.”

“Great!”

You began to tip toe around Loki, who apparently made himself quite comfortable on your carpeted floor. Your display of contentment wasn’t for show or to irk at his sardonic nature. You were truly content that he didn’t threaten your life with your little prank, and that he willingly remained here to spend the morning with you. While something tugged at you to cast away any hopes of your relationship with Loki blossoming into something more than ‘work buddies’, you ignored it, selfishly enjoying your present time with him.

Your preoccupied mind however prevented you from noticing Loki’s own mischievous glint. As you tip toed around him, he strategically moved his legs in such a manner which caused your to overstep in the wrong place. The movement was instant, and before you knew it, you were careening forward, landing flat faced onto the floor.

“Ehehehe.”

You pushed yourself against the floor, immediately pressing your palm on your irritated cheek. You turned your head to look at him, shit-grin all over his mug.

“Who’s mean now! Jesus fuck Loki.” You shrieked at him, caressing your cheek. “That fucking hurt.”

He shrugged. “I suppose we are completely even now.”

“I could have broken my nose, what you have done then!” You continued caressing your cheek. It did actually hurt, and little tears began to form at the corner of your eyes.

“Be thankful it was just that. If I wanted to, I could have made it so snakes would appeared in your trousers.”

“Ugh. I think my cheek is swelling up now. I’m gonna need to get an ice pack.” You said as your lifted yourself to stand.

Loki’s grin soon dissipated and he too pushed against the floor to stand up beside you.

“Let me take a look at it.” He said, gripping your wrist and gently tugging your hand away from your cheek.

You complied with him and allowed him to inspect your reddened cheek. You peeked at him, curious about his sudden change in temperament. A second ago he was laughing at your embarrassing fall, albeit well deserved. Now, his eyes scanned all over your face, unknowingly taking in every little detail available. You admitted the tender attention was sickeningly sweet. He released his grip on your wrist, letting it slowly fall back to your side. He placed his hand on your warm cheek, and you felt a satisfying cooling relief.

“Your hand feels really nice there.” You commented, avoiding direct eye contact.

“You’ll have to forgive my ruse. I didn’t think you’d actually take such a hard fall. I should have known better.”

“It’s fine, I kinda deserved it.”

He chuckled slightly, lips remaining apart. “I hurt you and you want to take blame for it. I don’t comprehend you at all.”

“I mean, you didn’t really intent for me to get a broken nose or anything like that right?”

“Of course not. But it’s not just that.”

Your gaze finally met his, his face now stern and serious. “What do you mean?”

“This prior evening,” He began. “You allowed me here, into your home. And yet, I lashed out at you, questioned your every motive, and still you allowed me to persist and remain here for the entirety of the night. Why?”

You were dumbfounded. Loki had never spoken to you with this level of intensity. He got angry, he lashed out, he was sarcastic, but he had never shown you this degree of concern and conviction. Needless to say, you had no imaginable idea on how to respond back to him.

“Because you’re my friend.” It was the best thing you could decipher at the moment.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, now gripping your shoulders. “No, that’s not it. Even what you’d consider acquaintances have certain limits. But you. What are you looking to get out of me?”

This was heading into a very undesirable direction. From what you could interpret, Loki had a skewed perception your friendship. Your relationship with him. A perception involving a system of give and take, and he had assumed you wanted something out of him. Something invalidating.

“You don’t think it’s possible that I just enjoy being with you?” You asked softly, disbelief in your voice. The burning in your cheek persisted slightly.

He didn’t say anything, which you figured he was at a loss for words. His grip remained on your shoulders and his gazed stuck upon yours as well. Perhaps this idea was still very alien to him.

“I’ll be disappointing (y/n). I don’t even know what convoluted part of my mind decided to bring me here.” He looked defeated. This really was a bizarre conversation for him.

“My god Loki. You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you would’ve figured out by now that I have no hidden intentions with you.” You replied. “I screamed in your ear and you tripped me. That’s about as blatant as I see our relationship.”

“I don’t intent to trip you anymore if your body can’t handle it.” He jested.

You reached to grab his hands and slowly pulled them off of your shoulders. “You have to tell me that you understand though. I don’t want you questioning me or my motives with you. You’re important to me and the only person who makes my workplace tolerable.”

He lifted an eyebrow at you, a smirk coming in naturally. “Very bold of you to say.”

“But. Do you understand. Yes?”

Loki lowered himself to bring himself next to your puffy cheek. He tenderly laid a gentle kiss upon it, as if he was literally kissing your injury away with benevolence. His lips felt soft and soothing against your skin, and you swore your pain almost vanished instantly. But mostly because Loki had just kissed your cheek in the most dramatic manner possible.

You hummed approvingly. “You know, it just so happens that it hurts right here as well.” You said coyly, pointing to your forehead.

He couldn’t resist a titter from his part. “Trying to be sly with me human? Don’t take my physicality for granted.”

Your eyes veered off to the side. “Actually, it hurts here as well.” This time you pointed to the curve of your neck. “Honest!”

You were actually joking with that one, but became pleasantly surprised when he wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your body close to his and allowing him to tongue and suckle at your neck. Shivers ran from your toes all the way at the top of your head as Loki’s wet tongue and lips nipped a your sensitive skin. You moaned pleasingly, allowing it to persist for a brief moment until you pushed him away gently. He leaned onto you, almost seemingly begging for more. “Okay, I may have gotten carried away with that one.” You said nervously, covering your moistened neck.

“Wait.” Loki began, halting you. “Don’t you have a bed?”

Your eyes widened. “I do.”

You grabbed onto Loki’s hand and lead him deep into your bedroom, soon forgetting about breakfast, your probably bruised cheek, and the unmistakable doubt that had been shared earlier.

---

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki drabbles #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki (mcu)

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

Offenderman x Reader || Oneshot

Title: When You Start Living Your Life- That’s Where You’ll Find The One Who’s Meant For You

Notes:

This is like a baby Offender x Reader since its been a while I’ve written anything for him and I’m slowly dipping myself back, haha. Possibly a Part 2 in the works, with more of the man himself.

Kinda based off ‘You Can Do Better Than Him’ from Bonnie and Clyde

Plot: A run-in with your ex-husband (Jeff The Killer’s son, for no apparent reason except so that he knows about Offender) causes a revalation between you and your lover.

Warnings: Some talk about sex, but its not explicit. Also, divorce.

~~~

I see him before he sees me, and I try to make an escape. Started gathering up my things and putting them away in my bag for departure, but... goddamn it, he sees me. “Y/N! Didn’t see you there! Man- its good to see you. Its been a bit, hasn’t it?” Nick puts his hands nervously in his pants pockets, ducking his head like the cute, awkward duckling that he is.

I plaster a smile onto my face, looking up at him from the grass. Jesus Christ, this is a ridiculous position. He’s like 7000 feet tall, my neck is going to start hurting any minute now. “Hi, Nick. Yeah, it has been a while! I haven’t seen you around since, a-ah… “I seal my lips firmly together, trying to be content in just avoiding eye contact with him instead of ending that sentence. Don’t say it. Don’t say it, don’t- “The divorce!”

“Aha,” He ducks glances up at me, and his smile is bright like it always has been, since we started dating. The smile I fell in love with, and used to make me feel on top of the world- capable. Like everything was going to be okay and I could accomplish any and all of my dreams.

Of course, one of those dreams was him… I think. That didn’t work out so great…

“Yeah. First meeting since the divorce, huh? Not so bad.”

That really does probe a grin from me. How does he say that while not making eye contact with m- Oh, oh, he is making eye contact! Oh, lord. This is hard. “Hah, no! Guess not… “After flashing another, little smile, I tuck in the last of my things to my satchel and close it. Then I struggle to my feet. God, how long have a been sitting there? I look back at the spot of ground that I had been lounging on, and see the grass still completely flat…

Before I make it all the way up or fall -whichever happened first,- , Nick takes my right forearm in his hand and puts his other on my waist, helping me up the rest of the way… which puts me at an uncomfortably close distance to him. Laughing nervously, I step back and occupy myself by patting dirt and grass off the back of my pants. “Um- how have you been? Uh,” I must have some information about him… didn’t Fran tell me something a month ago at our spa weekend? … Ah! “Fran said you got promoted at work?”

“Yeah!” Nick gets an excited glitter to him as he starts to talk about that, animating immediately and putting his hands on his hips- a huge beam stretches across his gentle, handsome features. Of course, the sun makes fluffy blonde hair look radiant like a fabric softener commercial. Reminds me of why I loved him.

I was determined not to fall in with a bad boy and get my heartbroken like all the girls on TV.

Turns out, it hurts just as much when you lose a good boy.

Its been a long time though, now. Half a year- and another half a year since we split up in the first place to get the divorce that became official 6 months ago. So, as he talks, I find a genuine smile come to my lips. I am, truly, glad that he’s doing well.

Of course, he never did anything, to me. The divorce was my fault.

When he’s finished talking about his job at the Oil and Gas company -Yeah, he’s a manager there. An awesome job, for the perfect guy. He was quite a catch before I ruined it, -, he asks me how I’d been… and if I’m still with… him. Nick’s pale blue eyes go dark, an obvious hatred deepens the creases in his face.

I wish he wouldn’t bring that up. We were having such a nice moment!

“Uh,” I seem to be doing a lot of ‘Uhhhh’s and ‘Ummm’s, here. Stop it, Y/N. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” He smirks, and I go pink in embarrassment.

“Well, uh- Well. I’m focusing on my own shit.” I strain the words ‘my own’. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know how to describe my relationship with… the ‘him’, that Nick refers to. Offender. And the thing is, I don’t really want to. I like the way things are. I don’t need a boyfriend, tying me down to one place, one job, one life. In fact, that was a huge problem with me and Nick. He was my first boyfriend and became my husband.

I was Y/N Woods for 3 whole years, and they were some of the most miserable of my life- and the thing is, I’m only starting to realise that, now. I didn’t know how profoundly unhappy I was during that time, when I was living it. But I know now, because when I’m with Offender I feel something dark, but good, that I never allowed myself to experimented with before, and when I’m not with him I can do whatever the hell I want. I have love, and sex, and freedom. That’s priceless.

“Right. You still think… “Nick, to his credit, does look regretful for what’s about to come out of his mouth and how. “You really think, that Offenderman, can actually care about you?”

I shrug. I have no reservations for saying what I do next. I have it lined up and ready. “I dunno, Nick. But I’m happy.”

Its that simple.

“Y/N, he’s awful.”

“I-I know… “In this moment though, all I can remember is him telling me that I own the earth I step on, and how he kisses me.

“You deserve someone better.”

My mind’s fuzzy with pictures of nights at my apartment, now. Me wearing a shirt that’s too big for me and not being self-conscious of my legs - the complete opposite, actually, - and him raiding my kitchen. Somehow his kiss still always tastes good, though. No matter what he eats. Bates Motel plays on the TV.

If a scene comes on the TV that looks good, its not out of the ordinary to replicate it- because we just can. Whether that be a recipe, trip, or something to do with sex. I hadn’t even realised you could just do things like that, before he showed me. Now it seems simple, of course…

And god fucking damn it. The sex, in the first place is better. And I’m fiucking allowed to acknowledge that. I like sex. There is nothing wrong with that. With Nick, it was planned. It was orderly, and status quo. Now sexual tension’s back in style for me, for the first time since Nick and I had our first time together and I am not giving that up.

Better than that, Nick??

“I tried that.” I snap, spine breaking finally. Is he really going to do this? Bring all this back? Glancing momentarily to set a stony look on his eyes, I pull my back up from the floor and place the strap heavily on my shoulder. He presses his lisp firmly together. “Didn’t turn out so good.”

“W- well, that was before. I’m different now, we would be happy.” My throat goes dry at Nicks words. Isn’t he over me yet? Over this? All we do is go around and around in circles. I need something else, and so does he. Why doesn’t he see that? Goddamnit… “I get that you needed- “I flash him a stern look. “Need. You need your space. I understand now, I like it to. But you’re going to have to settle down with someone eventually- and you know it should be me.”

“Nick… no.”

“No, I have to- “

“Nick!”

“You want kids, I know you do. I know you. I’ve known you since we were six. You’ve always been sweet, and bright, and gentle. I remember you drawing picture, after picture, after picture of that big blue house with a picket fence and remember the talks we had when we were older about the kids we would have. You think he’ll give you these things??” Nicks facial expression right now, is that of a desperate man. He gathers my hands into his and holds them close to his body. “He won’t.”

“I know that.” I tear my hands out from between his and speak slowly, so he gets it. “And I’m not that little girl anymore, Nick!”

Jesus Christ, this has gone south fast. I need to go.

Adjusting the bag strap over my shoulder, I make like I’m going to leave but Nick speaks up again before I can step off. “It’s a phase! -“

“Nick, goddamnit! I’m 29 years old! Get the fuck away from me with this phase, shit. I’m a grown woman. Now… “I glare at him, stepping by him. “It was nice seeing you. Bye.”

Walking off, I put my hands on my face and take a deep breath of the parks fresh air. I can still feel his gaze on me, and it doesn’t feel good.

But standing up to him, did.

Freedom.

Stopping by the bathrooms before my car, I fix my hair and look in the mirror. I can’t come back to this park, now! I’m going to need to find a new hang out spot… Pouting, I fix the strap once again over my shoulder and briefly think about whether Nick will be waiting outside - He knows what my car looks like! And the number plate, probably! – and worry, but then out of nowhere hands wrench me around and press me into the bathroom wall.

Its Offender, so I don’t panic except take a deeeeeep breath from being taken by surprise and look up at him sternly. Good god.

“Don’t underestimate me, Y/N.”

Oop, he sounds… moderately to extremely less chill then usual.

“… huh?” I’m confused. What’s going on?

“The park. In the park. What happened in the park- What the smile child’s idiot son said.”

I could not be more lost right now… The absurdity of this situation - after just having a run-in with my ex-husband who I left for the uncomfortably intimidating man who’s cornered me into a wall in a public bathroom,- mixed with the lack of context he’s giving me causes the most sincere look of confusion I have possibly ever made. “Which… Which part?”

He speaks in a voice that is somehow spot on, a carbon copy of Nick’s and for a second I’m starstruck about that until I realise Offender was listening somewhere to what was going on between Nick and I- and now he’s pissed. “’You really think, that Offenderman, can actually care about you?’, ‘You think he’ll give you these things? He won’t.’. Y/N, don’t underestimate me.”

“So… what does that mean?”

A dangerous grin tears across his sharp, wicked mouth. “I care a lot about you, kid.”

#Offenderman x Reader #Oneshot #Jeff The Killer #Offenderman #Offenderman x Reader Oneshot

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kissmejae · 5 years

Text

Habits

PAIRING: Jung Jaehyun × Reader

GENRE: fluff, neighbours!AU (I guess?)

SUMMARY: Y/N has a bad habit of spying on the people living across the street, and when someone new moves in, everything changes.

WORD COUNT: 2.6k words

A/N: This is based on the prompt “a note, a cup of coffee, a new home” and where I live. Sadly there’s no Jaehyun or cute café, but the fat cat is there!! Also, I have no fucking clue how to use comma in English, sorry.

WARNINGS: Stalking if you squint really hard

You had a bad habit of looking through the windows on the other side of your lane. You lived on the third floor in a flat in the central part of town, and the old buildings stood so close that it was nearly impossible not to spy a little on the lives of all the people across the street. Just a little. You knew how the chubby red cat on the first floor liked to jump out the window at times, wandering the street and sneaking into the basement. The girl in the penthouse with the sloping walls would open the windows on sunny days and water her plants, standing for a while, taking in the view. The guys in the flat next to the red cat, who were probably your age, would always sit in the couch at night and watch football.

The middle aged man living directly across from your flat would always stand in the kitchen late at night and cook dinner, the antique lamp in the windowsill shining in a dusty orange hue. But today the lamp and its owner were gone. All of a sudden. You knew nothing about him, honestly – his name, his job and everything else was foreign to you. And still it hit you with a weird sense of melancholia that you’d never see him cook spaghetti again with his shirt unbuttoned, as you had so many times. The place was empty, but not for long.

It was the first day of the month, a busy time for people moving out of their old homes and into new ones. The neighbourhood you lived in housed many different types of people; college students saving money by living together, young couples that were amidst the milestone of having their first child, single adults that probably worked overtime too often, and the occasional retired citizens that had lived here for decades, never growing tired of city life.

You belonged to the first category, and it seemed that the new inhabitants of the empty flat were just the same. It was difficult to tell, but the guy unloading boxes upon boxes from a trailer was hardly a year older than you. You see, looking down at the street from the third floor, you could mostly see his brown hair and his strong shoulders, so it was more of a calculated guess. You had to admit that it excited you to have someone new to observe – mind you, you weren’t a creepy stalker at all, you just enjoyed picking up on people’s habits. And for that exact reason you stepped away to give him some privacy, even if he had no idea he was being watched.

Days had passed, and you had come to learn that two guys had moved in; the one you saw on the first day, and this taller friend. As with many young men, they didn’t seem to be experts at interior decorating, the place looked quite… minimalistic in it’s style as far as you were concerned. The thing is that you could only see through their kitchen window, as the other rooms faced away from your street, so maybe it was only the shared kitchen that was boring. Something that on the other hand wasn’t boring at all, actually rather amusing, was that the “first” boy had a lot of the same habits as the former renter, especially the part about cooking dinner late at night. He stood in the same position, body facing 90 degrees away from the window, concentrating on frying an egg, making noodles or boiling water for tea.

It was kind of relaxing to watch him stand there, but at some point he began cooking while being shirtless, which made it rather awkward for you. You had to admit to yourself that he had, shall we say.. good genes. It made your innocent act of watching seem very wrong and weird, especially because it made it even more tempting for you, and that annoyed you endlessly. Besides, you felt that it wasn’t simply his bare torso that drew you in, it was something more, something you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Sometimes, you’d turn the lights off in your room, roll down the curtains and look just for a moment, promising yourself that this had to end soon. Heck, you didn’t even know his name.

One of the best, if not the best part about living in an urban area was the Parisian style café at the street level of your complex. Everything they served was utterly delicious, and because you were a regular, they’d occasionally treat you to a coffee on the house. You didn’t always have time, but on the weekends you loved taking a seat in the sun, reading a good book while eating breakfast. Taking your time. And (you guessed it) doing a teeny tiny bit of people watching. Sometimes you’d even dress up for the event, wearing a flowy dress or some gorgeous sunglasses, pretending you were in an old movie. When you weren’t reading anything interesting, you’d bring your trusted old notebook and scribble whatever came to mind. Write a poem that you’d cross out immediately because it was too cheesy or too dull, make a caricature of the old man with the silver moustache that sits at the same café table every day, or maybe just make your grocery list.

This day, as you sat at your small round table with your orange juice and croissant, you saw him outside of the apartment for the first time. Well, the first time since the day he moved in. The whole scene that played out was so strange to you at first – as soon as he came out of the front door he crossed the street, walking straight in your direction. As if time slowed down, you reasoned that he had seen you staring through your window all this time, and now he was about to call you out for it in public. Your heart was beating so fast, you felt so, so stupid. As he was only a few meters away from, you made eye contact and you truly felt an imaginary ceiling crash down on you.

“Fuck” you whispered almost inaudibly.

But the impossible happened – he walked right past you, and you just sat there on the rattan chair completely confused. Did your life just flash before your eyes for nothing? Apparently it did, because when you turned your head slightly towards the bar, he was ordering a coffee to go, oblivious to you and your internal crisis. As you saw him leave and disappear at the street corner, you decided that you were so over your stupid curiosity. It shouldn’t be you that felt paranoid, right?

–

And so you turned back into a normal person that didn’t deliberately daydream over your neighbours. Of course you couldn’t help noticing the lit windows at night and so on, but nobody could. And frankly, besides thinking about him occasionally, you didn’t miss your habit much.

You still enjoyed staying at the café downstairs as much as your schedule and the weather allowed, and the unwritten rule was that it was okay to look at the people passing by here. It was always a mix of familiar faces and the faces you’d never seen before nor ever would again. You loved drawing inspiration from them; what they wore, what words they used when speaking on the phone with friends, how they walked… There was something comforting about how unique they all were. Maybe we didn’t all need to fit into some imaginary box to please others… Maybe it was okay to be yourself with being judged.

At one instance the unnamed boy came down for coffee again, but this time you were free of worry as your conscience was sparkly clean. You didn’t spy on him anymore. Eye contact was made once again as he walked by, and this time around he even flashed you a small polite smile of recognition. Needless to say you returned it, though he was almost past you already, but for the first time you got a full-frontal look at his face, and it made your heart flutter more than it should. It was acceptable to find a stranger attractive, but it was nothing but a bad idea to have feelings for someone you didn’t know. He made it very difficult not to.

Yet again you reminded yourself to stay in your own god damn lane.

–

Time passed, and by now you were both very much regulars at the café, the difference being that you always stayed while he always had his coffee to go. Always leaving and turning at the corner, lord knows where he went. You didn’t pay much attention to him anymore, but it all changed when he one day nonchalantly left a handwritten note on a torn piece of paper, as he walked by your favourite table. You felt completely frozen in your seat, as if he had broken a contract that neither of you had actually signed. You had done your best to keep to yourself for so long, and he had the audacity to acknowledge your presence? You were riddled as to what the content of the folded note could be. Your inner romanticist hoped for a phone number, but that was ridiculous. With slightly numb and shaking hands you unfolded the paper.

“We have the same taste in music, but you should close the windows next time if you don’t want the whole street to hear :~)”

You had to read it twice and process it all. Shit. You couldn’t help but to snigger a little, your face turning baby pink in embarrassment. You covered your face with your hands – all this time you’d been watching everyone else’s habits oblivious to the fact that someone was watching yours. Yes, sometimes you just had to bellow your favourite tunes, and the highest notes weren’t always easy to hit no matter how hard you tried. You really were a first class fool. And worst of all he knew you were a fool. The scribbled note had so much meaning to unpack; Was he mocking you? Was he flirting? What were you supposed to do now?? Knock on his door? Ignore him?

It was all too much for you at once, but you decided that it was a good thing that you had the same taste, and that he included the smiley at the end. You couldn’t answer the perhaps most important question though – why did he not write his name?

That night your thoughts kept you up for a bit. Regarding his name, it was of course possible to cross the street and check the name list on intercom, but 1) maybe there wasn’t even an intercom, 2) there would probably be two names since he had a roomie and 3) (most important of all) it was too desperate. The whole situation was so strange to you, you had truly never experienced something like it before.

It sparked a tiny flame of anxiety within you. You felt scared to go to your café again in case you ran in to each other again, because you truly wouldn’t know what to do. Yet again you had lived here much longer than him, so what was his business making you embarrassed to be in your very own neighbourhood? You also felt cautious about doing anything out of the ordinary in your bedroom, because what if someone saw you? It really troubled you because on one hand, you didn’t want to be the butt of someone’s joke for singing with open windows, and on the other hand, whenever you had been watching people through their windows, you only found their habits and lives endearing, so why were you so afraid? You decided that it was only reasonable to keep doing you fearlessly, and that overthinking it all led to no good.

And so you did. On one of the last Sunday mornings before autumn took the warm weather away from you, you were sat at your table downstairs. Everything was as usual. As expected, your brown-haired neighbour bust out the door, crossing the quiet street to get the same coffee as he always got. You busied yourself with reading a novel, you couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes as you’d only fall harder and deeper. You were so engulfed in the book that you didn’t notice him coming towards you instead of leaving the same way he always did.

“Can I sit?” his caramel voice spoke from behind you.

You jumped a little in your seat from the shock and turned your head instantly.

You looked at him for a second before replying with a “Yes” in the most unaffected way you could muster. You were not about to be a fool again. It took everything in you to seem normal. Internally all alarm were going off and you could feel the heat rush to your face.

“I don’t think you read my note” he broke the silence.

You looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“I did read it?”

He couldn’t hide his smile, as if he knew something you didn’t.

“Really? Because I still hear you sing at full force from time to time.” He took a sip of his paper cup.

“How can you be sure it’s me,” you retorted in an unamused voice, trying to be innocent.

“Oh, there’s this great invention called windows, you can see right through them!” he nudged you with his elbow.

You help but to warm up at his kind and funny nature, laughing a little at his words.

“Ok you got me. But don’t pretend that I’m the only human on earth doing that!”

“I’m just messing with you,” he smiled, “but it is kind of hilarious to watch you sometimes… You and all your habits.”

“My habits?” you asked, mortified.

“Yeah, you have so many, but I swear I’m not a stalker!”

You couldn’t really blame him could you.

“You just… Sometimes you take aaaall the clothes out of your wardrobe and try everything on, posing for the mirror, it’s honestly endearing. I’ve also seen you practice your dance moves in front of that mirror, and I know you hate to hear this, but I think you should keep that mess inside of your room for now,” he chuckled. “But I really like hearing you sing so I’m glad you didn’t shut your windows.”

You were completely speechless. It was a lot to take in right now, but the smile on your face didn’t lie. It was super weird to hear these things you never even noticed yourself, but it wasn’t as bad as you feared it could be – after all he seemed smitten by your goofiness, not judgmental. Part of you wanted to hit back with all the weird things you’d seen him do, but you opted for something simpler.

“This is so weird right?” you began, “I’ve seen you stand over there in your kitchen cooking at the weirdest hours of the day, blaming myself for creeping on you, and all this time you did the same? And we don’t even know each other’s names?” You were sort of astonished with your own honesty, but his company made you feel oddly safe.

“You like people watching too?” he asked.

“Who doesn’t,” you answered.

“I’m Jaehyun,” he finally admitted, offering his hand.

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, shaking his soft hand.

He studied you for a moment, and took the chance to ask: “Can I take you out some time? Maybe go people watching?”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you immediately accepted his offer, and he smiled as he told you a secret.

“I know that you read my note. I made sure that my roomie Johnny watched you from the kitchen window, he said that your face went red as a tomato.”

#jaehyun fic #jaehyun fan fic #jaehyun fluff #nct fic #nct fan fic #jaehyun fanfic #nct fanfic #nct fluff #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #yoonoh #fluff #nct #wow i haven't posted a pic in YEARS #pls lmk if you liked it

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thewildheroine · 5 years

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Fly Away |Part Thirty-Three|

Warnings: Abuse mentions, coma, severe injury, minor gore, near death, nightmares

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Ok so this is literally my favorite chapter that I’ve ever written. I just love it a lot. Like... fnjbejkwbjkfbk it just makes me happy. I hope you guys enjoy it just as much as I did and if you like it please reblog loves!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

(OH! and a lot of old dialogue/lines were brought back in this chapter. (; )

|Masterlist|

She suffered from severe laceration all over her body, the majority on her back, eight broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, a puncture wound just below her right hip, a deep stab wound that caused internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, and a bruising along her spine.

The woman pauses. I don’t know who she is, but Stephen keeps calling her Christine. She sounds like a doctor from the way she speaks. If I astral projected I could see if I was right. I don’t want to use magic right now. All I want to do is sleep.

Our scans haven’t shown any serious or long-lasting damage to her brain but we won’t know for sure until she wakes up. She taps her foot on the floor, considering what to say next. Stephen, can I speak to you alone? I hadn’t known there was anyone else here with us. The other person doesn’t speak, doesn’t grunt or disagree. Whoever it is just stands and leaves.

Once they’re gone and the door shuts the woman begins speaking again.

I understand that magic and spell-casting is your line of work Stephen —

The mystical arts.

I scoff to myself.

—but you’re bringing kids into it now? She’s sixteen!

I’m not the one who brought her into it in the first place, Christine! Stephen yells back. I pray no one hears them. It was her piece of shit father who forced her to do this when she was a toddler. I only wanted to protect her and I…

His voice trails off, but I know what he was going to say next. I failed. That was going to be the next word. Failed. After that summary of my injuries, I might be tempted to believe it.

I’m sorry Stephen. I didn’t—

It’s okay, he reassures her . I just—I wanted to keep her safe even when I didn’t actually care. When I found her she was a nuisance but she was my responsibility. Now she’s still my responsibility and she’s definitely still a nuisance, I chuckle in response, but she’s special. Now when I actually do care and she’s hurt I—I feel like…

I feel the faintest sensation of a rough, scarred hand covering my own. The energy around it is pained… sad. I frown and try to grab it back. No matter how much I will it though my fingers refuse to move.

Like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

She’ll be okay Stephen, Christine reassures him. She’s going to wake up.

There’s silence. I will my mouth to move while there is a chance for me to be heard, but my lips stay locked together, unable to open.

She won’t forgive me though, he tells her. I tried to save her. I sacrificed myself so she could get out, and yet she still ended up hurt. Her body will heal, but what about her mind? Y/N’s father had already hurt her so much. What will this do to her?

If she’s anything like you, she touches my other hand, then the pain will allow her the opportunity to grow.

Stephen doesn’t reply to Christine’s encouragement. Instead, his other hand wraps around mine. Christine’s fingers pull away from me and I listen as she crosses the hospital room, stopping at the doorway.

Don’t stay too long, okay Stephen?

He says nothing. The door shuts with a soft thud, leaving the two of us alone.

I think I hear him sob.

Stephen had left a long time ago. At least it felt like it did. He left and the other person who was here with me never came back. By the lack of noise, I assume it must be night time. Just like when I came back home.

Being in this state, a coma they said, it feels like I’m sitting outside my own mind, blind and only able to hear. I know I’m still apart of my body, but it just doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m floating. Like I’m rising higher and higher without any fear of the consequences. I can’t seem to remember what it’s like to be one with myself.

At least I can sleep.

I’m falling.

The sun hangs above me, calling for me to come back. I don’t reach out though. My arms stay locked to my side and I keep falling.

I wonder when I’m going to hit the ground. Each sound makes me flinch, but the impact never comes. Soon enough I’m more annoyed by the dream than frightened. I’m falling. The sun is shouting. I never meet the earth below.

I feel my hair around my face, resisting gravity and pulling upward. My dress does the same. It’s the same dress I wore during the press conference.

I had done things, said things, that I wasn’t proud of. Even. Now I’m working to accept that some of what I did wasn’t my fault.

My father’s face flashes in front of my face.

Whatever you do, it will be influenced by me, by the experiences you’ve had because of me.

“Stop it,” I beg softly.

You’ll never escape my hold. I’ll always be a nagging voice in your head, one that you will listen to.

“Please…”

I’ll always be a part of you, Y/N.

“Stop it!” I reassert. He’s still there.

You can’t kill me in any way that matters.

“STOP!”

I find myself staring in the mirror sometimes and listing off all of the things I hate about myself until I’m saying things that aren’t even real or just flat out don’t fucking matter at the end of the day.

I’m falling.

My arms feel a little looser, but I still can’t reach out for the sun. The ground does not come to claim me.

I’ve never done this. Goodbyes I mean. I never had the chance to. My mother died before hello, my father disappeared without leaving so much as a note, and people have left my life before I could even find a way to care enough to say goodbye.

I want to stop falling.

It’s you guys or me. My magic or the end I fear more than anything else. Your end. The end of everyone I love.

I just want to sleep.

This is the story of how I come to the end of myself.

Let me touch the sun.

Thank you for loving me in all the ways I never thought a person could and then loving me more. I may have found my end, but thank you for making it a good one.

The sun.

This was the story of how I came to the end of myself. I am the Icarus… And I have loved the sun far too deeply not to burn for it.

I only want to touch the sun.

But I’m falling.

It enhances her in ways she doesn’t even understand yet.

Green flashes in front of my eyes, tinting the gold sun.

I’m saying Y/N would be our only hope.

I can move my hands.

It has always been a part of her and we have absolutely no right to remove it from her without her wanting it too.

Feeling returns to my forearms.

Your magic which enhanced the time stone.

I roll my shoulders.

Your magic was a gift from destiny itself and by fusing the time stone with it you were able to gain full access to its powers.

I reach towards the sun.

Your magic is your soul, and as long as you’re alive your soul will want to come home.

And I finally meet the ground.

I don’t want to sleep anymore.

There’s the sudden rustling of plastic as someone enters my room. The monitor next to me beeps consistently.

Like always, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my own body. No one except for Christine has been coming in lately. She talks to me like I’m going to miraculously open my mouth and reply. She tells me the time, luckily, as well as the weather, the news. She even tells me who is coming in to see me. That’s how I know it’s Tony who walks through the door.

I listen as he walks to my bedside and places something down. He paces the perimeter of my room for a moment before finally settling in the creeky chair designated for me. Maybe they think it will wake me up sooner.

I brought you flowers, he tells me. A sort of weird tradition to me since they die so quickly. Little ironic for a hospital. Not that I’m saying you’re going to die. You’re too stubborn for that. He speaks like he’s distracted, but I guess he usually is. His fingers tap against a machine by my head.

You know, I’m sort of hoping you can’t hear any of this, Tony says. Rhodey says he didn’t hear my whole coma speech while he was out and neither did Happy. Knowing you, you probably will remember this for some reason.

There’s a lull as though he’s finally taking a moment to take in my appearance. The chair creaks.

Why?

I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure you guys already had this discussion.”

I get why you saved us and the Earth because of the whole hero thing. That I can understand. But why did you trust us, Y/N?

Oh.

You had no reason to, he continues. You’re father… he practically tortured you. You were abused mentally, verbally and physically. You were abandoned and used over and over again. He came back only to taunt you. There was no reason for you to trust any of us. After what happened to you people might say it was dumb of you to trust us. Yet you did.

I smile. “Yet I did,” I reply.

We didn’t do much to deserve it.

“Neither did I.”

We kidnapped you from school, tossed you in Bruce’s lab and let Strange deal with you.

I laugh.

What I’m trying to say is sorry.

“Don’t.”

I’m sorry for dragging you into this.

“Stop it, Tony.”

Maybe if we just let you live your life you wouldn’t be here in need of a coma monologue.

“You’re right.” I wish he could hear me. “I might’ve ended up somewhere worse.”

I’m also saying thank you, Y/N, Tony says. I know you were never one for trust. Trusting adults at least. Why should you have been though? What with your father. But I want you to know that I have never felt so much genuine pleasure as I did when I realized you trusted me. You had no reason to. I pulled you from the life you knew, I forced that stupid fucking bracelet on you, I forced you into being an Avenger, but you trusted me. So wake up. Someday just wake up so I can yell at you for drinking too much coffee and tease you for kissing Peter. Just wake up, and I promise I will show you I am worth trusting.

The chair creaks again, telling me he got up. I have a press conference today. Since you messed with time we went back to a couple of days after your interview and everyone is making me handle the news. I listen as he walks back towards the door, stops, walks back towards me and ruffles my hair.

“Really?” I chide angrily.

Have fun in your coma, Y/N. He opens the door to leave again. I’ll see you later.

I’m falling.

The part where I hit the ground is coming up.

I reach for the sky, but this time I land on something cold. It’s freezing in fact. Tilting my head to the side, I look to see where I am. Below me is a rippling black mass. I jolt and try to push myself, but the tar of Dormammu’s hand is holding me down. All I can do is stare up and into his neon purple eyes.

But they’re not purple.

They’re the color of my father’s.

His gaze is sharp and unyielding. He glares down at me like I’m a worthless ant that happened below his foot.

When will you realize this single lesson Y/N? You are not the hero of this story. You are the Icarus. You yearned for the light and warmth the sun provided you with after never having seen it. Y/N, you were destined to fall at some point. We all are. This hope you harbor within yourself was just the catalyst to your own destruction.

I sob weakly as the darkness begins to pull me in. “Just let me touch the sun.”

You’re worthless, he tells me.

“The sun.”

You were born worthless, the tar wraps over my mouth and I’m suddenly tugged under, and you will die worthless.

Hey Blue. His voice pulls me out of the darkness.

Peter.

Sorry for not staying long yesterday, he says. So he was the other person in my room. After your doctor asked me to leave I went to go check on everyone. Then I wanted to swing around the city.

“You were distracting yourself,” I reply, even though he can’t hear me. Even though I can’t open my mouth.

I may have been trying to distract myself.

I laugh.

You know when you left me at Kamar-taj, guilt shoots through me, I thought you were gonna come back a lot quicker. I thought I was gonna open my eyes and boom, you’d be standing in front of me looking victorious. Like you’d just conquered the world. Like you had just saved the world.

The chair creaks. I hear something sounding like a backpack full of books hit the floor.

Cause that's what you did. You saved us all. You killed Dormammu. You turned back time, he exclaims. You were the hero…

But you don't look like you've won, he whispers. You —you—

Something sounding like choking comes from where Peter is sitting.

You just look hurt, Y/N. His hand finds mine. I just want to hold it back. I just want to hold his hand. You're so pale and there are so many cuts. How did you get so many cuts?

“It's okay Peter.”

I feel so helpless, Y/N, he confesses. There's nothing I can do to help you and I'm supposed to be Spider-Man. I'm supposed to save people, so why couldn't I save you?

“I had to save myself, Peter.” He squeezes my hand hard. I hold back my wince “I had to be my own hero in this story.”

I don’t want to tell you to wake up, he says. You deserve to sleep, Y/N. After all you’ve been through. You deserve the chance to really rest for once. You have suffered more than I can ever comprehend. All you’ve been through, all you’ve done is a testament to how strong you had to be. For once you don’t have to be strong anymore. You can sleep.

If you are somehow awake in there though, he continues, then I want to say this at least. The day you left, you told me you loved me. I never said it back. I feel a familiar pair of lips on my own. They’re so soft. Softer than the day I left. I want to kiss him back but I stay locked to the bed, unmoving, unresponsive. He stays close even when we break apart so I can feel his breath on my skin.

I love you, Y/N L/N, he proclaims. You’re my hero and I love you for that and so much more.

Beeping suddenly fills the room, though it’s not from the monitor. Peter’s presence over me disappears and I’m left cold on the hospital bed.

I have to go now, he informs me, but I want you to know you can stay asleep for as long as you need to Y/N. You deserve to sleep. You deserve the damn universe, but if all you want is to sleep then you sleep. Just remember that whenever you wake up I’ll be around. You could sleep a thousand years and I would find a way to be with you when you wake up. Maybe try to aim for the tomorrow though.

Then Peter’s gone

And I’m falling again.

Every time I have this dream or see these visions there’s always something different. Every time something changes.

This time I’m not falling.

I’m running.

I’m running on air. Running straight down towards the ground. Oblivion. I can’t help but wonder what happens when I meet the ground. I hear the feral sound of Dormammu above me, his hand chasing me down. The planets are falling in on Earth, destroying everything.

I keep running.

People have been coming in the past couple of days. My friends, the Avengers. At least I think they have been. They weren’t loud enough and their presence didn’t make the dream end. Now I can’t stop running. The dream won’t end because I can’t reach the ground and I certainly won’t touch the sun. Dormammu might catch me first.

I remember the feeling of my ribs breaking. The memory makes me collapse. All the pain at that moment is surreal and the dream slows to match my new pace: a weak crawl.

Hey Y/N. Stephen.

“Wake me up,” I beg to him. He can’t hear me though. No one can. I am silent.

I always pitied people who would try talking to those they loved while they were in a coma, he tells me. The chair creaks. I keep crawling from death. It seemed so desperate to me. Last resort. Congratulations Y/N. You’ve managed to bring me to the last resort. I don’t know where to start though…

I feel my collarbone snap. The scream that tears itself out of my throat brings with it blood. Too much blood.

I used to have a sister you know? God, she was nearly as stubborn as you. Nearly. She’s the reason I became a doctor. She did pass away though.

“Stephen.” I try to force my mouth to move. I try to force my fingers to flex or my eyes to flutter. My body remains paralyzed on the bed though.

I feel my dad’s kick to my stomach.

My sister got sick, and she depended on me to save her, but I couldn’t. You’re a lot like her. That same glow in your eyes, the same humor, the compassion, but there is the smallest difference in your persistence.

My fingers are beginning to bleed from clawing at the air. Every breath is like being stabbed. I feel the force of an explosion throw me onto the side, the fire singing my skin. I keep crawling. Dormammu lets out another monstrous scream.

My sister wouldn’t give up on me, Stephen continues. You, Y/N? You never ever give up on yourself. You’re so strong.

“I don’t want to be strong anymore,” I whimper.

There hasn’t been a day where the universe hasn’t wanted to run you six feet under. Every day there is a new struggle. Every day the same villains come back to haunt you. But you’re so damn stubborn. Even when you seem to be gone, even when you believe you’ve given up on yourself, you’re still fighting. You refuse to lay down and beg for mercy. You want to have faith. You want to be the hero. You want to live.

My hands stop clawing at the air. I stop feeling pain. Dormammu’s hand stops chasing me. The dream stops.

“I want to live.”

That’s what’s so special about you. I’ve never met someone who wants to live as much as you. Even when you’re walking towards death itself, I start moving towards the ground again, you’re clinging to life. You’ve always had your hands around it. In your sixteen years of life, you’ve become the greatest treasure death can hope to possess. The pain in my chest fades away. You lay your life on the line, but you always hope for the great escape.

I can breathe again

Don’t stop being stubborn now.

I stand.

Don’t let death creep up on you. If you find that you can’t be stubborn anymore, let me be stubborn for you. Let me remind you that you are the most heroic, persistent, compassionate, and complex person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

I turn towards Dormammu.

Let me promise you that you won’t be waking up for nothing.

I wait and listen.

Stark and I, we have an idea, Stephen tells me. I want to take you under my wing Y/N. I want you to be a real prodigy. My prodigy. I can take you to Kamar-taj and teach you everything I can.

I spread my arms out. Deep inside I can feel my magic humming in preparation.

With me becoming the Sorcerer Supreme, Wong suggested something to me. It’s only a suggestion. If you’d accept, we- I would like you to be Guardian. It’s an old practice. The role hasn’t been used for hundreds of years, but I think you would be worth bringing it back for.

I smile up at Dormammu.

Then one day, you would take my place.

My feet disconnect from the air, and I fall backward.

I can hear the heart rate monitor. I can hear the shrill beep that announces I’m flatlining. I can hear Stephen shout my name, I can hear the doctors rush in but most of all I hear the wind. It bursts past my face, shooting through my hair and curling around my finger tips.

“Running just seems to be all I’m good at.”

The wind is magic. It’s my magic. It’s mine to bend and shape and enhance. The wind is mine to use. All I need is wings.

“Hey, Y/N, you are an incredible person and I know that running away can’t be all-”

“But I am good at it. That’s what you’re saying, right Vera? That hey, you can do magic and shit pretty well but yeah, you are pretty good at running.”

The ground is coming closer. Stephen is still screaming at me to get up. I will. I will get up.

As he said, I want to live.

“I had the choice to run away right then and there. You knew I had my sling ring on me but I stayed.”

“Why?”

“Because I am so fucking sick of running.”

Finally, I turn my head to the sky. I look past Dormammu, past the falling planets and I see the sun. I raise my hand towards it.

I had a moment to learn how to crawl...

A familiar weight collects on my back. One that I’ve missed dearly.

...A second to walk...

My magic hums excitedly in my fingers. It’s ready. I’m ready.

...A minute to begin running...

It’s time for me to stop running away from the sun. This entire time I’ve been falling away from it. All this time I’ve only been reaching for it as I let myself come closer and closer to the ground. Now I know what I need to do.

I unfurl my blue wings. The wind bends around them, pushing past the feathers and magic within them.

...All without falling…

Everything is screaming around me. Dormammu, the planets, the heart monitor, Stephen, my magic, the wind. Everything is screaming except for me. I am the center of the hurricane.

...Before I forced myself to jump…

I want to live.

...And fly away.

My wings snap against the wind, pulling away from the ground and towards the sky. Everything in between doesn’t matter. It is only the ground, the sun, and me. Everything else disintegrates. Dormammu, the planets, the scream. It’s just me flying towards the sun, basking in the warmth it is offering.

I pound my wings harder and harder, the exhilaration of finally feeling it on my fingers motivating me to go higher faster. It is so close. Close enough for me to feel it in my heart, filling my veins. The sun is home. It is what I fell for and it is what I will rise for.

This is the story of how I only came to the beginning of myself.

I am the Icarus…

And I have loved the sun far too deeply not to fly for it.

“Y/N!” That is the very first thing I hear as I’m waking up. Then a beep. Just one for a moment. Then another and another until the noise has turned consistent.

My fingers clench around the covers, squeezing the blankets.

I can move.

I sigh, more thankful than I’ve ever been and start opening my eyes.

At first, it is only light. Bright white light that makes me wince and turn my head away. There’s something on my face, around my nose and mouth. I don’t pay much attention to it for now. I’m too focused on feeling. Something in my chest aches horribly. Like someone lit it on fire for the past minute just to see what would happen. The rest of my body hurts, but not in that way. Everything else feels much number. The pain in my stomach, my collar bone, my head. It all just pulses faintly. A small reminder of all that’s happened.

Then there’s a hand on my own, scarred and ruined and familiar. I try to smile despite the stinging in my face where I must’ve gotten cut by debris. It hurts but I think I succeed in making the corners of my lips turn upwards.

“Y/N?” Stephen asks this time as though he needs to check that I am, in fact, alive. I turn my hand over and squeeze his fingers.

Opening my eyes again I look up. The light is still there but it isn’t as bright as before. I can finally see that the thing on my face is a resuscitation mask and the burning sensation was from the defibrillator on the metal table.

I look at Stephen last. He’s staring at me, just staring. It looks like he’s watching a ghost.

Fearfully, I look down at my hands to make sure I’m actually connected to my body and not floating around in my astral form.

When I’m positive that I’m really here I reach up with my free hand to pull off the mask. Stephen sees what I intend to do before I do it. He pulls it off for me instead and places it on the metal table.

I blink my eyes hard to try and get rid of the blurriness that almost feels stiff. Nothing feels right. Everything is just a little warped. Not much but enough for me to notice. My eyes feel useless.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Stephen reassures, capturing my attention again. “It’s going to take a bit before you get your bearings. Just stay calm.”

I nod, my head feeling like a ton of bricks. I try to come up with something to say. Something that might relieve the tension. There are still doctors standing around, making sure I don’t die again.

“Well,” I croak, my voice rough from not being used for so long, “that was horrible.”

A/N: I’m going to begin cross-posting Fly Away as well as my other stories on @thewildheroine-archives

For anyone who would like to not wait for me to upload the rest, the other chapters are already on my Ao3. Thank you for taking the time to read. Please comment what you thought or reblog.

If you’d like to be tagged let me know :)

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5 notes · View notes

deans-baby-momma · 6 years

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Mainstreet

Y/N: Part 5 of my Hiatus Story. Eight more weeks until the premiere of Season 14. Who’s excited? I know I am. But while we wait, here is another installment; the prompt was Bob Seger’s song, Mainstreet. Mostly just the name. LOL ENJOY!!! With all the extra people now living in the Bunker, our food and rations depleted much more quicker than usual. It was swiftly decided that since we were the most known in the community, having lived here for 5 years, Cas and I would venture out on a supply run to replenish the provisions. The angel lingered in the war room while I went to mine and Dean’s room to clean up a bit and look presentable. Since Dean had saved me from myself and my soul-draining lifestyle, I had started caring more about my appearance. Once I was dressed and looked decent, I met Cas and headed to the garage.Although the garage housed almost every type of classic car imaginable, I walk over to my 1988 Chevrolet Silverado.

The red and white truck is my prized possession. I cherish it as much as Dean did Baby. The truck’s only moniker, though, is Mine; as in, it belonged to me. The only time anyone else was allowed behind it’s wheel was when Dean gave regular tune-ups. I hop into the driver’s seat as Cas slides into the passenger’s. “Buckle up for safety,” I singsong as I click my seatbelt into place. The confused look of the seraph’s face makes me laugh loudly.

“I do not need a harness for my safety,” Cas deadpans, causing me to laugh harder as I turn the key.Lebanon, Kansas is a quaint little town with a population of less than 300 people; well, now with the apocalyptic world people the Winchesters and I brought back through the rift, it’s probably closer to that 300, but no one is aware of their presence. Known as the center of the United States, Lebanon revels in that fact. As I drive down Mainstreet, I look at the charming city that dotes on tourism and travelers who journey through.

I drop Cas off at the municipal library to peruse their books and publications for information about the battle between Michael and Lucifer. We make plans to meet at Ladow’s Market afterwards. As soon as he shuts the door, I press the gas and head off to run my errands.The post office is my first stop. Sam had been awaiting a package from a fellow hunter before he disappeared with Jack and Lucifer. Since taking up residence in the Bunker, the younger Winchester has assumed the task of updating the lore books and tomes. With the box addressed to him safely secured behind the seat of my truck, I take off toward my next destination, the hardware store.As soon as I step over the threshold of Lebanon Home & Garden Mr. Davis, the store’s only cashier welcomes me with a smile. “So good to see you today. Shopping alone?”

“Hello, Mr. Davis. Yea, I’m by myself,” I answer as I grab a cart. “Well just yell if you need help. Since you don’t have the two strong young men with you.” I take the bags filled with ammunition, rope, sacks of rock salt, spray paint, and a new first aid kit and load them into the bed of my truck, silently thanking Chuck that Mr. Davis has never inquired about our abundant need for many of the items we purchase in his store. The sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky causing me to sweat. It’s hot but there is still a slight chill in the air. I wipe my brow with the sleeve of my flannel.

The dry cleaner’s, where I pick up the fed suits we all owned, always freaks me out. I’m just waiting for the day that the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Kwan, to mention the amount of blood and apparent bodily fluids they must clean from the garments we bring in. But once again, the couple are all smiles as they hand me the clean outfits in apparel bags. I breathe a sigh of relief as I leave the business.

Cas is patiently waiting for me at the door to Ladow’s. He asks if I was able to procure all our needs and I nod my head before pulling the grocery list from my pocket and rip it in half. Cas grabs two carts and hands me one and I hand him his half of the paper. I follow him through the aisles of food and grab what is needed. I watch as Cas meticulously selects fruits and vegetables, laughing when an overly ripe tomato splatters him as he checks it for firmness. Cas looks over at me with a bitch face that would rival Sams. And that causes me to begin missing the tall hunter and the nephilim. I turn my cart and head to the dry goods section.It’s only been a few days since the confrontation with Lucifer and his subsequently disappearing from the Bunker with his son and Sam. We are still no closer to finding them than we were then. We have no idea where Lucifer would’ve run off to and none of the myths and legends, lore and knowledge in the Bunker is giving any guidance. I hen begin to think about Dean. Dean, the bold but sensitive and caring, cocky yet still humble, courageous but cautious hunter; the love of my life; father of my child. Once he said yes and allowed Michael to use him, he also vanished. Off the fight his brother and to fight for his brother. I pray that he/they succeed in his/their endeavors./ I hang on to the hope and belief that Dean will keep his promise to me, to never leave or abandon me since rescuing me all those years ago. Now I need him more than ever. I need his beside me, with me as he child grows within me.

Cas loads the groceries into the truck bed while I return the emptied carts. I smile as I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Ladow watching us through the window.

“How are you today?” Mrs. Ladow asks as she begins scanning items. “Good. And you?”She looks up as soon as she recognizes my voice. Mrs. Ladow and I were somewhat acquaintances, friends even. She is an older lady who treats everyone like one of her grandchildren. Always making sure they are happy and well taken care of; telling them that if there is ever anything she could do just to let her know. She and I had gotten close since I was the one who mostly did the shopping in her store. Her eyes rake over me and she smiles brightly. “Child you are glowing! Are you in the family way?” I grin as I chuckle at her old-fashioned terminology. “Yes, I’m going to have a baby,” I happily tell her. “And that man of yours is allowing you to do all this shopping by yourself?” she asks, looking abhorred. “He’s away on business. But I didn’t come alone,” I explain to her as Cas comes into her line of sight. “Oh yes. The young man who speaks so eloquently. How are you today?” “Cannot complain,” Cas tells her as he finishes emptying his cart.Mrs. Ladow finishes cashing us out and comes around the machine to hug me. She smells distinctly of apples and cinnamon and wintergreen from the muscle rub I knew she used religiously. “You stay safe, child. You are not only responsible for yourself anymore but that tiny one too!”

I walk across the parking lot, placing a hand on my still flat stomach, knowing that a part of Dean is there.

Back at the Bunker, Bobby directs the young men to unload the truck as I take the package for Sam to his room. In the kitchen, amongst a flurry of activity, Mary instructs the young females and girls of where everything goes. I smile as I watch them all. If Dean accomplishes his mission by defeating Lucifer and saving Sam and Jack, I do believe everything may be okay, finally!

PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS HERE

@xxdragonagequeenxx @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sunskittlex @wayward-gypsy @darlingpeanut @sea040561

#dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #season 13 #2018 hiatus #mary winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #angst #pregnancy #mainstreet #lebanon ks #bobby singer

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bangjeon · 6 years

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Laissez Faire → PT. 1

→ Credit For Media: Here!

→ Jungkook x Reader | Yoongi x Reader | BodySwap AU | Enemies 2 Lovers! AU

→ Synopsis: Going home with the young and charming Jungkook on a whim was supposed to be an ephemeral unwinding from your relatively ordinary, stressful life as a twenty-something woman. However, it seems the universe had different intentions for you entirely when you find yourself waking up in a body that isn’t your own. And to make things worse, Jungkook isn’t as easy to get along with as you had initially thought.

→ Word Count: 18k

“You know what you need? A boyfriend.”

Somin’s sudden advice, albeit not at all surprising coming from her, makes you guffaw. “Yeah, I’ll pass. Although, takeaway sounds good right now.”

It’s only the earlier part of a Wednesday evening yet your colleague still had the nerve to insist on coming along to your place after work hours. You’d call her a hindrance to your social life but at the peak age of 27, living the single life with a dead-end job that was certainly not 9 to 5 as it had promised in the contract, it was nice to have her around.

Equally as unsurprised by your blunt rejection, she continues to file her nails with indifference. “C’mon, I could set you up with so many nice, rich guys. You wouldn’t even have to live downtown or work in that god damned job anymore if you ended up hitting it off with one of them. ”

You lay down onto your sofa with a over-dramatic groan. Truth be told, Somin was describing the fantasy you kept close to your heart which you knew would never come true.

“I’m feeling Chinese tonight.”

She groans and gives you a hard look, only to whine when you stare back at her with indifference. “C’mon, Y/N, you should give it a shot!”

“Any guy that refers to himself as a nice guy is already off my list,” you say with a distasteful scrunch of your nose. It wasn’t you being picky, it was only due to your past endeavours that you held such views. Your last break up being example A. Three months ago, you had ended things with him after a 2 year-long relationship. If that had taught you anything, it was that heterosexual men were untrustworthy and essentially, trash in the grand scheme of things.

You shifted to face Somin, sitting on the carpet, who was currently deeply invested in her nails. “If anything,” you begin, half incoherent with the way you face is pressed against a pillow, “I need to get laid.”

At this, she pauses her nail care routine and glances towards you with a glint of something you can’t make out in her gaze. “When’s the last time you got some?”

“Jeez, I, uh, haven’t done stuff since Seokjin. There’s possibly some cobwebs down there,” you bashfully admit, barely able to remember the last time you had seen a penis that wasn’t on a screen. “But I admit that it’d be nice to have something quick and one-off to remind me I’m not a virgin.”

Somin sets her cosmetic utensils down on the coffee table before springing up. “Then that is exactly what you’ll get!”

You look up to her with your eyebrows set in dismay. “Whatever it is you’re scheming, forget it. I was only just being honest.”

A glance towards the transparent balcony doors tells you that the evening had only just begun as you spot the setting Sun far on the horizon. Normally, from this time onwards you’d spend relaxing and recovering from what gruelling labour you’d have to do in that forsaken cubicle but with the unreadable glint that shone within Somin’s gaze as she grinned at you, there was the inkling feeling you wouldn’t be able to do just that tonight.

“But-”

“Last time I listened to you, we were lost on the other side of town at five in the morning.”

“Just hear me out,” she pleads, sending you a exasperated look so you bite your tongue and listen. Another telltale sign that you were about to hear some sort of tomfoolery was the way Somin begins to comb through her newly-dyed blonde hair with her fingers. “There is a new club that opened a few blocks from here recently,” she muses with a soft sigh. “And I’ve heard that it’s particularly great for hooking up. So what do you say?”

Your eyebrows, once furrowed, shoot up to your hairline as you begin to understand the implication of her words. “Are you serious? Clubbing on a work night? When I said I’d like to get laid, I didn’t mean right now.”

“Sure! I mean, it’s a great plan, actually. It won’t unbearably busy since it’s a Wednesday night and even if you don’t get to hook up with someone, per se, you could get their number at the very least.”

“The only people at clubs on Wednesday nights are old, fat men and, not to be picky, but I’d rather not.” Your protests to Somin’s suggestion does not make her mien of determination budge even slightly, completely undeterred by your flat-out rejection. If there is one thing you have learned about Somin, ever since she first became your cubicle neighbour last year, is that once she has an idea, it is a mission to make her forget it. “But we can always plan to go for the weekends!” You weakly add on in a last attempt to sway her.

“No point. Anyways, they’re always too crowded and someone always vomits on the dancefloor before the fun can begin. Unless you want to end up deflowering a college boy that doesn’t know your vagina from your asshole. Saturdays and Sundays are crawling with them,” she calmly responds with a little shudder at the end. “Anyways, it’s seven now and we should go about, nine-ish. Giving us two hours to get ready, so, pray tell, lead me to your closet.”

“Is there anyway I can convince you to not do this?”

“Hm, no.”

There’s no avoiding it, you silently resolve. Releasing a heavy, drawn-out sigh of resignation to your fate, you lift yourself from the haven of your sofa and head towards your bedroom. “This way.”

Somin giggles in victory and takes your lead.

Inevitably, you do end up outside this club your co-worker and, unfortunately, friend, had been so set on taking you to. If you were going to be frank, it looked like any other nightclub within the city.

A subtle entrance, surrounded by two or so bouncers with the faint yet taunting beat barely audible from the outside. Somin was right in the sense that it wouldn’t be as near as buzzing as the weekend tended bring out as the queue that usually accompanied the outside of the night club was near non-existent.

As the Uber that had brought you here quietly departs in the background, it then that you realise you are stuck to make do with the environment. In all honesty, you don’t expect much from this expedition to the heart of the city. What sort of ideal fuck hangs around at a club on a Wednesday night?

You take in the sight with a slight grimace, still not particularly convinced if this is all worth the loss of sleep and possible hangover you’ll have to face and deal with at 9 AM tomorrow in the office. A pause in your qualms has you grasping that this is you getting old. Side-glancing at the comparatively excited grin that’s wide across Somin’s lips has you confirming just as much.

Despite the autumnal season, Somin had also insisted on you wearing a dressing with the thinnest material she could’ve picked from your closet of sweaters and hoodies. “Can we go in already? My tits are gonna freeze off,” you struggle to say, shivering slightly as a soft breeze passes.

She nods and leads you to the entrance, saying something to the bouncers which you don’t catch as you focus on tugging your dress down for that extra inch of modesty. The hem stops slightly above your knees however the white material acts as a second skin, clinging to every contour of your body. It’s rarely ever made it out your apartment since it’s brave purchase but despite your discomfort with the fitting, you admit that it’s more club-appropriate than any of your other clothes are.

Whilst occupied with your fussing, Somin tugs your hand away and leads you ahead, delving into the depths of the club. She glances towards you, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Haven’t you ever been in a club, Y/N? You look terrified.”

“Not since I turned twenty-one,” you confess, gingerly taking a few glances around the club. With the fluorescent moving lights and the accompaniment of house music, you take extra care to cling onto Somin, worried you might stumble on the high heels you chose to wear. “So – uh – what do we do now?”

Somin giggles at your question, patting your cheek endearingly. “You’re so cute. Let’s head to the bar and have a few drinks. Maybe you’ll attract a few guys since you’re looking like such a snack.”

Her kind words make you soften at that. Maybe, if not sex specifically, you could use this as a way to loosen up from work. Since you were here already, having spent the time and effort to dress up for it, that's the mindset you should adopt from now on, you decided. “Okay,” you easily comply and allow her to lead you, weaving through the significant amount of people. There were more than you’d expected to be in here.

Reaching the seats adjacent to the counter of the bar, you freeze upon hearing Somin’s request for particularly strong drink than you would’ve liked to consume but before you can address the issue, your friend takes lead in the conversation by switching to a new topic. “So, what type of guy is it?”

You blink at her a few times, still getting used to the dark lighting. “Type?”

She rolls her eyes at your puzzlement. “What is it you look for in a person? What do you find attractive?”

You hum for a few moments trying to gather an honest answer. All your exes were abstractedly different whether it be appearance or personality and so you came to the conclusion that was nothing specifically you were adamant on. If anything, when it came to grouping all your exes together, all it indicated was that you had a habit for taking a liking to assholes.

Biting your lip in hesitation, you parted your mouth only to close it several times before you came up with a lame answer. “Someone who has the same political opinions as me and recognises the issues that needed to be tackled in our modern society? …And they’re funny?”

The tone of your response makes everything you say sound like a question, as unsure as you are about your ‘type’. You had never thought of dating someone or fucking someone in such a linear way; you fell for someone when you fell for someone. But, as your history also pointed out, you weren’t the most successful in your approach either.

The countenance that sits on Somin’s features informs you that your answer probably wasn’t one she was expecting. “Right… so imagine you’re having a drink at a bar by yourself and the hottest guy in the whole room comes up to you and wants to get to know you but you find out he doesn’t agree with you on some stuff, what will you do?”

A scoff escapes you as you assess the situation, you cross your legs. “What do you mean?”

She taps her acrylics on the table just as the drinks arrive, brightly coloured cocktails slide towards the two of you and you offer the bartender an appreciative nod. “Let’s say you were mid-conversation, and you’re already planning on all the positions he’s gonna fuck you in, but homeboy drops that he voted Trump. What would you do?”

You pull the most horrific face, struggling to find even in what universe you’d let yourself be wooed by a Trump supporter. Sure, your exes were all different sorts of dickheads but at least they had more than two brain cells. “I’d backflip out the window and run away.”

“Really? Just for one night, you wouldn’t let this Republican sex god blow your back out?”

“Not a damn chance if he wants to infringe on my human rights like that.”

Somin shrugs with little disagree on that topic and takes a long sip from her Martini. “Okay so an open-minded guy that’s funny. We can work with that. Keeping in mind that fact that you did just break up with Seokjin, try to keep your visual standards a little bit more reasonable.” There’s a pause in the conversation, the chatter and music in the background filling into it. Eyeing your untouched drink, you weigh out the pros and cons of getting drunk.

As much as you tried to deny it, you were a lightweight and the contents in your glass was more than enough to have you feeling lightheaded. At the current moment, you choose to abstain a little longer from the refreshment. When you glance back up at Somin, she’s focused on something else. “Hello?” You say, waving your hand in front of her. “What are you looking at?”

She doesn’t reply quickly enough and you turn to look over your shoulder, curious at what possesses her attention but Somin quickly grabs your hand before you make the move. You blink a few times, perplexed by her behaviour. “Am I missing something?”

“Don’t make it obvious but there’s a really cute guy not far from us and he keeps looking over at us and talking to his friends. I think he might come over,” Somin whispers to you with a body language that is anything but obvious. You press your lips together for a moment, compressing the bubbling laughter that threatens to escape you at the sight of her spying. “Oh my god, you really hit the jackpot Y/N. If you fuck him with those set of thunder thighs and live to tell the story, I will personally need a full-length report on it tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah but what if he supports that piece of chicken liver President?” You offer, sceptical. In this moment, you give into your desire and take a large sip of the martini. With your lack of alcohol tolerance, you can instantly sense the slight influence of the drink but with Somin’s restless excitement, you suppose that this is a good time to opt for some liquid courage.

Your friend looks to you and chuckles, shaking her head as she runs her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “I doubt it.” A quick side glance spared back to her apparent target, Somin stiffens. “He’s coming this way, he’s coming this way,” she mutters and subsequently grabs her drink to attempt what she thinks to be acting natural.

Her enthusiasm makes you smile fondly but you already plan on not taking anyone home tonight despite Somin’s tactics in getting you out here for that sole reason. You’ve already made up your mind – the thought of having to shoo someone out after a quick fuck and mediocre orgasm, that is if you even manage to get there, is unappealing when you then come to think that your job starts within the next couple hours. Its inconvenience had put you off as you valued sleep more than that at this current stage in your life however, this journey could be utilised in other ways.

For all Somin’s attempts in getting you back in the dating game after your break up, she had been soaring with the single life well before you. Although she had already placed her money on you hooking up with him, you’d be happy to let her take the reins and have at it. It’d be nice to see her hit it off with someone, even if that meant you’d have to deal with the wrath of her with a boyfriend.

Thoughts making you momentarily forget your situation, a male voice interrupts you from your pondering. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he says.

Whilst Somin is already smiling brightly, you look like a fish out of the water, snapping away from your daze and tilting your head up to catch a glimpse of the strangers. He’s looking straight at you.

His hair has a russet hue, parted to reveal a tantalising expanse of forehead and eyebrows. His slightly tanned complexion looks clear and soft, even in the poor lighting the club provides. There’s a slight grin to his features whilst he studies you the same way, weighing you up, and you use the chance to look at his body and it is then you notice how perfect the proportions are of his lithe figure. As you take in the sight of the young man, you come to the conclusion that he is indeed hot as hell.

This guy radiates a sense of confidence, cockiness and buoyancy you’ve become familiar enough to associate with particularly younger men. Intimidation rises within you and begin to chicken out, wondering if excusing yourself to a restroom visit is appropriate. You need a guy who isn’t fresh out from college to take you out, not one of the college guys that Somin had earlier warned you of.

Your gaze lingers long enough to the point that you have to break away or it’ll just become weird, so you clear your throat. “This is our first time here,” you say, sounding almost like a robot with your monotonous voice.

Somin helpfully picks up on your struggle to begin small talk and, as skilled as she is, continues for you. You send her an invisible brain signal of gratitude as she opens her mouth. “I need to visit the restroom so I’ll be back in a bit. Have fun, kiddos,” she gracefully executes an excuse, lifting herself off the seat.

Your jaw drops, she’s abandoned you! When you send a clearly troubled look as she begins to walk off, Somin winks with drink in hand. ‘Text me if you need something’ she mouths with unnecessary theatrics.

The man, still unnamed, takes what was once your best friend’s seat. “I’ve only been here like twice so that wasn’t the best of starters,” he admits, the corners of his lips subtly tilting upwards.

Staring at this gorgeous piece of meat in front of you, you want nothing more than to grab your purse and breadsticks and whatnot and make a run for it. As beautiful as this man is, you’re not prepared to flirt and woo him over. You sigh and pick up your glass, swirling the contents within it. “It’s okay, I don’t even know what to say if that helps.”

He bites down on his lip, raising his brows at your resigned look. You don’t mean to be rude, he looks like a nice guy, but if he’s expecting to get something more than a boring conversation from this, it’s his fault. You’re not gonna do it, you’re not gonna go home with this guy, you don’t need this. Heck, it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. Maybe all he wants from this is an amiable conversation.

“I’m Jungkook.” Jungkook’s voice is soft, not deep or raspy, but it has a nice sound to it. “So... what brings you to a club on a Wednesday night?”

Your lips quirks up at the cheesy choice of starters but you refuse to let your sight off your suddenly incredibly fascinating cocktail. “A stubborn friend that doesn’t take no for an answer or fear of getting fired, if you must know. But I could ask the same thing to you.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding. Wearing a plain black hoodie and ripped black jeans, you allow yourself to take advantage of your downcast gaze and sneak a peek at his thighs that Somin had so lovingly described earlier. The denim material clings to it generously and gives you a nice view of just how thick and solid they looked. Your eyebrows raise only slightly since you’re trying to avoid making your admiration obvious.

“I work where hours aren’t so strict and I can sleep in a bit, so it’s not much of a mission to go to a club on a work night.”

The news that he in fact has a job also makes you pause since you had so quickly written him off as a student. “Oh… what do you work as?” You can’t help but ask.

With your new show of interest, you notice his grin widen substantially in your peripheral vision. “A music producer. The studio is pretty lax with work hours.”

At this, you finally take the chance of making eye contact with him, surprise clearly written over your face. “I wouldn’t expect someone so young to have a full-time job.”

“So young?” He repeats your word with a snort, as though taking offence to.

You take the time to finish the rest of your martini, hoping the contents would make you less timid and loosen you up. “Sure, I would’ve guessed you to be a college kid or something.”

Jungkook scoffs at your assumption. “You can’t be any older than me but I guess I should take that as a compliment?”

Waving him off, your lips curve into a small smile. “Nah, I’m surprised you’re hitting on a lady like me when there are plenty younger ones on the dancefloor.”

“I don’t even know your name but how old you are, may I ask?”

“Twenty-seven,” you say as though it physically pains you. The years have passed by and, for the most it, gone to waste far too quickly. Taking a wild guess from the look of Jungkook, it was probably safe to say he looked near the 21 mark and younger guys never really appealed to you like that.

Releasing a laugh almost unpleasant to hear, you’re happy to find that Jungkook does indeed have at least one flaw. He clicks his tongue in reprimand. “I’m only two years younger than you,” Jungkook reveals. You cock your head, twenty-five then. “And who said I’m hitting you?”

“Anyone with two eyes actually,” you say easily. The alcohol seems to be doing its part in helping you forgo your polite, sober mannerisms. Placing an elbow on the counter and propping your chin onto your palm, you watch him raise an eyebrow in curiosity. You grin at him, to make clear you don’t intend your words to be understood in the unkind manner. “Unless your only interest in coming up to me was to gain a friend, to which I’d be pleasantly surprised by,” you add on lightly as a second thought.

He cringes at that, indirectly proving you were right with your assumption. “Do you not like being hit on? I can leave if you want.” Jungkook says this considerately which you appreciate. “Ah, I should’ve used a different opening, Namjoon said it usually works,” he says quitter with a nervous laugh. You probably weren’t supposed to hear that, you muse whilst watching Jungkook ruefully cards through his hair. It’s… cute.

You release a laugh with such sudden force that you snort. Embarrassment fills you as you reach to cover your mouth, badly attempting to stop your bubbling laughter. Macho and mighty might’ve been the initial aura that radiated from Jungkook but looking at him now, after these few awkward minutes, you found him quite endearing to watch actually.

Still recovering from your fit of laughter, Jungkook watches you with a mirth dancing in his gaze, pleased with the sight. He must’ve done something right to get you so breathless.

“D-don’t worry,” you struggle to say as you recover from the amusement he’s caused you. “I’m bad at this whole thing too.” Avoiding his gaze by playing with the tropical straw of your cup, you feel an uncharacteristic shyness rise within you. “Although I fail to see how you could fault at this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Offering him a pointed look, you scoff. “You know exactly what I mean! Flirting and being charming comes naturally to attractive people. Hot people privilege, I think they call it.”

Jungkook straightens with a new sense of pride, a leering smirk on him. “So, what I’ve gathered is that you think I’m attractive.”

“I’m sure you get it often enough,” you say with a small shrug. There was no other way to go about it, Jungkook was definitely a winner of the genetic lottery. Ten minutes of talking and you already felt significantly more comfortable speaking to him. Perhaps it was the drink – or maybe Jungkook was just naturally really easy to talk to.

Despite his pleasure in finding out you somewhat reciprocate the allure, Jungkook clears his throat whilst trying to school his features into something casual, not wanting to appear as jubilant as he felt. Older women were always noted as his type and he often found that not many of them took him as seriously as he wanted to be, brushing his attempts off for his youth. Annoying as it was, the term happiness was an understatement for what he felt upon realising you hadn’t completely written him off just yet. Or so he hoped.

Fishing for more compliments by furthering the topic didn’t seem like a good choice so his eyes dropped to your empty glass. “Do you wanna order some drinks?”

“Uh, I don’t know, it depends.” Fine, you’ll give this guy a shot. You tilt your head up at him with a humoured expression. “Am I going to have to pay for it?”

To answer your query, Jungkook simply pulls out his wallet and sets down a few paper notes on the counter. “You think I’ve come all the way over here for a free drink,” he laughs with a shake of his head.

“Maybe. When have men ever been reliable,” you say with a slight bitterness you didn’t mean to slip out. Perhaps you still hadn’t completely got over your post-relationship grief but you had done a darn good job of masking it till now so you move on. “So, is being a music producer as glamorous it sounds?”

“It has its perks. At the end of the day, it’s what I love and I can make a living off of it so what is there to complain about? I’m no big name in the industry but I think I’ll can get there, someday hopefully.”

“That’s… really cool, actually. I’ll be sure to buy all your songs legally then, if it’s any help.”

“Not illegally downloading music like the rest of us do, just for me? I’m honoured.”

You both admire and resent the candour his words hold. It’s inspiring to see Jungkook so adamant and passionate on his career. On the other hand, you can’t help but notice the slight jab of jealousy that hits your gut. Being able to love your job and have a passion for your work was something most people couldn’t find, yourself included, and Jungkook had managed to get there at an age like his. A bartender arrives when Jungkook waves at her, whispering the order before sliding the cash to her. You hear a faint, slightly flirtatious giggle but it goes unheard in your deep monologue of life.

However, it is finally interrupted when he turns to you, “What about your office job?”

You blink a few times, straightening your posture as you come up for an answer and nervously laugh. “Yeah, I just have a real passion for staring at spreadsheets and being hounded at by male colleagues who think they’re supervisors due to some type of internalised misogyny but, oh you know, I love it,” you reply, tone drenched in a playful sarcasm. “I suppose it’s okay as far as any nine to five office job can be, y’know?”

Jungkook regards you first with a furrowed brow but begins to chuckle. “Are they really that bad?”

“I mean, it’s not that bad. Not when I have Somin being it’s saving grace,” you smile at the thought.

A tray filled with an array of shot glasses arrives in front of you, indicating this was Jungkook’s choice of order. Lovely, you think with surge dread. As if your embarrassingly low tolerance could even manage four of these without getting incredibly tipsy yet there were many more than ten presented in front of you. Slowly, you turn to Jungkook with a raised brow.

He shrugs, offering you’re an apologetic yet cheeky smile. Picking up two of the glasses, Jungkook then offers one to you. “You in?”

Having shots with a man you met little than fifteen minutes ago was probably not the adult choice to make but God, did you want nothing more. Even if it meant everything you had previously aggravated over on the car ride here was going to be compromised. Biting your lip, you nod and accept the glass. You share a single look with Jungkook, unable to not smile and not think why the hell not even though there are several answers to that. A nod, and you both drink to a new friendship and perhaps something more.

After the first, slightly off-flavoured shot, the rest of mush together and you can’t seem to differentiate from what was the third and what was the fourth.

The trey is still occupied with a few untouched glasses but you feel like you’re buzzed enough. More than enough. Drunk as in your stumbling and you’re giggling a bit but you’re not about to immediately vomit your stomach’s contents out straight away, which is good.

It’s good because you don’t have worry about running off to puke. Not now. Not when you’re up against the wall in an alleyway beside the club with Jungkook’s tongue down your throat. You’re not exactly how it escalated so quickly but asking him won’t make much of a difference since he’s just about as wasted as you, and anyways, it’s not like you don’t want this. How long have you been making out with him? Ten minutes or twenty, you seem to have lost complete count of the time.

One of his hands comes to frame your jaw whilst the other finds pushes itself on the flesh of your ass, groping with as equal ferocity as the way his mouth frames your own. When his tongue sweeps across your lower lip, a moan claws its way out your throat as you feel a direct shock to your core.

Jungkook is the first to pull away, strands of saliva evident then disperse as he parts from your lips, panting equally as heavily as you. “D-do you want to take this somewhere a bit, uh, better? My place?” He mumbles, forehead against your own. The question reminds you that you’re in a fucking alleyway and your white dress is definitely not stain resistant.

Gulping down a large breath of air, you nod ardently. “Yes, please,” you respond.

As intoxicated as you are, you’ve still the bit of conscience left in you to know what you’re agreeing to when you say yes and you’d like nothing more, to be honest.

He isn’t a man who asks twice. Jungkook reluctantly pushes himself off of you, pulls at your hand and heads to hail a taxi.

Making out in the back of one isn’t the most refined thing to do, especially when you have a something-like-70-year-old man driving it so for the small ride it is. So, you manage to put off Jungkook’s advances for the time being despite wanting to reciprocate just as fervently.

When his groping and whatnot become too difficult for you to stay silent and your occasional warning glances remain unnoticed, you pinch his hand to keep his wandering fingers at bay. Instead, Jungkook opts for leaving his hand atop your upper thigh, gripping to it throughout the rest of the duration.

Merely watching the veins that decorate his forearms move as his grip adjusts is enough to get you going. Celibate for something like three months without a problem but now, with his hand on you like that and his jaw clenched at such a fine angle, you feel as though you’re going to burst if you don’t have his fingers or whatever else of his inside you sooner or later.

And by the time you reach the outside of Jungkook’s apartment block, the lust in the vehicle is near palpable with such a stretched time for desire to marinate.

He fiddles with his keys clumsily, having them slip out more than once before he finally manages to reach the inside of his abode. “Hurry up,” you whined with a mixture of annoyance and desperation. At this rate, you’d pass out before he’d even manage a finger inside of you.

“I’m hurrying,” Jungkook returns in an equally as frustrated tone. Finally, the lock gives way and the two of you stumble into his abode. Normally, you’d take a few moments to look at your surroundings, weigh it out, maybe snoop to see a few family photos but such frivolity was very much at the back of your mind. All you could think manage to think of was the growing arousal that was most likely forming a dark spot through your panties.

Thankfully, after a quick slip of shoes, Jungkook wastes no time in returning back to current affairs. Hands grabbing at your waist, he pulls you in for another rough kiss to which you easily comply to. Given your state of mind, it isn’t the most artful of make outs you’ve experienced. This is sloppy, messy, aggressive even with the odd clash of teeth but it only fuels the burgeoning desire within your lower stomach.

One hand of his slides up from its hold on your side and cups your left breast, softly massaging it through the thin fabric of your dress. Your unpadded bra does little to hid the strain of your pert nipples against the garment. Jungkook gently pinches it causing you to pause in your kissing, groaning from the gratification his movement gives you.

“D-didn’t expect you to be such a g-good girl,” he mumbles during a momentary breather. “I bet you’re - nngh - so wet already, spending all night staring at my thighs. Maybe I’ll let y-you fuck yourself on them.” Jungkook’s words are stuttered as he struggles to continues to let out strings of explicit words that only make the emptiness between your legs even less bearable. All you manage to respond with an agreeing moan, bucking your hips into the prominent bulge outlined in his jeans for some inch of relief.

As a need for further intimacy forms, the two of you stumble to his bedroom. And quickly enough, all your garments discarded and left chucked on the floor.

A throbbing headache is the first greeting you receive at the sound of your alarm, severely so. It feels like stabbing to the head.

Your eyes flutter opens only briefly but in your state of deterioration, you can’t quite manage to keep them open long enough. You let your alarm ring a few more times, hoping it would switch off soon enough so you could comfortably enjoy your self-rewarded few more minutes of shuteye.

Getting drunk never boded well for you, only resulting in an unforgiving headache to be dealt with the next day like you were currently experiencing. You shuffle under the sheets, drowsily trying to recall the events of last night ready for the strong splash of remorse to hit you. The club with Somin, speaking to Jungkook, taking drinks with Jungkook… the rest from then on were fragmented memories that did enough to clear the picture. You cringe as the reminders of having work in a few hours also pops up as an afterthought. Apparently, your resolve wasn’t just as strong enough as you had hoped, being that everything that you didn’t intend to happen did in spite of your autonomy.

Your partner is still fast asleep, not wasting glance because you could already feel the bodily heat emanating off of him. Well, there was no point wasting time here then, as fun as it had been.

You take care not to disrupt Jungkook’s tranquil slumber as you sit yourself up in the bed, rubbing your eyes vehemently. Once you finally manage to open your eyes properly, you take in the messy sight of the bedroom. Seeing last night’s clothing left sprawled out on the floor, you take that as a sign to hurry up with things.

As you let out a yawn, you stretch your arms out in front of you in preparation for having to get a move on within the next few minutes. You lazily blink at the scene in front of you.

It almost goes unnoticed.

Your hands don’t… look like this; masculine and veiny. You do a double take at the first observation, scrutinising everything you certainly hadn’t been familiar with before. Shock settles within you and your processing takes a good minute before you take a further step.

Hesitantly, you press your palms to your chest. Hard and flat. Not to be over generous, but you had always had a fair amount of bust on you but if anything, your chest felt nothing but mostly horizontal under your touch. Your shock quickly turns into a blend of panic and confusion.

“What the fuck?” you say aloud for the first time in the morning. The manly baritone makes you instantly go still. Another question enters your mind that’s already near the edge of hysteria.

Slowly, your hand slides down the torso of your body, noting the abs that seemed to have suddenly formed overnight, and grab your crotch. Something was there that certainly wasn’t there before. Silently screaming at the scenario playing out, you grip the body part and give it a vehement shake to make sure it isn’t anything that isn’t attached to your skin and all that results in is a sharp and strong strike of pain to your nether regions.

You inhale a shaky, deep breath. “This is just a bad trip. I’ve taken some drug and I’m just having a really, really bad trip,” you mutter to yourself with the conviction of a worshipper. Maybe it’s just a dream and you pinch yourself to test the theory. When another much less significant bout of hurt stings you, it is with a heavy heart you find you’ve been proven wrong.

Only five minutes into your day and things were already off to a terrible start. To put things into perspective, you had… physically become a male over night? Nothing was making sense and your freaked thoughts did nothing but make your hangover headache have an even strong throb to it.

The sound of bed sheets ruffling beside you as supposedly Jungkook shuffles tears you from your breakdown. Surely you couldn’t be the only one affected by this odd turn of events.

Prudently, you peer over to the body beside you and angle your head to have a better look at the face.

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” a litany of expletives are all you can mumble, unbelieving as your eyes go wide as saucers.

Beside you, was your body. The one you had had for the past twenty-seven years. And you weren’t in it. The out-of-body mindfuck is all too much for the weak state of your brain. You double over and release a drawn-out groan, your new body reminding you of the hangover nausea with a dull, throbbing ache in your head as if this couldn’t get any worse.

In your huddled form, you take a moment to play out the consequences of this revelation. If you’re not in your body and Jungkook is nowhere to be found…

Realisation wrapping itself slowly enough. A body swap?

You contemplate just how on earth to react to this. You silently chuckle, your body shaking as you shake your head in incredulity. Of all people, it had to be you to have to deal with something as bizarre as if. On top of all your projects, your deteriorating love & social life, at least now there was a paranormal addition to really top it off.

To confirm your suspicion of who exactly you might be inhibiting, you hastily get up from your warmed bed spot to head to the connected bathroom, running so fast you nearly trip over yourself in the process.

Although you had predicted as much, actually witnessing the abnormality of not having your own face when looking into your own reflection is still every bit as shocking. For a brief moment, you wonder just how many people have had to experience such a feeling, such a situation.

Jungkook is every bit as handsome even in a fresh-out-of-bed state. His dark hair tousled and unkempt from a cruel, unexpected night of sleep and whatever antics had occurred just before that, chapped lips and a dried streak of drool by his chin. You can only just stare at the reflection in both horror and awe, too scared to make a movement and have him copy.

All you can do in your daze of disbelief is wait for your own body to wake up and see how Jungkook responds.

As if directly answering your curiosity, there is a sudden scream from the bedroom. You rush in to find yourself – Jungkook? – staring into the front camera of his phone. You imagine that his parted-lip, furrowed-brow expression is near the mirror image of what you first looked like.

“J-jungkook?” you gingerly call out.

Dark, distraught eyes meet yours in response. “What the hell is going on?” he demands in what was once your voice. “I have boobs. And I’m… you.” He looks as though he’s about to cry and for one small second, you take offence to how distraught he is by having your face.

You look incredulously at him. “You think I have any idea about this?” Motioning at your face and then to him in reference. Everything is moving far too fast for you to get a proper grasp at comprehending how to handle with this. In your depleted state, you reluctantly move to sit beside him in the bed.

A blanket of silence falls over the room as the two of you are too immersed in your own silent thoughts of fright and bewilderment. You feel the bed shift slightly as Jungkook properly sits up.

“So… we’ve swapped bodies?” He finally asks.

Taking a gulp, you can only nod as you turn to him. “I-I think that’s what’s happened.” In retrospect, before going to his apartment and letting him insert his penis into your vagina, you should’ve perhaps spent more time figuring this guy out. For all you knew or could care to remember was that he was a young music producer. “Out of curiosity, does this happen to you every time you have sex?”

The question doesn’t bode well, apparently too light hearted for the current dread that was occupying the atmosphere because Jungkook looks like he’s taken offence to it. “No,” he responds tightly. “Does it happen to you?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Never.”

There is yet another pregnant pause in the conversation. It seems there is still some processing being done, as there would for such an atypical position. “Well, what do we do now?”

Moping around Jungkook’s apartment won’t make any much of a difference. Despite this, you still each had lives to go on with. After a deep inhale, you stand up. “I suppose we could on with our schedule as per usual.”

Jungkook blinks at you once, and then again. “You really are going to work after something like this? How the fuck are we going to do this? Can’t you just call in sick?”

Memories of highlighted deadlines pop into your head, causing a gush of worry to fizz through you. Adamantly, you shake your head. “No, you have to go in my place,” you say leaving little room for debate. “I can’t slack or I’ll have Seokjin lighting a fire in my ass,” you add, taking on a more pleading tone. One piece of advice; never date your superviser. “The projects, the deadlines, the filing; I can’t slack on it.”

Even in the midst of bad decisions, it seems as though your choice in men wasn’t too shabby since you saw his stubborn resolve quickly dissipate under your beseeching gaze. He shakes his head, giving in. “Okay, so if I do go in, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“It’s an office job, Jungkook. It doesn’t demand the IQ of a genius, so long as you know how to use Microsoft excel. Hell, I lied about knowing how to use it on the resume. If there are any questions then ask Somin.”

“And what am I going to wear? You want to walk into an office in your clubbing outfit and indirectly tell everyone that you got drunk and lucky last night?”

The vulgarity of his words brings about a heated flush to your face as you falter to reply at the first attempt. “Don’t you have an ex’s clothes lying about somewhere?”

Jungkook can only snort. “Yes, because I certainly have nothing better to do than keep souvenirs of my past endeavours.”

You glare at him for second or so.

“You were so much nicer when you wanted in on my vagina,” you concede and fold your arms, not finding the energy to quarrel in your newly male state. This morning had been the epitome of disasters, one you wouldn’t even have imagined could happen. You couldn’t even have a one night stand without having something severely fuck up.

“Yeah, well I have my own now which is great,” Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat in the repartee, his sharp words dripping with sarcasm as he rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my mood since I don’t have my own penis anymore.”

“It wasn’t even that great anyways. I don’t know what you’re so sad about.” You shrug.

Offence is clear on his features (or should you say your own?). “I’m sorry, what was that? Oh, don’t you need me to go to work and do your boring job? Actually, that’s perfect. I don’t feel too well anymore now that you mention it.”

A sigh of defeat escapes you. Exchanging insults wouldn’t get you anywhere and seeing as this wasn’t an issue that couldn’t be fixed within a few moments, ruining your relationship with Jungkook as quickly as it had started didn’t seem like the best option.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to berate you but this is just as fucked up for me as it is for you, okay? But you could cooperate with me then that’d be greatly appreciated.”

Seeing beyond reason isn’t entirely crossed out in Jungkook’s books it seems because his expression turns to something that looks considerate. “I guess I’m partly at fault too,” he admits.

Glad to get past that hiccup, you nod easily and make towards Jungkook’s closet. Swinging open the doors, you realise there’s only the smallest variation, white t-shirts, black hoodies and grey sweaters filling up the most of Jungkook’s minimalist closet. “There must be something in here you can wear.”

“Wait, I think I have a cashmere sweater that shrank a little bit,” Jungkook trails off.

“You do?” You instantly abandon your digging efforts and look to him, eyebrows raised. “If so then that’ll be perfect. You can just wear the sweater over the dress and it’ll look like a skirt!” You exclaim. Normally, you’d feel filthy for not showering before work but desperate times call for desperate measures so you try not to dwell on it.

“Sure.” Jungkook looks like he doesn’t necessarily understand your notion but continues to drag himself off the bed, only clad in your bra and panties from last night. The sight makes you cringe. “Jesus, why do your nipples get so hard so easily?” He grumbles sleepily and bends over pull over the white dress left sprawled on the floor.

“Because you’re naked and it’s cold,” you reply blandly, watching him bend down to search through a few drawers before fishing out a charcoal-coloured sweater. “Wear that,” you instruct softly, assuming it’s the sweater he had mentioned before.

“You don’t say.” The cynicism you force yourself to let go in effort to avoid any further quarrels and allow Jungkook to dress himself with the timing of a sloth.

It’s not the cleanest look but it’ll have to do since you’re already late. When he looks over to you for confirmation, you give a quick nod of approval. You take a quick look at the time, already ten minutes pass the usual time you leave the house. Considering that you don’t even know the distance from Jungkook’s place to work, you pick up your phone and send Somin a seemingly normal text to inform her of your tardiness. Nothing mentioning the fact that you were on the hovering suspicion that you had just about lost the plot.

Not more than a minute later, Somin only replies with a winking smiley face to which you grimace at. You consider telling her the rest of the details the issue entailed but thought better of it. She’d think you’re mad.

“Could you perhaps… do this with a little more urgency?” You say, tapping your foot impatiently. Still in just a pair of boxers, you probably weren’t in the position to be hurrying Jungkook.

“Unless you want me to walk into the office and offend everyone with morning breath and unbrushed hair, you’re going to have to give me a minute.”

As Jungkook heads to the bathroom to fix on exactly that, you spent the time pulling on a pair of black jeans from the identical array he neatly had stacked. Next, you slipped on a thin white t-shirt which again was one of the masses. Working as a music producer probably didn’t have as a formal dress code, you imagined and therefore put less effort into looking the part.

Once he emerged from the bathroom, having spent the time freshening up, you gave him a satisfied smile at the sight of tamed hair and un-chapped lips.

“We should arrange a meet up during the lunch break at the cafe beside my studio,” he speaks up. “So, we can have a proper conversation on how to fix this thing,” Jungkook gestures between the two of you. “You’re going to the studio, right?”

“I’m not just going to wallow about in your apartment,” you respond.

Jungkook arches a brow at that, angling his head to look at you. “Are you sure you wanna do that? I mean, do you even know how to produce music?”

“Nope,” you say with enough confidence. “But how hard can it be? I just fiddle with some button and sounds and that should be enough for the time being.”

It earns a scoff from Jungkook as he struggles to slip on the simple heels. “If you need some help with it just ask Yoongi or better yet, call me.”

“Yoongi?”

“I work with him in the studio for the most part so he’s always there. We work as duo so he can help you out if you wanna know anything but be discreet, at the very least. I don’t need him thinking I’ve lost the plot.”

“That I can do,” you nod affirmatively, internally still thinking what exactly will be so hard about pressing buttons and making sounds.

Being Jungkook is still awfully new having found out only about two hours ago, not to mention unsettling, for you but you know it’s not like you can go into hiding until the situation was fixed (which still remained a mystery as for now). You were not used to driving an automatic, or used to standing up and aiming to pee, or even wearing skinny jeans to work but alas, this was Jungkook and so for the time being, all you could do was get used to it.

You glance down to the text from Jungkook before returning your eyes back to the sight of the studio you had parked in front of, making sure you weren’t intruding into somewhere. The casual nod the receptionist offers you as she buzzes you in nearly makes you faint.

You’re Jungkook. An attractive, young music producer and you have no idea how to make music. Great. The elevator journey is spent nearly entirely on a quick, panicked search of ‘introdyctipn to creeatingh mukic’ to which you learn nearly nothing due to the bad service except a recap on musical notes you faintly remembering being taught at one point in middle school.

Little before you know it, the ding for floor seven arrives and you rush out in an awkward manner having just realised that’s your studio. For now, anyways. To calm yourself, you inhale deeply as you inspect the layout of the floor. It’s a quality label, you’ve come to realise with the professional, clean set out and laid back atmosphere that faintly smells of coffee. The elevator opens up into hallway, deep purple, velveted walls with a sleek black-tiled floor.

Understanding dawns upon you, realising how he can pay for that penthouse of his.

Studio Fourteen you remind yourself as you begin to search, reading each studio number as they pass. The some of the names indented beneath the signs are even recognisable.

You don’t miss the records and awards hung in between the studios, proud displays of the probably very talented producers behind the doors. It looks so sleek and professional, the hallway nearly completely silent due to soundproof materials within the walls, you assume. In a heartbeat, you can admit this workplace is better than your loud, bustling office you work at, in that cubicle that isn’t even a separate room.

As the memories of your workplace are conjured, feeling so distant and long ago despite it only being yesterday, your thoughts are diverted to Jungkook. You wonder how well he must be faring, dealing with Somin on the right and Alex on the left who’s actions probably breached the harassment rule, considering how many times he had offered you a relationship of the sorts outside of office hours. You find yourself grinning at the thought of Jungkook having to deal with that sort of change.

On the other hand, you could get used to this. A soundproof studio where all you had to do was press some buttons and deal with a guy who had never met before, who was probably a professional by the looks of where he worked. How hard could it be? You learnt the keyboard in ninth grade, although you had forgotten basically everything, you supposed to wouldn’t take long to consolidate your knowledge.

“Uh, Jungkook, why are you staring at Jessi’s studio door?” You hear a male call out, disrupting the silence and your thoughts.

At first, you almost don’t respond, not used to being called by a name that isn’t yours, until it hits you that that’s exactly what your name is for the time being. You startle and turn to the stark blond male, a very delayed reaction but he only raises his eyebrows at you.

You take a quick second to analyse this new face. His ruffled flaxen hair being the most attention-grabbing feature, you take care to look at the rest. Judging by a glance, the man is thinner and shorter than Jungkook. His features are soft, feline almost, are contorted in a bored look as he stares upon you and you decide that he is definitely not unattractive but he’s also Jungkook’s partner so you don’t push the thought further.

“Uh, Yoongi?” You gingerly ask, unsure if this is the partner Jungkook earlier spoke of but seeing the matching description of blond hair, you feel like this isn’t a bad guess.

The blond man scoffs at your hesitation. “Hurry up and get in here, you’re already late, Kook.” He then disappears into the studio, leaving you slightly perturbed by his blunt mannerisms.

If he was the man Jungkook worked day in and day out with, you guessed that were would be some lacking of formalities. For him, for you, this was supposed to be just another day as a hot music producer. You inhale a deep breath for the umpteenth time before following into studio fourteen.

The set out is normal, although you must note have a very narrowed idea of ‘normal’ considering this is the first studio you’ve ever physically set foot in. Normal, for you, meaning it looked like how they did in the movies which by anyone’s standards is then deemed as not too darn shabby. You let your eyes roam the rectangular room, gently shutting the door behind you.

You’re not exactly how to ‘be’ Jungkook, per say. Your whole idea of him is also fairly narrow, showcasing him to be either a very smooth-talking and comforting boy-next-door you barely remember speaking to in a nightclub or a downright asshole.

“So, uh,” you begin in a timid voice as your blonde partner takes a seat in one of the swivelling chairs, not wasting any time in starting up whatever system was laid out in front of him. “What are we doing today?”

God, that sounded like the dumbest fucking thing you could say. Making music, duh.

Yoongi, who’s already slipping on his headphones, pauses to look at you, confirming what you’ve said is probably not best choice of words. “How many drinks did you have yesterday?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like shit and you just asked that... so my guess would then be, a lot.” Yoongi expertly swivels his swivelling chair all the way to you, although you’re not quite sure why he couldn’t just get up and walk to you. In his hand, he holds a thin wad of paper and offers it to you. “I get you’re living your life as an attractive, young man but please remember that we have to produce at least thirty demos for that rapper’s debut album by the start of next month so perhaps don’t get too carried away, okay?”

Gently, you pluck the wad from his grasp and take a look at the contents. Compositions of the sorts and in other words, complete gibberish since you can’t differentiate a B minor from a B major because you don’t really know what B was in the first place. Alas, this is your job for the time being and you’ll soldier through it somehow, so you try to make an expression that looks like you know exactly what it reads and not like you have no fucking idea. Just for show.

“This is…?”

Carding musician-worthy fingers through his hair with a harsh sigh falling from his lips, you get the feeling he’s starting to lose his patience with you. It’s quite unfair. Jungkook gets to hang out with that airhead Somin who probably doesn’t give a flying shit about whether you know what you’re doing and you get this grumpy asshole who looks like he’s about to manifest into something that’s a little more threatening than the thin, pale guy that he is.

“The most recent compositions you’ve produced this month. Did you hit your head and get amnesia, dude? We’re on a tight schedule here so try not to slack.”

The irritance he clearly speaks with makes your lips twitch but you silently nod and take the over swivelling seat. But as you make your way, you can’t help but let out a quiet, “Don’t have to be so rude about it.”

In spite of your effort to keep it to yourself, Yoongi picks up on it but whilst you expect him to half rip your head off and eat it, you instead notice his features soften. Just the slightest bit. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, Kook, you know me when I’m stressed,” he says.

The thing is, you don’t know but again you nod and let yourself dwell on how you’re going to do this. WikiHow it is, then.

Jungkook has had just about fucking enough. These last ten minutes in the building have been quite the rollercoaster from him. Once upon a time, he could dial in and get coffee, his usual Godiva blend, delivered to his room by that hot assistant he just might’ve fucked in the toilets at one specific staff christmas party. Now? Now he had to haul his has all the way to the other end of the floor to get it.

And between him getting up and him getting his coffee, he had several obstacles to overcome. That Somin or whatever her name was had been haggering him ever since he stepped a foot into the building would make the effort to distract him, there was Alex who’s effort in making a conversation made Jungkook feel oddly comfortable in a body that wasn’t even his own, causing him to tug down on his dress on several occasions, and then countless other people who had each shrugged their own bits of paperwork onto Jungkook to deal with. After that trip, he was far too scared to dare make one for the toilet.

He doesn’t have one clue. And the confining walls of this cubicle and the lack of Yoongi’s presence are just about going to be the death of him. The only good part of this entire day was that he could touch your, slash temporarily his, boobs whenever he felt like it. Sitting in his chair, staring aimlessly at the desktop in front of him, Jungkook again indulges in the pleasure of groping his chest before releasing a dramatised sigh and dropping his head to the desk in despair.

On top of all of this bullshit, Jungkook has an album to co-produce that’s due next month and he has that girl stuck in his body, setting him back with probably not one given fuck on what to do. He can’t exactly blame her though, looking at his current position. Was it bad that he had partly forgotten her name? Y/N.. or something like that?

Well, he certainly had learnt a lot more about her job. The proprietorship company was some pet-food related stuff and she worked within the treasury. Tillating. He had done enough google searches to complete his idea of what exactly being part of the treasury management meant. Some of the tasks burdened on his shoulders proved to be somewhat simple, so he focused on them first in an aim to distract the ever-building distress that had arisen when he first realised he has a two holes instead of one. The better half of the uber here was spent on figuring out what sort of bad deeds he had committed that would create such a comeuppance to his being.

However, a distraction is not necessarily possible with Somin to his right. Her head pears over the small barrier and Jungkook feels the need to groan at the sense of her presence.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” she says above, her acrylic nails tapping along the thin barrier that separated them. “You don’t respond to my texts from last night, end up wearing the same dress as yesterday night and have the audacity to not speak a word about it.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook pushes himself away from his desk to slowly look up to the women he had already grown to despise. “Continue.” He muffles a yawn.

“Do I need to elaborate? Spill.”

A wrinkle appears on his forehead as Jungkook tries to figure out what exactly this girl wants to know before it suddenly dawns on him that this was the girl who sat with you before he came over and fucked both of your lives up. “Ohhh, you wanna know what happened?”

Somin looks at him as though he’s a complete idiot. “Duh, dumbass.”

“Well.” He clears his throat and strokes his chin, attempting to recall back on the blurred account he had from last night. “Well, um, we spoke for a while and ordered shots then we made it back to my- I mean his place.”

“And?” She pushes him to continue.

“And we had sex. Wait, wasn’t that a bit obvious?”

Rolling her eyes, she then leans forward an inch to manage to flick Jungkook on the head. Emitting a yelp of surprise mixed with the unexpected pain that caused, he regards her bitterly. “Give me the fucking details!”

“No! Why are you such a perv?” Sure, Jungkook might spill a few pieces explicit content to Yoongi and the guys in the studio but retelling it to a girl whom he, till now, had never met before? He internally cringes.

“Did you take an aspirin yet? Y/N, this is how we communicate. We tell eachother every detail of our sexual rendezvous’ so - was he a good fuck or not? I did not waste my time last night to have you go home with a guy that can’t beat cheeks up properly.”

Jungkook lets himself dwell on this information, a Cheshire Cat grin beginning to develop on his face. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Now that you mention, Jungkook was probably the best fuck I’ve ever had in my entire life,” he begins to dramatically retell as Somin grows more and more satisfied with his showy recounts. It feels odd to speak of himself in something that isn’t a first person recount of him but the expression Somin wears is more than enough to keep him going.

It isn’t a total load of bullshit that he’s spewing. Sure, it was no porno with purely vaginal orgasms and crazy, gymnastic-worthy positions but Jungkook thought it was a relatively good fuck despite not remembering most of it due to the amount of alcohol he had taken in beforehand. Doggy Style and Girl On Top were the few remaining memories he still possessed and yeah, an eight out of ten by his standards which was pretty rare.

By the time he’s finished is embellished story, Somin is practically foaming at the mouth and Jungkook begins to wonder if she is some weird perv. “This is so great for you! It’s your first step in getting over Seokjin.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jungkook’s features stay blank. “Seokjin?”

Somin frowns at his lack of response. “You know, Seokjin…?” She pauses, nodding at him.

Feigning some sort of recognition, Jungkook nods along. “Ohh, him. Sure, sure. He’s my, uh…”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Somin finishes off the sentence for him with her brows knitted, slightly confused by his weird actions.

Jungkook clicks his fingers, “Of course. Ugh, last night was just so good that I forgot about him entirely,” he quickly saves the discourse.

She snorts at that but buys it at least. “Anywho, I was thinking of getting a Subway for lunch, you wanna come?”

God, no. Jungkook certainly does not. He’s still trying to figure out if his pee and shit come out from the same hole. But this girl is who he’s stuck next to for a good eight slash nine hours every day till he figures out how to break the laws of science once more, so he figures it’s rather inappropriate to flip her off and tell her to leave him alone. Plus, she’s Y/N’s friend, he adds on as an afterthought.

“Uh, now that you mention it, I planned to spend lunch with someone I need to speak to so maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

Somin tilts her head to an angle with a bemused expression, apparently not used to being rejected for lunch outings from Y/N. “Who’s taken my place?”

Fuck, Y/N had it easy. Min Yoongi was a man of not many words when consumed with his work so she was probably having a breeze learning the differences between a minim and a semibreve. Unlike himself, feeling more so like an malefactor than an office worker, with these imprisoning cubicle walls and the interrogator herself situated just beside him.

“Uh, that guy from last night. I left something at his house and he said we could meet up at a cafe for lunch,” Jungkook weakly explains as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck, a habit that often showed up during his nervous situations.

At that, Somin’s face lightens up visibly. Knowing her, the reason behind her elation is probably something to do with it being her work that set you up with a guy that finally broke your dry spell. A heartwarming intention, and you obviously love her and would quite possibly die for Somin but the only thing that Jungkook can currently appreciate is her naivety.

She giggles, leaning into the thin barrier with such reliance that it threatens to fall over before she catches herself from letting it happen just before Jungkook’s panic begins to truly arise. “You’re such a minx,” Somin sighs. Jungkook doesn’t really know or care for what that means but he goes along with it, something he’s been doing pretty much since he woke up, and smiles in return. “I love it. You gotta tell me afterwards, though. I mean, you guys might even become something more.”

And with that suppressed parting squeal, Somin returns back to her own quarters. A breath Jungkook didn’t know he was holding escapes him. Moments of silence pass as he aimlessly watches out of the window behind his desktop before he leans forward to bury his face in his hands in pure disparity, resigning himself to this fate

Four hours. Four full hours you had to spend in the room with not a single clue of how to conduct yourself and by the time you’d reached the cafe, you were half convinced you've developed claustrophobia within that time.

The wafting aroma of coffee and the sight of worn-out, empty cushions are like a breath of fresh air to you and whilst there is obviously much to be desired, you feel oddly at home in this low-maintenance cafe in comparison to the sumptuosity the record label’s building oozed.

Jungkook had beaten you to it, sitting comfortably in a place nicely tucked into the corner, his head tilted downwards to look at his phone. It catches you off guard because, of course, it’s technically your head and so you’ll need a little bit of getting used to see your face in anywhere but your reflection. Without trying to draw attention, you take a beeline towards the corner and sit down, finally earning the attention of the man trapped inside a woman’s body.

“You’re five minutes late.”

“Oh, hi Jungkook. I’m doing okay, thanks. It was really lovely for you to ask since I’m in your work place and could’ve been up to just about anything,” you say in an avidly enthusiastic voice, causing the man to raise both eyebrows at you.

“I take that you’re faring well then, at least,” he says in your voice, lacking energy and sounding partially dead. Apparently, he hadn’t recovered from his mood this morning.

You give him a look of disapproval. “Have you been like this all morning?”

He spares you a brief glance. “Like what?”

“A lifeless asshole?”

“How can I not be?!” Jungkook retorts with a sudden show of emotion in his voice. It’s sharp and sardonic but you appreciate it more than the miserable and unresponsive tone he first spoke with. “God, you really weren’t kidding when you said that your job was shit. Why does that girl talk so much?”

You try to find a scintilla of offense taken but there is none since he’s not too far off from the truth you can’t even deny yourself. “Who, Somin?”

Jungkook’s expression darkens at the name, almost as though it pains him. “I’m going to request a cubicle change if I have to put up with her any longer than a day.”

Stiffening at his proclamation, you widen your eyes. “No, wait, don’t!” The sudden increase of volume earns a few head turns from the two young ladies behind the counter, who are probably thinking this is some sort of oddly-timed break up. “Try to be amiable with her, please? She can sometimes,” Jungkook snorts at the choice of word, “be a little overbearing but she’s really, really lovely. And not to mention sensitive, so don’t be mean to her, okay?”

Even though you yourself sometimes have a difficult time sitting beside the girl, you wouldn’t do anything in the world to really hurt her, like request a seat change. Oh, God, no, her heart would positively just about break at that. You reach for Jungkook’s hands, the man finding it odd how stuck you are on it, and encase them in your new, very large ones.

“Promise me you won’t do that.”

“Are you guys… more than friends or something?”

Your face turns into one of perplexion before you understand what he implies. “Oh, no, I just… really care for her, platonically.” When Jungkook’s expression remains unconvinced, you sigh. “She’s my best friend and I don’t have many friends, let alone best friends, so I’d really appreciate you don’t ruin that relationship. Deal with her for me… please?”

“I barely know you.”

“You knew me enough to stick your penis in me.”

“I stick my penis in a lot of people, don’t think you’re special,” he stubbornly responds, indifferent. You feel a small prick of hurt at his words, once again reminded you’re just a one night stand gone wrong. And to think, you thought you could’ve been his friend.

Pinching his hand with your newfound strength, Jungkook yelps and pulls his hands away in surprise. “Well, you won’t be sticking anything in anyone anytime soon so I suggest you keep me happy if you want this disgustingly attractive body back. God, you’re such an asshole.”

Jungkook’s stoic resolve breaks at your genuinity and he rolls his eyes but nevertheless, you sense the acceptance he’s conceded himself to. “Fine but I need you to remember I’m only human.”

You beam now that’s been dealt with as one of the ladies behind the counter arrives with two seeing hot cups of tea, nodding as you offer her a quick thanks. When she’s a good distance away from your table, you continue the conversation. “Did you manage to find out what our… condition is exactly?”

Across the table, Jungkook shakes his head with an aura of despondency. “I tried googling it but all that came up were some weird Quora answers. I’m afraid we’re a bit stuck.”

The tea is scalding on your tastebuds but you take a sip of it anyways, ignoring the lingering sting as you nod. “But there has to be some explanation, even if it isn’t scientific. These things don’t just happen out of nowhere.” Silence falls over the two of you like a blanket as you both let yourselves dwell further on the issue before you click your fingers. ��Do you have any friends that are… like, mystics or old-school alchemists or whatever? The weird spiritual type.”

“Hm, let me think,” Jungkook goes along with the suggestion since he has none of his own and has partially accepted this is some type of punishment for being a bad person, if he even is one. The plus side to being an avid socialiser and partially well-known music producer is that he has plenty of contacts. “Oh, shit, I think I do. There’s this guy that lives somewhere on the eastside and he’s all into that.”

Eyes bulging out of their sockets, you for once thank your poor luck. “You think he’ll have something we can work with?”

“Not sure but anything helps, right?” He shrugs, appearing not as excited by the prospect as you do.

You nod avidly as a flower of hope blooms within you. “So when do you want to visit this guy?”

“Tonight, I guess. We’re better off having this over and done with as soon as possible so I’ll call him up and see if he’s down for it. Kim Taehyung is a pretty busy guy.”

“Really?” You ask with a doubtful look.

“Yeah. White people really dig that tantric stuff so he gets business,” Jungkook admits with a flippant wave as he takes his first gulp of the now-cooler drink. “But I’m sure he can fit us in.” He stays quiet for a bit before glancing back up to you, aimlessly watching outside the window. “Are you finding the studio okay?”

A grim expression surfaces as you recall the experience. “I’m learning stuff and trying to figure out what all those buttons mean but your friend is a pain in the ass. I’m three naggings away from beating his ass all the way to hell and back.”

“Ah, Yoongi,” Jungkook recognises with a pleasant snort. “He can be a bit much but you’ll learn to deal with him.”

“Yeah, I doubt it.” Throwing your head back for added effect, you pinch your nose. “He got angry at me because I asked him who Rap Monster was. Like it’s my fucking fault! Why would I ever know someone with a stage name like that in the first place? So I had to run a little wikipedia background check on him.”

“Rap Monster?” Repeating your words, Jungkook widens his eyes when hit with realisation and buries his head in his hands. “Fuck, I completely forgot we have him booking for a recording session tomorrow!”

“Oh, great,” you say with feigned enthusiasm. “I’m definitely looking forward to that. No, really, his songs sound… creative.”

Your attempt at dry humour doesn’t help his sullen mood when he looks up but instead earns an intense glare. “Are you even fucking bothered by this? We’re experiencing something that doesn’t even fucking exist and by the looks of it, I’m the only one that’s worried by this. Quit acting like a child. We could be stuck in each others bodies forever and you’re joking around?” He adds a scoff whilst running a hand through his hair, his frustration becoming even more visible.

Irritation flares within you. This entire day he’s had a huge chip on his shoulder, and whilst you resonate with that and can understand, there’s no reason to aim it so viciously at you. “Of course, I’m fucking bothered! But guess what, Jungkook? I’m not going to start being a little bitch to everyone because I’m acting like an adult and can deal with tough situations without acting like I have a stick shoved all the way up my ass.” You don’t think before you respond just as accusingly, your voice growing louder than you intended to and clear hurt written all over your face. “It’s not my fault we’re like this so you should stop hating me like it is! At least I’m trying to be your friend. After this is over, you can act like I don’t exist for for now you have to learn to work with me.”

The change in atmosphere is more than evident and you feel embarrassment begin to kick in as you notice the few customers and workers once again discreetly looking your way, mumbling things. Jungkook bites his lip like he’s caught in some soliloquy of his own before he deflates with defeat. He’s about to say something when you interject, “And I’m sorry that I might come across insincere but you need to know that I’m really bummed out by this turn of events. I want one crummy orgasm and I end up in a dude’s body; I don’t need this either. I’ll try to stop being so damn funny but you need to agree to stop being such a Debbie Downer!” Tears begin to spring in your eyes, glossy as your bottom lip begins to wobble.

“Hey, hey, stop it, people are looking,” Jungkook whispers when he’s caught onto the attention and inhales deeply. “Look, I get it, I’m being an ass and I need to stop. It’s just- you’re really freaking me out. You don’t know anything about my job and you’re joking about it where, in reality, I could end up getting fired for the incompetency. I really need you to take this seriously and it’s freaking me out. Plus you’re making me looking weird,” he says and gestures to the rest of the people who still glance at the two of you every so often.

You sniff and intensely rub at your eyes to fix your state. Jungkook genuinely looks scared when you return his gaze and you start to feel sorry for him. God, it must be annoying to be so young and fresh with such a promising career and having it suddenly ruined with a body swap with a completely dumbass like you of all people. “Okay,” you breathe out and wet your lips. “I’ll try to take your job more seriously.”

“Thank you.” He visibly relaxes at your promise and leans back into his chair. “I’ll try not be a… Debbie Downer, did you say?” There’s the slightest hint of amusement on Jungkook’s face as he tilts his head in question.

“Look, I was sad and didn’t want to cuss in front of the old ladies,” you argue with a side look to the grey haired two behind the counter who kept sending concerned glances towards your table. “And, thanks. Took you long enough.”

And for once, there’s some sense of amiability in the air between the two of you, something there hasn’t been an awful lot of, so you appreciate the shared grin. However, the comforting post-argument moment is quickly dispelled when Jungkook looks at his watch and gasps. “You should be back at work by now!” He exclaims and gets up in a blur of hurry, grabbing his coat and the untouched sandwich to keep for later. Stumbling behind him, you get your things.

“Be back at mine straight after work so we can head to Tae’s,” he reminds you, opening the door.

“I didn’t even get to eat anything!” You call out behind him in a whine as Jungkook fumbles with his phone to order an Uber. Thankfully, you only have a five minutes walk ahead of you with these new long and muscular legs.

He humphs, watching you speed walk away, “That’s because you talk too much,” he finally responds but you’re already well out of sight by then. You manage to hear his response, although, you don’t think he heard you laugh.

You arrive back at Jungkook’s place in a hurry. The rest of the time spent in the studio with Yoongi was not as draining as the first half after you began to understand the odd few musical terminologies and got used to your temporary partner’s mood and dry humour. Although you’ve convinced yourself another week or so in this situation won’t do much damage, you can’t deny the excitement that’s been simmering in you at the thought of fixing this tonight with the help of Jungkook’s friend - Tayoung or something like that?

It’s a huge weight off your shoulders the moment Jungkook opens the door, finally granted some privacy without day-to-day life interfering. A lazy greeting is all you can mumble before collapsing onto a sofa.

“Long day, huh? How was it?” Jungkook asks after hearing your theatrical sigh as he leans against the kitchen countertop with his arms crossed. You had almost forgotten that the kitchen and living room interconnect like those chic upstate apartment blocks.

You only nod, appreciating the comforting silence that hangs in the air after hours of listening to the hundreds of stupid sound effects Yoongi had bombarded you before insisting you insert some into the tracks. If you ever heard one more ‘skrr’ again, you might just drop dead. “I’m still getting used to aiming.” The image of your mess pops up into your head and you cringe. Jungkook grimaces ocne he catches onto what sort of aiming you’re talking about. “But I’ve been getting better so don’t worry. I also learned what some of those buttons do so Yoongi isn’t being as much of an ass as he was in the morning. You?”

Your vague recount satisfies Jungkook, judging by how his brooding expression is not as intense as it once was earlier in the day.

“The things I have to do are pretty simple so it’s not too bad, actually. Whenever I get a bit confused, Somin helps me out so it’s safe to say I don’t completely hate your friend anymore.” His change of heart is enough to bring a smile to your face, you knew you could count on her. Even though this whole ordeal was technically her fault but who would guess this could happen? “Yeah, there’s not much you can say about sitting in front of a spreadsheet all day but you don’t need to worry about losing your job because of me. Anyways, I texted Tae and he said he’s free at seven. It’s six thirty now and it takes half an hour to drive to the other side of town so, get up.” He gracefully chucks you your coat you discarded only moments ago.

A drawn out groan is your first response as you throw your head back in irritation. “I just wanna sleep,” you whine as Jungkook tugs you up with visible struggle. “I barely had enough sleep last night.”

His useless tugging at your arm halts for a second when he gives you a bored look. “You were the one that insisted for a round two and kept us up.”

“That was my first time have sex in months, do you blame me?” You hurl back. Nonetheless, you painfully heave yourself up, no thanks to Jungkook’s help, and slip on your still-warm coat. “Anyways, do you really think he can figure this out?”

“He told me he knows a ton of shit about weird stuff like this so I’ll take his word for it,” Jungkook reluctantly admits with a yawn, scratching the back of his neck. He doesn’t seem nearly as convinced as you hoped he’d be but the idea was a long shot. This guy, despite as much as a spiritual passion he might claim he had, could be an old ugly con man. But then again, thinking about the guy Jungkook was, you doubted he’d be in company of someone like that.

Even as physically and mentally drained as you currently are, you spend a good few moments considering how many theoretical lotteries of life Jungkook has won; he’s incredibly attractive, has a pretty dick, young as well but owns a nice place and has a well-paying job. Sleeping with you was probably just a normal night for no-strings-attached sex and here you were, messing up things you didn’t even know you could mess up. Now he was stuck in your body and had to live your life, which, to the average person, wasn’t necessarily terrible but you know he must hate it. You can’t help but feel more sorry for him than you do for yourself.

Shrugging his hand away, you make your way towards the door. “Ladies first,” you say lightly, which is enough to earn a glare from Jungkook but he takes lead anyways.

You had high hopes for a silent car ride, giving you the chance to catch up on thirty minutes of lost sleep but apparently Jungkook’s mood had done something like a one eighty spin and he suddenly felt the need to talk without end. “This is one of the songs we produced that stayed on the charts for seven weeks,” he continues with blatant pride and reaches to turn the sound up.

You’ve barely taken in more than a sentence of his blabbering but the consistent rise in volume from the audio player was a minute away from causing you to defenestrate yourself. Although, this is the first time he’s been so vocally enthusiastic since the incident and you wouldn’t dare to jeopardize something so rare. “Yoongi didn’t think the backing vocals-”

“Jungkook, I have a small migraine so if we could just-” you slowly move to turn the sound down, carefully figuring out what topic you’re going to jump to. “Whilst we’re stuck in this traffic, we should lay out some ground rules.”

Not affected by your tactical switch of topic, you internally celebrate when he nods without further argument. “Okay,” he says with slow enunciation, “I’ll go first. Move in with me.”

Your posture stiffens. “What?” He couldn’t be serious.

“It makes sense. We need to be around each other more to be able to deal with this… thing a little more aptly if this takes more than a while to fix. We can’t really coordinate our lives if you’re all the way somewhere else. So, for the time being, you should move to my place and settle in the spare bedroom,” Jungkook explains like it’s not a major step and the two of you haven’t spent the better half of the day bickering relentlessly.

But when you dither on the proposal, it doesn’t seem entirely inappropriate. You and Jungkook will have to work accordingly to keep each other’s daily routine intact and living a lengthy twenty minutes away from him didn’t scream convenience. Yet such commitment and involvement inevitably did cause your stomach to stirr. You bite down on your lip and the metaphorical bullet and nod. “Okay, done.”

“Cool. On the way back we’ll stop at your’s to pick up whatever you need and bring it over.”

“Shit, Somin,” you begin and wince. “She comes over to mine after work on most days. What do I tell her?”

Jungkook hums in contemplation, eyes still trained on the road ahead of him as his taps his fingers along the steering wheel. “Make something up. Say a pipe or something burst on your floor or they’re doing renovations and you have to stay at your parents’ place whilst they get it done.”

Whilst he thinks his plan is foolproof, you, on the other hand, are far less convinced as you turn to give him a helpless look. “She’s, like, bestfriends with my mom and dad. She’ll come back to theirs after work either way,” you sigh and stare out the window. A week of sunshines and the odd few clouds, the sudden show of rain seems like just another effort the universe makes to mock you and your horrible fate.

“She sounds like a stalker more than a best friend,” Jungkook comments in a dry tone.

You poke him in the side, half for Somin and the other half to bring his attention back to the now-moving traffic. You ignore his yelp and continue, “Shush, she’s nice. She’s better than any man could ever be.”

“So why don’t you go date her then?” He doesn’t skip a beat, looking at you incredulously. “She might as well be attached to your fucking hip.”

That earns another jab to the ribs and this time Jungkook only wordlessly sends you one of his trademark glares. “Because I do this thing called loving and cherishing my best friends! I don’t need romance to keep me happy. Unlike some people, who actively seek out women in clubs and trick them with a facade of an easy going personality until you wake up and find out they’re an absolute jerk. But I won’t name drop,” you finish with a light, bordering mocking tone as you fold your arms.

“I’m part of that is due the fact that he never intended to trade bodies in the process,” Forever hung up on that little detail, he rolls his eyes. “Anyways, that’s not seeking romance, that’s seeking sex, Y/N. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’d have a ton of knowledge in that department. Seeing as any girl or boy would love to date a whole grown ass baby like yourself,” you bite back, your fatigue and hunger sourering your mood even more by the minute. “And is being in my body really that bad?! God, you act like it’s the end of the world or something.”

You’d thought you’d be more offended by how bluntly he expressed he only looked for a quick fuck in the club but weighing things out, that’s all you wanted as well. At the current moment, you were more offended by how irritated he looked every time he was reminded he wasn't in his. But your body. Not that you could really blame him.

Jungkook catches onto your change in mood quickly enough and shifts as much as he can in his seat to look at you properly, wearing an expression of something that you think is as close to apologetic Jungkook is able to express. “It’s not like that, ____. I’m just really missing my male anatomy and being able to walk in a street without being cat called every five minutes. Speaking of which, do you really have to go through that stuff every day?”

At least he’s reminded you what you miss least of being a female. “Yeah. That’s not the worst that’s happened. A guy started following me once so I went round in circles in busy streets but he still didn’t stop so I had to go into a shop and hide there for an extra thirty minutes but he was waiting outside so I ended up having to pay for an Uber after I reported him to the owner. Fun stuff.”

“Damn,” he says with a whistle before pulling a face. “I couldn’t ever do that.” You raise your eyebrow before he quickly clarifies, “Catcalling, I mean.”

“Oh, that explains. I didn’t think not being a stalker was a characteristic that needed pointing out.” You both laugh at that until the car behind you honks, reminding Jungkook that the light had turned green. “But I’m missing my body a lot too,” you add on as an afterthought, longingly taking in the sight of you. “Especially my boobs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of them,” Jungkook assures you, putting emphasis on his words by using his free hand to cup a breast. “I think I’ve groped myself like ten times in the past three hours.”

This time, you pull a face, “That’s a little weird. But speaking of bodies, let's put up some boundaries since we’re technically a guest in each other’s body. First of all, you can’t masturbate.”

Although he’s far too busy focusing on turning him, you notice the way his eyes bulge as he splutters for a response. “H-how can you just decide that?” Jungkook glances at you momentarily, his face turning harsh. “Fine, you can’t get off in my body either.”

“Uh, I don’t think so. There’s a difference. When I get turned on, people will be able to see it, Jungkook. And keeping in mind those tight, tight jeans you own, I’m sure that’s committing public indecency to some extent. So, therefore, I should be able to jack off. Stop looking at me like that! It’s not like I want to jack off but there’s a possibility I’ll have to.”

When you don’t hear any protests, you look to him and study his face. It’s weird but you feel some sense of pity as you take in the way he’s deflated in his seat before you let out a conceding huff. “Fine, you can masturbate in my body as well. Just… be careful.”

The joviality is instantly visible as you grit out the permission. “Holy shit, that might be the only good thing about this.”

“Shut up,” you groan as Jungkook turns into a street full of lavish highrises, filled with apartments you could only guess where inhabited by the elite. Whoever this guy was, his business must’ve been successful if this was where he lived. “But no sex.”

“That, I can agree on,” Jungkook says as he parks up.

“Stop gawking like that, you’re making me look goofy,” Jungkook chastises you as the both of you wait for his friend to answer the door. It’s not like you can help it; you feel worth less than a dollar by simply standing in the hallway of the penthouses for millionaires. The whole place oozed of money, from the marble floors to the mini chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. Not that you had ever been there, but you felt like this was as close a glimpse of inside the Four Seasons hotel you could ever get.

Snapped out of your daze, you huff and Jungkook’s constant pessimism which has quickly reappeared after a five minute break. “You always look goofy,” you say with an unaffected, cool voice which Jungkook still somehow is able to mimic.

“So then, you must be into the goofy type, I gather, considering how-,”

It is a silent blessing that Jungkook is stopped from beginning a new fuss, you thank the divine for that one subtle mercy, by the opening of the large door, emitting a creaking sound throughout the whole hallway. Whatever image of you had envisioned Jungkook’s friend to be, this man was certainly not anything like it. At this point, after meeting Yoongi and now this guy, you’re considering asking Jungkook to host an orgy and invite you, after this whole thing is over, if all his friends are this good looking.

The man is the same height are you (read: Jungkook’s body) but has a thinner build and slightly deeper complexion, you quickly observe from a first glance. His face is angular and his eyes, decorated with gold, circle-lense glasses, are heavy-lidded as though he’s just awoken from a nap. Wearing only silk pajama pants and a robe that’s slipping off one of his shoulders, it leaves a generous amount of tanned skin revealed that you would very much like to take time to properly appreciate but would rather not pop a random, unexplained boner.

“Jungkook!” He exclaims with such a low, velvety voice when his eyes land on you. All you do is give him an acknowledging nod and pained smile. Right, he doesn’t know yet, you assess by the way he acts as though you genuinely are Jungkook. Moving out the way to let you into his home, he slaps your butt as you walk past which took you off guard. His brown eyes slide to the female figure as Jungkook follows you. “And this is?”

“Y/N,” you answer first, your name feeling odd on your tongue in such a situation. You don’t miss the way the guy takes his time to have a proper look at you and you almost lose your act entirely when you consider how uncomfortable Jungkook must feel being checked out by his friend.

“A pleasure,” he says with a small grin as the door shuts behind him, “I’m Taehyung.” You’re biting down on your lip so hard, you’re near drawing blood when you see how awkward Jungkook is in smiling back but you’d rather not break down into yelps of laughter so early on. “Let’s go the living room so you can tell me about whatever it is you needed me for.”

There is a spa-like aroma that follows throughout the whole place, with a scent of what you think might be jasmine, and many creative, slightly weird, accessories decorating the walls. The whole spiritual and tantric thing this guy apparently had going on is beginning to become a bit more believable as you continue to follow him till you reach the living room the looks over the rest of the city. “Geez,” you mumble absent-mindedly as you take in the sight, sitting down on the sofa.

“So, what’s up?” Taehyung speaks and you’re ripped away from your daze.

To explain this is probably the hardest challenge you’ve ever been tasked with. A sudden silence takes over as the two of you both struggle to find the right words to explain.

Taehyung’s eyes dart between you, and before you’re able to come up with something, he cocks his head to an angle and looks at you disapprovingly, taking a guess. “Jungkook, you did not get her pregnant did you?!”

“What?! No!” You hear Jungkook immediately respond, straightening up in the seat he’s taken beside you. You grimace at the very thought of something so unpleasant - even more so that the actual truth. “It’s nothing like that,” he quickly corrects, “It’s something a lot… weirder so you need to be a little prepared to hear us out.”

“I’ve had people asking me if I’m interested in partaking in toe fetish tantric sex. Go ahead, honey,” Taehyung urges like he’s not going to be surprised at all, as if he’s seen it all before this.

You bite the bullet. “We’ve swapped bodies.”

Taehyung blinks once and then twice, still wearing that permanent small smile. “Come again?”

“Swapped bodies. As in I’m Jungkook and that,” Jungkook makes a show of pointing to you, “Is Y/N. We don’t know how, and before you ask, no, I haven’t taken acid for months. We just woke up and it was like this and we have no fucking idea how it happened and you’re the only person I know who might have some modicum of experience with this shit.”

The grey haired man looks serious, which puts you at some level of relief instantly. You had prepared yourself for him to roll his eyes and kick you out like drunk teenagers, but instead he sits with a contemplative look about him whilst Jungkook continues to ramble on. “So… you’re not actually Jungkook,” he slowly starts, eyes boring into you before moving onto Jungkook, “... she is.”

Both of you nodding avidly at this basic understanding, Taehyung leans further into his seat and hums in thought, revealing both nipples in the process to which you try your utmost not to stare at.

“A bodyswap? Hm. I don’t know, man, I’ve never really encountered this. But I might be able to find something to help you out a bit, at the very least,” he says and glances over to the bookshelf that takes up an entire wall before back to you. “So don’t get your hopes up. But whilst I get out some useful material, explain what lead up to this.”

You look at Jungkook expectantly, waiting for him to go on, but the bastard shakes his head and nods to you. With a final glare, you inhale and explain as Taehyung begins to sort through his row of books. “We didn’t really even know each other till the night before it happened. We met at this new club and shared a few drinks before taking it back to Jungkook’s place to, well, take it up a notch,” you gingerly explain.

Taehyung hums along as he listens, pulling out a heavyweight book and then another, before returning to the sofa. “Safe sex, I hope?” He asks as he gives you a waggish grin.

“You know I don’t go in raw on the first time, Tae,” Jungkook easily responds, looking hurt by the very question itself.

He shrugs. “Just checking.” The first book lands on the table with a resounding thud, it’s sheer width larger than probably your own face. Taehyung wets finger before flicking through, diagrams and words you find are completely foreign to you but Taehyung seems to know exactly what he’s looking for so you patiently wait, unable to ignore the rise of anxious thoughts. What if he can’t help?

“Ah!” Catches your attention when Taehyung finally settles on a page with a satisfactory smile. “It reads here that magic that’s intended to modify or completely change a human’s physical state can only be achieved through intake of a liquid or solid substance,” he reads off the page before adjusting his glasses, the handwriting far too small and cursive for you to follow so you listen closely instead. “So, through a food or drink with the magic ingredient, no pun intended, hidden within.”

The other male squints in doubt at the information. “Are you sure this stuff is reliable? Magic, Taehyung?” He scoffs and folds his arm, as if logging off entirely. His nearly instant rejection earns a dirty look from you.

“How on earth do you think something like this happens, Kook? I know you’re not a fan of this stuff but you have to admit, there’s no other explanation and this is possibly the only thing that can help you so I suggest you heed what I say,” Taehyung lightly chides, only momentarily glancing up from his studies to give the other a levelled look. You internally rejoice at the mature admonishing of Taehyung.

“Of course and then we can both sign up for you Dark Arts classes, Professor Snape.”

“Anyways.” He punctuates his words with an eye roll before reaching for the other book and flipping through like he did the first, “That’s as far as the first book divulges about cases similar to your own but if you were questioning how it came about, that should answer it. As for curing it... “ There’s a weighted quietude as you anxiously wait for further information. It goes on for a minute or so before Taehyung continues, not before deflating with a sigh. “I can’t find anything that might fix this. There’s no reverse, and I certainly am no connoisseur of potions so I could barely attempt it if there was one either.”

Jungkook humphs, almost triumphantly despite the bad news. “I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.” This time, you are unable to withhold yourself and give him a gentle whack on the arm.

“Shit. What are we going to do?” You mumble, hopeless, after a few moments, hunching your back as your forehead presses onto your legs as the news properly marinates in your mind.

Your midway figuring out how you’re going to spend the rest of you life living in this body when Taehyung finally speaks. “Not necessarily,” he has a calm voice, far from distress unlike yourself. “I’ve heard of these cases before, despite not actually being involved with one till now.” Curiously, you peek up from your depressive state and Jungkook, thankfully, keeps quiet in the small pause.

“I can tell you that this isn’t something that’s never happened before and I’m confident that this will certainly not be permanent.”

A scintilla of hope slowly retreats to you and you straighten in your seat. Glancing to the boy beside you, you even notice, although he tries hard to hide his interest, he has one eyebrow raised in question. “A-are you sure?” You hesitate.

Taehyung offers you a reassuring smile, and when you search, you detect no mendacity. “Positive, sweetheart. There’s no amount of magic that can carry on for so long, unless you meet Gandalf or something, you’ll live to see yourself back in your body again. Potions always wear off, there’s never one that’s permanent so that’s a positive. For now, I suggest you think back to the moments when you two shared any type of food or drink.”

“The bar. That’s the only time we drank together before this,” you immediately answer, leaning forward.

“So, either one of the bartenders or a random person intercepted your drinks and boom, there’s your culprit. Not that you can prosecute them or anything,” Taehyung says with a light-hearted snort in spite of the atmosphere, tugging his robe up again for it to only slip down once more, as if the laws of science want to see him naked as much as you do.

Jungkook clears his throat, both heads turning to him. “You said this was temporary.”

“Pretty sure, I did,” Taehyung happily agrees.

“How long is temporary, do you think, in this situation? Like, a few days. Maybe a week at max?”

“Ha! A week? That’s funny.” Scratching at the back of his neck, Taehyung’s features contort into a sheepish grin when the two of you stare at him. “Hm. For this to wear off, my rough estimate would be, maybe... six months or so?”

Although you’ve found it hard to agree on nearly anything with Jungkook up till now, you’re certain that you hear the sound of both of your hearts sinking into complete pits despair.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook #i loved writing this maaan idk tho it might suck balls though lol!#bratty jungkook is like what i think abt when i close my eyes #not in the kinky way most of the time but u feel me like jsut pure annoying jungkook #anyways LMAO tell me if u liked this or u didn't please!!! <33 #have a nice day if you read this far omg #writing

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