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amelia-friend · 8 months

Text

one and one (and one and one)

Jack/Davey, and Katherine/Sarah (they just have a couple of things to figure out first.) You can also read it on AO3: here.

5,300 words, very fluffy.

Summary:

Jack is dating Katherine, her family only just finally okay with him. Barely.

Unfortunately, Jack has just realised he doesn’t love Katherine (like that. anymore.). Jack loves Davey. However, this is okay because Katherine has just realised she doesn’t love Jack (like that. anymore). Katherine loves Sarah. All four of them are fully aware of these facts. Eventually.

Double unfortunately – those loves are illegal. Jack’s convinced there’s an easy solution here. He and Katherine will get married and live in one apartment. Sarah and Davey get married and live in the apartment next door and then just *hidden door* between them so they can all live happily ever after (or as close to it as they can get) with the person they actually want to and no one will be any the wiser.

Triple unfortunately, Davey and Sarah are siblings and that’s even more illegal when it comes to getting married. They’re all idiots but they’ll figure something out. Eventually.

There was an easy grin settling on Jack’s face as he hoisted his papers onto his shoulder. Not that there wasn’t an easy grin on his face most days, but today was Sunday.

Sundays are one edition days. One edition days means long lazy afternoons with the whole world to explore.

And one edition days mean Katherine.

The months since the strike had been difficult for them – Jack hadn’t been kidding when he said girls like her don’t fall for guys like him – and everybody she knew was doing their best to remind her (remind both of them) of that fact. Jack knew how they looked at him – as a threat to their reputation, an obstacle in need of elimination.

Katherine didn’t care though, and if Katherine didn’t care, neither did Jack. They had faced prejudice and scorn, they had faced judgement from almost every corner and still they held strong.

If that wasn’t love, Jack didn’t know what love was.

There was however, just one crack in the façade of his perfect dream.

(Jack’s a liar)

(There are lots of cracks)

(Jack just ignores most of them)

There was however, just one crack in the façade of his perfect dream.

A crack with a high buttoned shirt, freshly polished shoes, and a brain fit to bursting with all that learning now that he’s back in school full time.

A crack that went by the name of Davey.

Jack hadn’t noticed it as first, the turmoil that stirred and twisted in his chest whenever Davey was around. Davey had been new at first, new people always stir up different feelings, and then there’d been the strike and that had to be to blame for whatever was making it hard to breath, and then …

And then Davey went back to school. They’d had a few perfect weeks of endless summer after the strike, when the world seemed to pause and days take a lifetime.

But now Davey was back in school and completely absent from his life Monday to Friday.

(Davey and Les sold the evening paper at least twice a week after school, and Davey would do his homework at the lodging house on at least one more day a week as well)

And Saturdays are exclusively for family.

(Jack has been invited to the Jacobs’ every Saturday since the strike ended, and accepts at least half the time)

Which means that Sunday is the only day of the week that Jack gets to see Davey.

(Which means Sunday is the only day of the week that Jack gets Davey to himself for multiple consecutive uninterrupted hours. Usually. Sometimes they do that on Wednesdays as well)

So Sundays are the special day of the week because Sundays are all about Davey Katherine.

And so, Sunday lunchtime came around, with Jack standing at a crossroad.

He had Davey at his right hand, steadfast Davey, kind and clever Davey who would do anything for anyone, especially if their name was Jack Kelly.

But his future was Katherine. He knew his future was Katherine. His future had to be Katherine, what other choice did he have?

This was a figurative metaphor, but with Davey by his side, as they waited for an appropriate moment to cross the street without dying in the process, and Katherine over the road holding the oversized picnic basket he hadn’t known she was bringing but sincerely hoped she would be – he could see how it could be taken as a literal statement as well.

Sunday picnics were a long standing tradition, stretching back at least three weeks if not longer.

It was just the four of them – Jack and Katherine, Davey and Davey’s sister Sarah. If Jack’s honest, he doesn’t know Sarah very well, but she’s sweet, and her and Davey alternate between love and utter disgust for each other with an alarming regularity that is extremely hilarious to watch, even if not to be caught up in. Plus Sarah and Katherine had recently developed a close friendship, and Jack knew how much friendship means to them. Katherine’s friendship with Sarah. Jack’s friendship with Davey. The Jacobs just make the best friends possible.

A warm breeze danced through the park, carrying with it the distant hum of the city. The autumn sun bathed the grassy expanse in a golden glow that betrayed the fact that soon winter would be here, and their picnics no longer.

Jack stretched out, half-propped up by a large tree, while they sat in their usual square – Davey and Katherine next to him, Sarah diagonal from him. Somehow it’s just how they always end up sat.

Laughter and conversation flowed freely between the four friends, and the lemonade followed suit, while they continued to unpack sandwiches and fruit, and a small tray of dainty little cakes.

Sometimes the food Katherine brings along sets off that heavy feeling in his chest, the one that remembers being fifteen or twelve or nine, with empty pockets and empty hands and an empty stomach, and a line of kids out the door that needed feeding as well.

Katherine knows this.

Katherine does her best to counter with the fact that it’s her father’s money she’s using to create their weekly picnics, and is their anything else that would annoy her father more?

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

The food’s always tasty though – once it gets past the pit.

With nowhere to be and nowhere to go and no one wondering where they are, or even caring, they stay put. The sun drifts slowly across the sky, and the four fall into a companionable silence.

Katherine – ever the intrepid reporter – is making notes in her book, ideas to turn into full fledged stories (once she’s back at her typewriter of course). Sarah has some needlework to finish – Jack sees the name Davey, and Les, and Sarah so this must be a personal piece not work but it looks incredibly intricate. He’s not sure he’d pick lying down with his head in Katherine’s lap as the most comfortable position to complete embroidery in, but also, he’s never done embroidery, and Sarah is definitely the expert here. If lying down with your head in Katherine’s lap is the best position to sew, he absolutely believes her. (He’s laid down with his head in Katherine’s lap before, it is a very comfortable position if nothing else).

Davey has his books, because of course he does, thick tomes about things that Jack claim do nothing but confuse him, but Jack lets Davey tell him all about them anyway. Davey’s head is resting against Jack’s shoulder as he reads, his eyes slowly scanning the page. And Jack himself has his sketchbook, because Jack is nothing if not predictable. He sketches quick pencil sketches of his friends, of the wildlife, of the scenery.

There’s a study or two of Katherine – the curls in her hair, the corner of her mouth.

There’s a study or six of Davey – his hands curled around the edges of a book, the exact shape and colour of his eyes, the dusting of freckles across his nose you can only see if you stand extremely close and look.

He doesn’t have any studies of Sarah. He should probably remedy that at some point before she thinks he doesn’t like her (he does. Just not like he likes Davey Katherine).

After the picnic as the sun began to dip behind the horizon, Jack and Katherine walked back to her father’s house, hand in hand. Katherine leaned her head on Jack's shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"I had a wonderful time today, Jack," she said, her voice filled with genuine affection.

Jack's grip on her hand tightened, but still he managed a soft smile. "Me too, Katherine."

Katherine returning home was always a moment of genuine amusement for Jack, as not one single member of the Pulitzer household from the lowliest maid to Mr Joseph Pulitzer himself made any attempt to disguise their displeasure at seeing him. They had at least moved away from actively ushering Katherine away from him, and bare-faced comments about his appearance, upbringing and parentage to his face.

Which was progress.

They were starting to like him.

Which was a good thing.

Now they made comments about his appearance, upbringing and parentage behind his back like the well-bred people they are, and only sneered in his face when they saw him walking up the street with Katherine.

Everything’s fine.

A brief kiss – initiated by Katherine (much to the very audible displeasure of which ever butler had deigned to open the door for them) – later, and Jack was on his way once more.

Jack’s thoughts were a muddle.

Jack’s thoughts were often a muddle.

But they were even more of a muddle than usual. And needed time and space and just a little bit of quiet in order to sort through them.

He loved his brothers, loved their life – but he wasn’t going to find a single one of those things if he went back home just now.

He ends up at the tenement building without really thinking about it, his feet doing the work more than his brain. He’s halfway up the fire escape and ready to knock on Davey’s window when he remembers that they have technically (literally) spent fourteen hours together already today, and maybe Davey actually wants to spend time with his family for a change.

Jack takes himself to the roof instead.

It’s quiet up there. Peaceful. The comforter from the last time he and Davey spent hours talking on the rooftop instead of sleeping is still in it’s place in the corner, ready in case the temperature drops any further.

There’s a door creaking open behind him, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it is. Davey steps onto the roof, his eyes searching Jack for any sign of something being wrong. “Hey, you okay?”

Jack’s heart almost skips a beat at the look of concern on Davey’s face but brushes it off, avoiding the question entirely. “What are you doing up here?”

Davey settled down next to Jack, their shoulders almost touching but not quite, a hair-width of space between them. “I saw a shadow climbing the fire escape past my bedroom,” Davey’s eyebrow twitched as he spoke, the corners of his lips fighting a grin, “and I wondered who could be foolish enough to be climbing the fire escape at night.” Davey sighed, and the grin escaped, settling firmly onto his face. “There was, of course, only one answer.”

Jack rolls his eyes, a response in and of itself, and shoves him gently with his shoulder.

“You never actually answered my question by the way,” Davey reminds him, and it’s Jack’s turn to sigh.

He shrugs, “Just … thinking.”

“About what?”

Jack hesitated a moment, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he’s sure Davey is able to hear it. “About everything.”

Davey leaned further into Jack, the simple touch sending a bolt of electricity down his spine. Jack stole a glance at Davey, the moonlight casting gentle shadows on his features as he stared out into the distance.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, their eyes met. It was only a moment that passed between them, their gazes locking in a way that spoke volumes with no words required. Jack felt the world around them fade into the background.

Jack leaned in.

There wasn’t a conscious thought behind it.

Jack leaned in.

His lips brushed against Davey's, a tentative touch that sent shivers down his spine. For an instant, time seemed to stand still as their connection deepened, as everything suddenly made absolute perfect sense, the taste of possibility lingering in the air, the taste of Davey lingering on his lips.

Davey's response was immediate, his lips pressing back against Jack's with a mixture of longing and surrender. It was soft and achingly tender, in a way neither had ever experienced before, a silent confession of the emotions that had been swirling between them for far too long. Jack's heart soared, and he deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in Davey's hair as they embraced the intimacy they had denied themselves for so long.

Davey pulled away.

Just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Davey’s breath was ragged, his eyes wide with a mix of desire and conflict. He met Jack's gaze, his voice filled with both desperation and resolve. "Jack, we can't do this."

"Why not?" Jack's voice was a mixture of confusion and longing, his heart pounding in his chest.

Davey's gaze dropped to the ground, his fingers clenching in his lap. "Katherine, society in general, the law... Pick one, pick any of them."

Jack leaned in closer, his voice soft but determined. "Davey, all that stuff, it's out there, yeah. But right here, right now, it's just us." He reached out, his hand gently lifting Davey's chin. "I know what I want, and I think you want it too. We don't have to let all that other crap get in the way."

Davey's eyes met Jack's, a mix of uncertainty and longing in their depths. After a beat, he tried to speak, his words fading into uncertainty. "Jack, I … "

There was a beat of silence, and Davey could see the careful bubble of hope Jack tried to keep hidden behind his eyes slowly deflate in front of him.

Davey closed the gap between them this time.

He placed his hand on Jack's cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the rough stubble. The kiss their lips met in, was at once gentle and passionate, a silent affirmation of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Davey's lips were soft against Jack's, his movements sure and deliberate. It was as if he had finally given in to the desire that had been building between them, his touch a declaration of the love he had kept hidden for far too long. Jack's heart pounded in his chest as he felt Davey take control, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and scent of the person he had yearned for. The kiss deepened, their mouths moving in sync as the world around them seemed to blur into insignificance. Jack's fingers found themselves returning to the back of Davey's neck, his touch gentle yet possessive, pulling him closer. Davey responded with a soft moan, a sound that sent a jolt of electricity down Jack's spine.

As they continued to kiss, a sense of urgency and longing crept into their movements. Davey's hand slid from Jack's cheek to tangle in his hair, deepening their connection. Their breaths mingled, each exhale a reminder of the shared passion that had ignited between them.

The world slipped away.

Of course, it wasn’t actually as simple as that.

Katherine, society in general, and the law.

It couldn’t be as simple as that.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

It didn’t take long for things to come to a head. It had been days of conflicting emotions, nights of sleepless nights. It was desperation he felt when he was away from Davey, and the guilt he felt when he remembered Katherine. It weighed him down with every forced smile, every feigned laugh.

He tried to continue as he was able to before.

He tried to continue his role as the devoted boyfriend that Katherine deserved. She had many so many sacrifices for him, for them, how could he just abandon her now? He had made promises to her, promises he had truly intended to honour, but things just ended up inverted somehow.

He tried to continue with Davey as well. But how were stolen glances supposed to cope when weighed against the memory of just how Davey’s lips felt against his, the way his fingers carded through his hair. Jack loved his boisterous and over-enthusiastic family, but they didn’t exactly leave much opportunity for hidden moments.

And Jack wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

It’s Thursday before Jack and Davey get the privacy they’ve so desperately been craving. Davey’s selling the evening paper, out of desire not necessity, but Les hadn’t been feeling well, choosing instead to head straight home – leaving Davey and Jack as a two-person team.

They do actually manage to sell the vast majority of their papers, before they somehow manage to find themselves down a little-used alleyway, the cold brick pressing almost uncomfortably into Jack’s back, and he nearly laughs at the thought of Davey that first day they met next to the Davey he knows now. The laugh turns to a moan, as Davey’s lips discover a particularly sensitive spot on his neck that Jack didn’t even know he had, and there wasn’t room for much thinking after that.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

It's Saturday, and Jack’s on the roof of Davey’s building once again. His hair is a mess, and his lips are swollen, and he’s not actually sure where his shirt even is at this point, but he doesn’t even care.

It’s perfect and it’s theirs and it’s…

A door opens.

Panic surges through each of them equally, as they realise the compromising position they have gotten into – instantly releasing their grip on the other, as they freeze behind the brick half wall that protects them from whoever is on the other side.

There’s silence.

(Not true silence, but the lack of voices, the lack of talking at any rate).

They stay frozen.

The not-really silence continues.

There’s definitely someone (multiple someones(?)) there.

They stay frozen.

The not-really silence continues.

Jack’s bored now.

He starts to poke his head over the wall, swatting away Davey’s hands trying to keep him hidden.

And that made sense he figured, as he saw the young couple, their arms wrapped around each other. He supposed him and Davey couldn’t be the only young couple who needed a private moment away from prying eyes, and judging by the long skirts on both halves of the couple, they needed the privacy for very much the same reason. A half-laugh escaping his lips, he’s about to disappear to wait them out, and continue his own very pleasurable time, when the two women spin, their arms still wrapped around each other.

That didn’t stop Jack from suddenly catching sight of her face though, and he reacts instinctually.

“Katherine?” He’s confused more than anything else, but now he’s standing. His voice isn’t loud but the night is quiet and it travels easily regardless.

The pair freeze in an instant. Unwrapping their arms mechanically from the other.

“Jack?!”

Her eyes flick from him down to his chest and back up to his face, and that’s the moment he realises he’s still not quite sure where his shirt is, but it’s too late to disappear behind the half wall again.

They don’t move.

They don’t speak.

They don’t breath.

Katherine takes a small half step forward, her arm half-raised in front of Sarah – an unconscious effort to protect her. “"Jack, I-I can explain. It's not what it looks like. We were just... um...”

Sarah’s wide eyed at this point, her gaze flicking from Jack to Katherine and back again, nodding along with the desperate words Katherine’s spilling.

“Kather…”

“No Jack, I can expl…” Katherine interrupts him, but Jack doesn’t let her finish.

Instead he leans down and grab Davey by the collar (why was he still wearing his shirt when Jack’s has completely vanished. Was definitely not the main thought running through Jack’s brain at that instant), pulling him to standing as well.

Before anyone could react to the new addition to the scene, Jack's fingers gently lifted Davey's chin, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to Davey's in a soft, lingering kiss. The gesture was deliberate, a silent message that conveyed understanding, acceptance, and the shared bond they all had. Katherine's eyes widened as she watched the exchange, the realization dawning on her that Jack knew more than she had thought.

Davey’s eyes open as Jack pulls away and for the first time, he sees the two figures he had previously only heard.

“Sarah?!”

“Davey?”

“Is anyone going to say anything useful besides names?”

The answer, as it turns out, would be an emphatic no.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

Jack has good ideas. Jack has lots of good ideas.

He’s been an authority to most of the Newsies of Lower Manhatten in some way or another since he was fifteen. He started the strike, and faced down one of the most terrifying gentlemen in New York (“Sorry Katherine.” “Don’t be. Imagine growing up with him.” “I really don’t want to.”) at the age of seventeen.

Jack also has absolutely terrible ideas.

“… so yeah – what do you think?”

Jack looks almost pleased with himself. Davey, Sarah and Katherine look at him as though he’s sprouted a third head.

“Well, uh…”

“… I suppose it has potential?”

“Potential – yes!”

Sarah rolls her eyes at Davey and Katherine.

“It’s a terrible idea Jack.”

Jack’s eye flick over to Davey and Katherine, but neither of them can bring themselves to find fault in Sarah’s words.

“I mean, not for you and Katherine,” she continued, “but what are me and Davey supposed to do?”

“Didn’t you hear me?" Jack replied with a grin, trying to inject some optimism into the situation. “You’ll live next door, and we’ll just pretend to live like normal couples, then secretly swap over so we can really live with the person we want to.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And … how do we explain why me and Davey are living together?”

Jack's face fell, his enthusiasm dampened by the practicality of the question. He trailed off, realizing the flaw in his plan. “You can just get married …” he trails off. “oh yeah.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sarah repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure our parents are going to be so thrilled when me and my *brother* announce our wedding plans. I’m sure that won’t be suspicious to anyone at all.”

Davey couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. He nudged Sarah playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She narrowed her eyes at him, a playful warning that he was treading on thin ice. Davey swallowed. He’d pay for that one later, he’s sure.

Jack cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Alright, alright. Maybe the marriage thing is a bit much. But we'll figure something out. We always do."

Sarah crossed her arms, a pout forming on her lips. "Well, I'm not marrying you, Jack Kelly."

Katherine, who had been relatively quiet during the exchange so far, finally spoke up. "Well, you might not have a choice."

All eyes turned to Katherine, her words hanging in the air. Jack furrowed his brows, confusion evident on his face. "What d’ya mean?"

Katherine took a deep breath, her gaze steady as she met Jack's eyes. "I mean, to avoid Sarah and Davey getting married, which is obviously not a feasible option, I… I could marry Davey instead."

Davey's eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks flushing as he processed Katherine's suggestion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Katherine continued before he could find his words.

"Which would mean, Sarah, that you'd have to marry Jack."

Sarah's jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she processed the implications of Katherine's plan. "Wait, what? Marry Jack?"

Katherine nodded, her expression determined. "Yes. Unless you’d rather marry your brother."

Jack couldn't help himself. He let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Ha! You're saying that I'd have to marry Sarah? That's rich!"

Sarah's eyes narrowed, a fire igniting in her gaze. "Oh, you think this is funny, huh?"

Jack held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin unapologetic. "I mean, come on, Sarah. Can you imagine us, married?"

Davey stifled a chuckle, his lips quirking into a smile as he watched the playful banter between Jack and Sarah. It was a relief to see the tension ease, even if it was through their usual teasing.

Katherine shook her head, her lips twitching in a smile. "Well, stranger things have happened. And let's not forget, we're talking about an unconventional situation here."

As the group shared a chuckle, the weight around them seemed to lighten just a bit. Jack's eyes met Davey's, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for the man standing beside him. Whatever challenges they faced, they would face them together.

"Alright, Katherine," Jack said with a grin, "you've got yourself a deal."

Sarah rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "As long as no one here thinks I’m marrying you willingly, Jack Kelly."

Jack winked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. We all know who’s the Jacobs for me."

As they shared a laugh, the rooftop seemed to transform once again, becoming a sanctuary of shared secrets, laughter, and a bond that could weather any storm. Jack's heart was light as he looked at Davey, a playful glint in his eyes. Without hesitation, he tugged Davey into his lap, their lips meeting in a sweet and affectionate kiss. Davey's fingers tangled in Jack's hair as he deepened the kiss, their connection sparking with a warmth that had nothing to do with the chilly night air. It was a simple yet powerful gesture, a declaration of their feelings and an affirmation of the unspoken promise that they were in this together, no matter the challenges.

Sarah rolled her eyes with an exaggerated groan, a mock expression of disgust on her face as she watched the two boys. "Ugh, get a room, you two. Seriously."

Jack and Davey pulled apart, chuckling at Sarah's playful reaction. "You're just jealous, Sarah," Jack retorted with a wink.

Sarah's feigned disgust quickly melted into a mischievous grin. "Oh, please. Like I would ever be jealous of you two."

Katherine glanced at Sarah, her lips twitching into a knowing smile. "Careful, Sarah. You might start to believe your own act."

Without missing a beat, Sarah closed the gap between her and Katherine, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind Katherine's ear. Her voice was low, laden with teasing. "Oh, don't worry, Kat. I've got my own plans."

And with that, Sarah's lips met Katherine's in a kiss that was every bit as passionate as the ones they had witnessed earlier. The rooftop was now alive with a playful energy, each touch and shared glance a testament to the unbreakable bonds that had formed between them.

Jack wrapped his arm around Davey's waist, pulling him close as they watched Sarah and Katherine share their own moment of affection. Davey rested his head on Jack's shoulder, a contented smile on his lips.

Change was coming.

Terrifying and life changing changes.

But they had each other, and who needed anything more.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

The plan worked better than it had any right of doing.

Katherine’s family was as thrilled as they’d let themselves show when they realised she had cut romantic ties with the newsie they considered so far belong her. (They weren’t so pleased about her plan to remain friends with Jack, but figured that they could distract her from that plan by marrying her off to a far more eligible bachelor.)

(Katherine was really looking forward to announcing her upcoming engagement to Davey.)

The newsies are ready to declare war on Katherine on Jack’s behalf when they find out, until Jack and Katherine together manage to talk them down.

Race slipped into the seat next to Jack one evening at meal time, their shoulders close enough to touch.

“So, you and Davey, huh?” His voice was entirely too casual, a glint of knowing in his eyes.

Jack kept his eyes on his plate, not pausing from his meal for a moment.

“So, you and Albert, huh?”

Race choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering as he tried to compose himself. Jack patted his back gently, a smug grin on his face.

The courtships went even better. Sarah and Davey’s parents couldn’t be more pleased with the partners their children had chosen, and even Les was happy for them (if very confused at the speed Jack and Katherine both had decided they wanted to marry his siblings)

Only Katherine and Davey were there when Katherine announced their courtship to her family, but both spent the next two weeks describing the interaction in incredible detail to anyone who would listen – her mother’s scream and fainting spell getting increasingly elaborate with each retelling.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

It’s a year, almost exactly to the day, since the start of the strike, since the start of everything being set into motion, and the air of New York buzzes with excitement once more.

The morning of the Wedding of the Century dawns bright and clear.

(Jack is fully aware they are only seven months into the century, but he’s entirely certain that there won’t be a wedding in the next ninety nine years and five months to rival theirs).

Underneath a brightly decorated tent, the gathered crowd of newsies, friends, and family members watched with beaming smiles as Sarah and Katherine, radiant in their white gowns, walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand their steps guided by the melodies of the city's street musicians. Beside them, Jack and Davey, dashing in their suits, stood as the grooms, their eyes doing their best not to get fixated on each other instead of the person they were technically (literally) marrying.

The ceremony was a heartfelt affair, filled with laughter, tears, and heartfelt vows that spoke of love, commitment, and the unbreakable bond that had brought them all together.

And then they were married.

The joyous celebration continued long into the night.

Amidst the dancing, singing, and laughter, the four newlyweds stole moments of intimacy with their true partner amidst the whirlwind of festivities. Sarah and Katherine shared knowing glances when they thought they wouldn’t be spotted, and when the time was right, they slipped away from the revelry, finding a quiet corner where they could swear their own vows to each other in private.

Meanwhile, Jack and Davey found a secluded spot of their own, far away from prying eyes. Their fingers interlocked, their gazes locked in a wordless exchange that spoke volumes. Despite the roles they had played in the day's events, they knew that the true nature of their hearts was unwavering.

"I love you," Jack whispered, his voice carrying the weight of his emotions.

Davey's lips curved into a tender smile, his thumb brushing against Jack's knuckles. "And I love you, Jack."

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, a union of hearts that defied everything.

In that stolen moment, they reaffirmed the bond that had grown between them, a bond that no piece of paper or societal expectation could take away from them.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

Davey held the last of his belongings in his arms, having already moved most of his things to their brand new apartment only that morning, and took one final look around the apartment that held such strong memories of his family.

Soon he’d have such strong feelings about his new home, he was sure.

With rent being what it is, and jobs being what they are, and age being what it is – the dream of two apartments with a hidden door between will come to them soon, but they’re on their way with a simple two-bedroom apartment nearly exactly halfway between the newsies and Davey’s home (or rather – just his parents and Les’ home now).

And why wouldn’t the four of the share an apartment.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

The future lay at their feet, and they would conquer it.

Davey's mother fell silent, her gaze fixed on her eldest son as he bid his final farewell to the place he had called home for so long. Emotions swelled within her, a mixture of pride, nostalgia, and a touch of apprehension for what lay ahead for both of her children. With a deep breath, Davey turned away from the apartment door and began to descend the stairs. Each step felt weighted with the significance of the moment, a transition from one chapter of his life to the next.

As he reached the landing, his mother's voice broke the silence, the words carrying a mixture of playfulness and longing.

"So, about grandchildren…?"

#javey #javey newsies #newsbians #newsies fanfic #newsies fic #newsies fanfiction #newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #sarah jacobs #my fic #send help i can't stop writing newsies fic #or else send prompts

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avictimofthejazz · 9 months

Note

“Look, I’m not any happier about this than you are, but why don’t we try and make this work.” (Bon x Michael)

The words out of Bonnie’s mouth is the understatement of the freaking century! Michael glowers at the brunette before slumping down in his chair. At sixteen, and at the end of a growth spurt that had shot him up to over six feet tall, he was a mess of gangly limbs. At the moment, he resembled a colt more than a young Lord—not that he had ever made any effort to live up to his title. Technically it is Garth’s title anyways… except that he went off and got himself arrested in some faraway nation that Michael could barely pronounce. Since he is currently serving three consecutive life sentences, it is highly doubtful he will be able to get back in time to inherit anything. Therefore, the burden falls on Michael’s shoulders, whether he wants it or not… and that includes getting married in a few years to… Bonnie. Bonnie has always been a giant question in his mind, and he has never been able to figure out how to answer it. She has spent nearly every summer here with them, but he knew she was supposed to marry Garth, and she had a crush on him. Michael just avoided both of them, preferring to run around with his own friends. His biggest dealings with Bonnie generally involved wars surrounding the fact that his tree house did not allow girls—a stance that became harder to maintain as more of his guy friends developed crushes and started following various girls around like puppies. Now, in a few weeks, Bonnie has gone from being an awkward note on the edge of his life, to being a major component in his future. Unsure how he feels about that, he sinks further into his seat. “What’s there to make work?” He grumbles. “Our dads have all of that sorted out just fine… well… they did before Garthe went off and got himself arrested like an idiot.” He mumbles incoherently for another minute before blurting out. “Why do we have to do this? It's all Garth’s fault we’re in this mess! If he hadn’t run off and been stupid, he wouldn’t be in jail right now! But now that I’ve said that you’re probably going to get mad at me because you always liked Garth.” He waits for Bonnie to yell at him, scolding him for being callous, and for not taking this situation seriously enough. Elizabeth has already screamed at everyone she can about this, and his father Wilton has taken to hiding in his study. The only sane person he can even try to talk to is Devon, but his father’s second-in-command is hardly the most sympathetic man in the world. Besides, the old man is stressed enough with this mess that Michael does not feel like bothering him just to whine. It feels selfish in a weird way… but that also means he has no one he can really talk too. Michael has a feeling that Bonnie is not going to miraculously turn into a confidante either. Up to this point in time, they had never really liked each other. Why should that change now?

#Muse: Michael Knight #bonniebarstowofflag #Bonnie/Michael: You Hurt Her and There’s Not a Place on This Earth That I Won’t Find You. You Remember That #arranged marriage AU

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presleyhearted · 1 year

Text

Yours Truly - Prologue

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 619

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. No warnings really. A very short prologue.

・❥・ Notes: None.

@literally-just-elvis-fics

chapter index| chapter 1

All my life, I have put one foot forward after the next. I aways looked down to make sure that I don't misstep. I don't trip. I don't fall. Of course, I am not oblivious to the tendency of life to diverge us from the easy path of living. Boulders of struggles can be thrown at us at any given moment. We just have to hope that our minds, our souls and our hearts are strong enough to battle it.

Even if that means coming out at the other end with a few scratches and bruises.

But for the details in life that we can control, we can either ignore them and nod to the phrase of 'whatever happens, happens' or we can construct the steps to build a somewhat form of certainty. Of safety. My parents were keen to share their wisdom of playing it safe in life. Thus, I grew up having a firm grasp of realistic expectations - and to never, ever dwell on a far-fetched idea. Those would only promise a high probability of bad endings, and a silver of hope that can be crushed within seconds.

If there is one thing that you must understand about me, it is this - reasoning and risks do not simultaneously exist within my veins. In fact, you can completely forget about risks - it does not occupy my mind at all. Remember that.

My friends have attempted to sway this mindset of mine, their friendly nature of worrying that I may 'regret' it later on in life. There is nothing wrong with planning out stages in my life, it saves me from distress, worry and uncertainty. So, as much as I love their efforts to shift my mindset to be more 'at ease.' None of them have been successful.

In fact, no one has been.

No one but him.

There was something I failed to mention, and I suppose is not greatly mentioned by many; Curiosity can coincide itself with the thread of logic and the flames of spontaneity. When one is curious, they will run their fingers through the puzzles pieces. They will rise from their seat and quietly walk towards it, that tight grip of desperation clouding their brain and their racing heart.

Until they look around and realise - they are in a completely different place.

We humans are not abundantly knowledgeable on all things, that's why as time pulls us along - we pick up slices of knowledge. If I am aware of something, then I'm able to construct a sound judgement and ensure that I'll not walk through an uncertain tunnel. But on instances that I don't know something - I am guarded up - it delays my process of constructing my next step.

It comes frighteningly close to a realm of uncertainty, of the unknown, of stumbling upon someone like him.

But unlike most things I've encountered in life so far, he was an antithesis of risks and reasoning. Not one was stronger than the other, both ran fiercely and rapidly through his entire being.

If this was the case, why did I not seek the exit and just vanish?

Like I said before; when curiosity seeks you out, you will walk and you will never truly realise where you are until you look around and it seems - you are in the unknown. I cannot retrace my steps when I do not know where those steps are in the first place.

His dichotomous nature was that curiosity.

But as the human condition persists - curiosity is not a one-sided pull in some circumstances.

Curiosity can be a reciprocation blazed between two beings.

So for once, my mind was quiet but my heart was alive.

chapter 1

#elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x original female character #original female character #fantasy #author's note #a/n #slow burn #angst #fluff #mystery #elvis fic

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mishafletcher · 4 years

Note

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping.

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but—

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something.

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers.

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too.

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous

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tahtahfornow · 2 years

Note

1 pleeeeeeeease...... wolfstar duh

ahhh yes of course, thank you so much for playing @squidgilator!!

went wild and made this one a telephone convo. haven't done an all-dialogue type thing in, like, decades, so. we'll see!

anyway this one's for you, sweet molly <3 <3 I hope you enjoy it!

[based on prompt 1 - things you said at 1 a.m.]

general p.s. to all - i think this is the last ask in my inbox so will probably take a lil tumblr break after this & focus on the piles of actual real-life work i've been neglecting! however, writing these has been infinitely more fun :).

p.p.s. whoops i just quickly glanced over this and realized I did a stupid american thing and wrote "merry christmas" so I am changing it to "happy christmas" now because i am, like, freakishly committed to these boys being british even if i am a sad sad american myself.

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

25 December 1976

1:17 a.m.

“Hallo?”

“Remus—fuck, Moony, finally, listen—”

“Sirius—Sirius, what—why the hell are you—all right, firstly, do you know what bloody time it is, and secondly, I didn’t even know you could use a telephone, do the Potters—”

“Moony. I take Muggle Studies. I can do all sorts of amazing things. And I got—I got change, Muggle change, from a nice bird, a Muggle girl, you know, took pity and gave me change, and so I am here now inside of a very silly red box in Camden—”

“Jesus Christ, are you plastered? You realize you woke my parents up at one a.m. on Christmas Eve—Morning, whatever—to call here plastered—”

“No, stop, no, all right, yes. Yes, I am a little tiny bit plastered, but listen, Remus—”

“I’m hanging up now, Sirius. See at you Hogwarts.”

“No, no no no no wait—listen—err—I crashed the motorbike—”

“You what—you crashed—why were you even, where is—fuck—oh my God, Padfoot, are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s, I’m fine, it’s just, you know, a little shake-up, a tiny little sort of crash—”

“Shit, shit. Okay, just. Stay calm, I’m coming to get you. Give me the nearest cross streets and I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t—no, that’s not why I’m—Remus, you are in Wales.”

“I can Floo, idiot. Take the Knight Bus, if I have to. Give me your cross streets and the name of, like, a nearby shop or something.”

“Moony. Moony, you can’t come get me.”

“Yes I can.”

“No, you can’t—you can’t come get me because—because I really need. I just need you to stay on the phone right now. Please.”

“ . . . ”

“I need you to stay on the phone because. Because I want to talk to you. And this is already, like, the most words you have said to me consecutively in—in weeks. Actual weeks, Moony. And I am—yes, all right, yes, I am a little plastered, but God. I just—don’t hang up. Please, please don’t hang up. Because I am honestly terrified that when you hang up and I am safely returned to the Potters or whatever that—that we’ll go back to, to. To the silence and the cold and the not-talking and—and I can’t.”

“Sirius. I am concerned about your safety. I would like to come get you.”

“That is—oh my God, stop that. Stop that fucking, that—just talk to me, damn it, you were actually talking to me—”

“Please give me your nearest cross streets.”

“Fuck. Moony. Look, I deserve it, I know I deserve it, you hate me and I deserve it but—”

“I’ve never hated you, Sirius.”

“Remus—”

“I was hurt. You hurt me.”

“ . . . ”

“I’ve never hated you.”

“ . . . ”

“Sirius?”

“ . . . ”

“Sirius, are you—”

“I’m not fucking crying, shut up.”

“I was just going to ask if you were still on the line.”

“Oh. Right. Err—yup. Still here.”

“Can I come get you now, please.”

“So you’re not . . . still mad at me, then?”

“Of course I’m still bloody mad at you, you did the absolute worst thing ever. Of all the fucking things you went and—you did the absolute, absolute worst. You fucking idiot. I will be at least a little bit mad at you until the end of time. There is a sliver of my brain now reserved exclusively for being mad at you. Doesn’t mean I want you dying on the streets of Muggle London, Christ.”

“ . . . ”

“Sirius.”

“I’m not bloody crying, all right, fuck.”

“Will you please give me your cross streets now.”

“I—just, do you remember . . . ”

“Do I remember . . . ”

“Do you remember Halloween.”

“Do I remember October 31st.”

“The party. The Halloween party”

“Do I remember the Halloween party.”

“Fuck, Moony, you know what I mean.”

“Sirius.”

“ . . . ”

“Obviously I do. Why on earth do you think I would have forgotten.”

“I just mean—I just mean—do you. Did you. Fuck, Remus, I—”

“You—”

“I just. I just really. It was nice, is all. It was so nice, it was really really nice and I don’t even, I can’t even tell you how nice it was and I went and fucked it all up and I know, I know I fucked it all up and it’s all my fault and I’m lucky you’re even talking to me through this silly little machine right now but did you at least—”

“Did I at least—”

“Was it—”

“ . . . ”

“Was it nice. Was it nice, for you. As well.”

“ . . . ”

“Moony.”

“ . . . ”

“Moony, are you cryi—”

“No. No, I am not. Fuck off.”

“ . . . ”

“Yes. Yes, it was very nice.”

“ . . . ”

“Give me your cross streets please.”

“All right so the thing is. I have to confess something.”

“ . . . ”

“I didn’t crash the motorbike.”

“You didn’t—what, then why the fuck—”

“I had to keep you on the bloody phone somehow, Moony, you threatened to hang up and I was desperate and it just came out of my mouth—”

“Oh my God, that’s—that’s pathological, like. I was worried about you, you prat. Are you even—”

“Yes, I am, I am really inside of a ridiculous red box in Camden, all right? I wrote Evans three days ago and gave her, like, five galleons in exchange for your telephone number—”

“Oh my God—”

“And she did take the money although to be fair she said she would’ve just as soon given it for free. And Prongs obviously doesn’t have a telephone so I had to, you know—”

“Get sloshed in Camden and call me at one in the bloody morning on Christmas?”

“Right. Exactly.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Err—Happy Christmas, by the way.”

“Yeah. Happy Christmas, Padfoot. I’ll see you at school, all right? Hi to James for me.”

“Wait—err—do you want. Do you still want to maybe come fetch me. After all.”

“ . . . ”

“Moony?”

“Yeah. Yeah, all right. Give me your bloody cross streets, then.”

#wolfstar #r/s #remus lupin #sirius black #prompt drabble game thingie #my fics #marauders #hp fic #post-prank #sirius black takes muggle studies and can do all sorts of amazing things

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

UNFUCKWITABLE (9)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: jungkook convinces you to take a staycation with him for a few days (a week).

pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc

warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, oc and jk discuss their unprotected sex practices, vomiting, some jealous jk, mild exhibitionism, fingers in oc's mouth grinding, making out, oral (m), titjob

word count: 7k

a/n: if you want to be tagged, send an ask plz. would love to hear your thoughts. also...cant believe mom manifested into butter jk im in pain

****************************************

Jungkook is unsurprised to enter your home with the key you’d given him the other week and find it completely empty. You’ve been working early mornings and incredibly late nights for the last week and a half, and he can tell it’s beginning to take a toll on you. The first sign that you were beginning to wear down was when you had skipped dinner in favor of sleeping. The second was when you had snapped at him in irritation and then immediately cried over hurting his feelings.

He can think of about a dozen other things, including the even more pronounced bags under your eyes. You’ve always had dark circles under your eyes naturally from hyperpigmentation but these days, not even concealer can help you mask them.

In fact, the reason that you’d even given him a key was because you felt like work was taking over your entire life. You’d hardly had a chance to see anyone who wasn’t a work colleague, and you just missed Jungkook. At least this way, you could wake up and go to bed with him.

You had only been calling Jungkook your partner just shy of four months, and he had a key to your home. Perhaps it was fast for other people, but with him, it felt right. So he keeps a copy of your keys on his lanyard- it’s possibly his most prized possession right now. Jungkook usually only comes when you ask him to, he’s been staying at your place for the last week because of how tired and busy you were.

Usually you stop by the tattoo parlor at least once or twice a week, but you have been sparse because of work. So he’s here, in your home without you. It felt strange the first few times he’d been here without you, but then he started leaving little pockets of himself- his shoes next to yours, his hair product on your shelf, and his two of his jackets hanging near yours in the closet. He’d even purchased a new plant to keep on your windowsill in your living room (which you take turns dutifully watering and making sure she gets enough sunlight).

It’s all very domestic. He had jokingly told you not to expose him to your shared friends, specifically Mina and Mei. To which you had rolled your eyes.

Though some small, very small, part of him wonders if the magic will fade away soon. Considering how fast you both are moving both physically into your home and in your relationship.

It’s only been a few months, and you both were incredibly comfortable with the idea of unprotected sex- after all, Jungkook always pulls out in time. Until, of course, you’d had a pregnancy scare. Hoseok and Yoongi, ever the pair of realists, had scolded him when Jungkook had revealed that you both hardly ever used any protection-

“Are you trying to knock her up? Is that it? You both ready to potentially be parents?” Yoongi says mildly as he polishes off his wine, looking at Jungkook expectantly. Jungkook’s cheeks burn.

“No, I’m not trying to knock her up and no, nobody’s trying to be parents-”

“You both are lucky you haven’t knocked her up already,” Hoseok says, with more heat in his voice, “You both are fucking stupid, but you especially.” He even smacks the back of his head with the book in his hands and Jungkook glares at him.

“Hey, my pull out game has always been strong, and I’m serious about her. We wouldn’t fuck raw if-”

“Oh, yes, then we definitely have nothing to worry about,” Yoongi says, “Keep it moving, Hobi.

“Talk to her about it, or else,” Hoseok threatens, “I don’t wanna hear about another pregnancy scare because you’re both idiots.”

“I know, I know,” Jungkook relents, “We’ve been talking about it. It just sucks that birth control can fuck up a woman’s body like that, you know? Mood changes and appetite changes, nausea and everything…”

“You could always get a vasectomy,” Yoongi says bluntly.

“Mei said the same thing. She was way more mean about it, though. Told me she’d cut my balls off if I didn’t get my shit together.”

“I don’t blame her, considering what a mess you both were last month.”

“We were not a mess!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so stressed ever in your life, not even when your first bike got run over by a car. Or when your tattoo got infected three consecutive times. And I’ve never seen her cry so much before.”

“Alright, maybe we’re a little bit of a mess.”

In the end, you and Jungkook had both decided that yes, condoms were probably a good idea. Considering the pregnancy scare you had last month, you both were on edge and a little paranoid. Jungkook hadn’t even mentioned the idea of you taking birth control or getting an IUD, knowing that your last few experiences with the former were unpleasant-

“I can get a vasectomy, you know. In fact, Yoongi suggested it,” Jungkook shrugs nonchalantly but your jaw drops.

“Jungkook. I don’t think vasectomies are reversible like that. Think about what you’re saying,” You murmur, “I’m touched you’d consider a surgical procedure so I don’t have to take birth control, but what if-”

“I looked it up, they can be reversed-”

“But Jungkook! You don’t know that, what if you want to have kids later and you can’t because you decided on a fucking whim to get a vasectomy? It’s still trauma on your body! You can’t just snip snap, snip snap your vas deferens tube whenever you please. At least with birth control you can start and stop it, even if that’s not a completely benign process.”

Jungkook looks at you long and hard, his tongue poking his cheek and you sigh. “But I don’t-”

“Honey. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” You murmur, squeezing his hands in yours, “But we’re both being stupid. We’re both acting like condoms don’t exist. Why don’t we start with condoms and then think about getting your tubes tied or me getting an IUD?”

“You spoiled me,” Jungkook complains dramatically and drops his head to your chest, “With your pussy. I’m spoiled now.”

“Shut up.”

And so now, a box of condoms sits in the drawer of your nightstand and you’ve taken to bringing a few with you in your purse as well (and so does he). You’d been far more nervous buying condoms than you’d ever been of buying anything else, and Jungkook had only cockily grinned at you.

Today’s Friday and it’s the day of your deadline. Meaning that you’d hopefully be home soon and be his for the rest of the weekend. He fully plans on getting you to relax and stay in for the majority of the weekend, so that you can catch up on sleep.

But then you come home past dinner (you had sent him a text earlier telling him that you were going to be late. He knows your mood is sour- you had been in a foul mood all week, and the fact that you’re so close to being home but so far just makes it worse). You come home with an empty belly, a weary mind and wetness along your lash line. Climbing into bed next to him, you circle your arms around his waist and cry tiredly into his chest.

“J-Jungkook,” You hiccup, “I’m so tired, they kept me s-so late today but it’s done. Everything is finished-”

“Oh, baby,” He sighs, rubbing your back soothingly, “It’s okay. We can just sleep now. You should take a few days off next week, baby.”

“I don’t know…” But your eyes are wide and considering it.

“You’ve been running on empty all week,” Jungkook points out, “For longer than that. Your job can handle two or three days without you while you recharge. Text your boss, baby. You need to rest, too.”

He nudges your cheek with his nose and you hum in agreement. “Okay. Five day weekend? Sure you won’t get tired of me?” You murmur and laugh when he squeezes your waist.

“We can make it a staycation.”

And you’re already texting your boss, telling her that you needed a few days off next week. She gives you a thumbs up and encourages you to rest up, making it a point to recognize how hard you’ve been working. She even suggests you take the full week off, which you jump at and Jungkook only grins at you.

“My brilliant girl, charming her way into a full week off.”

You swat his hand away and hide your burning but satisfied face in his chest. “Yeah, your bad habits are rubbing off on me.”

“Oh, that’s not the only thing rubbing off on you,” Jungkook says wickedly and pushes his hips into yours, earning a fierce pinch to his bare waist.

“Hush, I’m trying to nap,” You mumble, your voice muffled. Without warning, you lick his neck and bite lightly at the base of his neck, ignoring his soft yelp. He doesn’t have a chance to question you on what that was, as you’re already falling asleep.

You’ve always thought from the beginning, even when you and Jungkook were just friends, that he was an ass man. You’ve caught him staring at your ass many, many times- in jeans, in a dress, in a skirt. And now that you both are officially together, he spends any and every moment he can with a hand on your ass. Casually, when you both walk side by side. And purposefully when you’re both just in his bed or on your couch. His hand is a well known presence on your ass, not that you’re complaining.

One of Jungkook’s favorite places to nap is on your ass, with his cheek pressed into you and one hand firmly gripping your ass. He also likes laying with his head on your lap. But his favorite place to nap is with his head buried in your chest, specifically buried in between your tits. He is currently analyzing his hypothesis that your right tit is smaller than your left, a thought he’s had for a while now, but needs further samples of evidence to properly assess.

But he’s always had an affinity for your tits, whether you’re blissfully unaware of it or not. You don’t notice it not really- you like any and all of his touches on any inch of your skin, as you’ve told him many times before. Especially when he holds you close next to him or under him and you feel protected, surrounded by only him.

He holds you, looks at you as if you’re as soothing as the sea and as bright as a supernova. And yet, the universe is contained in his big, doe eyes.

But really, at the end of the day, it’s an affinity for you. Jungkook loves every part of your mind, body, and soul, and he thinks he has for a long time. His heart has been tangled with yours since the first time he had seen you years ago at Hobi’s surprise birthday party that you had planned. Jungkook is sure that when he had seen you with a homemade red velvet cheesecake with a ‘Happy Birthday Hobi <3’ written perfectly in red icing in your arms, a silly party hat on your head, and a shy, beaming smile on your lips, he had been magnetized to your center of gravity from then on.

But even then, he had only hovered. Barely introducing himself, if it weren’t for Mina and Mei. He thought he had known girls like you- girls who baked cakes, planned elaborate birthday parties for their friends and wore flowery dresses liked other predictable people. It’s another one of his hypotheses (which has been clearly debunked)- but by now, he knows not to be so judgmental of others.

But he doesn’t dwell on that for long. Even the first time he met you, right after he had introduced himself to you and you had stared at him with starstruck eyes and stammered a quiet ‘hello’ in return, Sora had cornered him. And told him to back off from right then, that you were off limits. That you’d never be interested in a guy like him, so to not even spend a second in his stupid little mind even entertaining the ridiculous idea.

So he backed off subconsciously, thinking it wasn’t worth it to even know you as a friend. He’d convinced himself that it was too much trouble, and Jungkook has always been an easygoing kind of guy in most instances. After all, your best friend would know you best, right? And really, what did he care? As the saying goes, there were about a million other fish in the sea.

However. Even then, with each word uttered between you both, with each laugh that he pulled from your soft mouth, he couldn’t help the reluctant fondness for you that began to bloom. You had surprised him every few months after that, just saying hello at events that you were both present at and asking how he was. With that stupidly beautiful smile and those bright, shy eyes.

You were a smart, kind woman, always remembering details about others. And he was no exception.

That was years ago. He’s known you since your third year at university, hanging by a thread just outside your orbit. But this is now.

This is now, and your lips are against his neck, your chest pressed to his. You climb into his lap haphazardly, nearly knocking your mug off of the coffee table. You both have only just woken up and stumbled out of bed for coffee and breakfast. You had combed the tangles out of his bedhead with his head in your lap, but now sleepiness has washed away and you’re tugging at his oversized shirt.

You promptly bite him, right where his neck tattoo starts and ends. Jungkook meets your eyes with an incredulous, breathy laugh. “What’s gotten into you?” He murmurs, palming your chest from under your shirt.

“Nothing. You just have a very biteable neck, I told you,” You say, resuming your inspection of the vein next to his tattoo, “What a juicy jugular vein-”

Jungkook holds your wrist and flips you so that your back is on the couch. “My sexy vampire girlfriend. Love when she starts talking about my jugular vein.”

“Watch out, I might drink from it. You never know,” You giggle with a wink, squirming in his grip.

“You can do whatever you want,” Jungkook murmurs but then an idea that has been planted in his head for weeks now spills from his lips without him meaning to, “I wanna fuck your tits, baby.”

Your eyes go comically wide, mimicking Jungkook’s own. His cheeks are a little pink from his abrupt confession as silence falls between you both.

“That’s really interesting,” You muse.

“Is it?” He asks, feeling a little lightheaded. You tug a little at his purple locks to pull him down to you.

“Yeah. Always thought you liked booty. And legs,” You shrug, “But I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Jungkook’s throat is too dry for him to reply coherently. But he finds his voice after you give him a reassuring smile, “Uh, when it’s you, I like everything.”

“Me too. When it’s you, I like everything,” You mumble, heat rising in your cheeks, “And uh… you can. Do that I mean.”

“Do what?” He asks teasingly, tilting his head to the side.

“Don’t play dumb,” You whine, shoving his shoulder.

“C’mon say it,” Jungkook jeers, not unkindly, “Put your big girl panties on.”

“I hate you,” You sigh dramatically, “Fine. You can fuck my tits, if you so desire.” His face splits into a grin as he thumbs your chin and ducks his head into your neck. He playfully nips at your skin, murmuring that he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine, but you feel his half hard cock pressing against your thigh.

The image of his cock wet and slick between your tits is now imprinted in your mind, and when both of you want something, you’ll surely get it.

Despite your eagerness of making Jungkook’s wish a reality, neither of you have had the chance for your usual shenanigans just yet. You still have quite a few days of your staycation left, so you won’t rush it. You had spent most of the first two days sleeping, cuddling, spooning, eating and lots and lots of slow sex.

You think you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve left your bed. Jungkook has been nothing short of wonderful, bringing you food (just this once, you hate eating while in bed), giving you shoulder rubs and booty rubs without you asking. Your favorite ice cream is in your freezer. Life is good.

His shirt hangs off of your shoulder and you’re too lazy to fix it. In fact you’re too lazy for pajama bottoms, only settling on your favorite pair of comfortable panties (nothing flashy. Just a standard black cotton panty) to wear under your shirt. One might even call them granny panties or whatever, but lace was uncomfortable on your skin. Lace and thongs are for very, very special occasions (hardly if ever) and you are in the comfort of your own home. You’ll be comfortable if it’s the last thing you do.

In fact, you’re too lazy to even raise your head to pucker your lips for a kiss from Jungkook. You only open your arms and hum, as if he’s supposed to telepathically know what you want from him. But he does, and he flops onto you once he tugs his shirt off. Jungkook’s face remains buried in your chest as you gently rub his scalp.

He hums happily, nearly purring at your touch and shoves himself closer into your hold. You can’t believe this man, the man who mildly intimidated you for years, is now in your arms and purring like a baby kitten. He’s admitted a few times that his scalp has been irritated and inflamed ever since he dyed his hair purple. One of his favorite things is to lay in your lap while you massage a mix of coconut oil and peppermint oil into his scalp.

He looks up at you, warm heat blazing in his eyes. You’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about but he palms your pussy from under your shirt- your still swollen, puffy pussy from the four times he’s made you cum already.

“Can I help you, Jungkook,” You ask flatly, but your poker face breaks when he dots you with kisses up and down your thighs.

“Yeah, fuck,” Jungkook groans, voice slowing to a whine, “I’m still hard, baby, fuck. Help me.”

“How are you still hard,” You wonder with a grin, “Damn, Jeon. You must really like me, huh?”

“If that wasn’t obvious then I’m clearly not doing something right here,” He breathes into your skin.

“Gimme a kiss then,” You murmur, pushing his long hair behind his ear. His eyebrow piercing glints in the light of your bedroom and you trace it gently with your fingertips. Jungkook desperately pushes his lips to yours, parting your lips easily and slipping his tongue into your mouth. He kisses your teeth hungrily, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks.

His hips roll into yours impatiently, hands already pawing at your shirt. The air in your bedroom is suddenly so stifling, thick and nearly choking you both with the intensity of your desire. You just want him to feel good with you.

“Jungkook,” You say softly with warm cheeks, “You can use me, however you want. Tell me what you want, bunny.”

He lets out a quiet gasp, his eyes bright and wide.

You’re both on the same page, because he’s scrambling to chuck his boxers to the side and you’re tossing your shirt on top of his boxers.

***********************

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook groans. He’s breathless, heart racing erratically. All he can do is hold your shoulders as he watches with a piercing, hazy gaze as his cock is swallowed in between your tits. You squeeze them tightly together, trying to create as much friction as you can for him.

“Fuck,” He whines, “Fuck, you look so good, baby. O-oh, shit, my pretty baby, you’re pretty-”

Jungkook nearly cums when you mischievously stick your tongue out to brush against the head of his leaking cock. The visual is almost too much for him and his breaths are choked, strangled as he forces himself to look into your dark eyes.

“So big, bunny, look,” You say softly, “You like this? You’re so hot like this…”

He’s nearly in tears, eyes shining and wet at how good this feels. If your pussy was a slice of heaven, then your tits were the next best thing. You moan softly, feeling your own wetness and heat pooling. Jungkook’s cheeks and chest are flushed, eyes wild and wet as he slides his cock in between the valley of your tits languidly. Almost as if he doesn’t want the moment to end.

You’re so warm, warm everywhere.

His muscles are tense, the furrow in his brow beginning to appear when he’s about to cum. “Shit, baby, oh my god, I love your tits,” Jungkook moans, tossing his head back, “Fuck, I love everything about you-”

You don’t know how he’s able to form coherent sentences to you when he’s this close to cumming. But he’s always been a man of many talents.

“You know what I just realized,” You gasp suddenly, “Neither of us made it official that we’re dating. Like I never asked you ‘out’ and you never asked me ‘out’-”

“Fuck, you talk too much,” Jungkook nearly snarls, “My cock is literally in between your tits and I’m about to fucking cum all over you and you think I belong to anyone else?”

You swallow thickly, Jungkook narrowing his eyes at you. He looks intimidating and intense above you, his powerful, golden thighs straddling either side of you.

“N-no, I was just-”

Jungkook shoots you a glare, reaches behind him and gathers your wetness with two fingers. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he pushes two fingers into your mouth to shut you up. You send him a glare right back, but it melts away quickly when you swirl your tongue and suck on his digits.

He cums without warning, hastily and with a broken sort of sound ripping from his throat. It’s warm and sticky as it lands on your chest and your cheek. But he cums so much and much to your chagrin some of his cum gets in your eye and you nearly shriek at the burn.

“Jungkook! What the hell, your cum is in my fucking eyeball-”

He’s still panting above you, like some sort of golden boy, and it takes him a few seconds to register your irritation. “Oh shit,” Jungkook says and jumps into action. He tugs you into the bathroom to gently wash your eye for you (after washing his own hands), with you grumbling the entire time.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. You roll your eyes and demand to be taken back to bed and lavished in kisses as penance for his cum shooting into your eye.

Jungkook tastes himself a little when his tongue slips into your mouth, but it hardly registers as he rolls on top of you, caging you in between his arms.

Jungkook fleetingly thinks he should’ve spent more time trying to convince you to stay home with him. Maybe with a few soft, long kisses to your neck, he might have. You looked delectable, good enough to eat- your dress fitted around your hips, nails, hair, and makeup done, the scent of your perfume subtle but not irritating to his sensitive nose.

You had asked him to pick what jewelry to wear, so one of his long necklaces sitting around your neck and disappearing into the valley of your chest. It doesn’t really match with your dress, but you don’t care.

And Jungkook… well, it was difficult for you to keep your hands off of him as well. His hair is tied back into a neat ponytail, he’s wearing a sequined black (fitted) button up with the top four buttons undone, a thick, silver chain and ripped, black jeans. Your eyes are glued to his chest and he knows it- you can’t help but grip his arm, his bicep whenever you can.

Neither of you really enjoyed the club scene, but you had wanted to go out since it had been a really long time and after all, you were on your staycation. Mei had planted the idea in your head, and so now here Jungkook was.

Here he was, catching flashes off the satin, coral colored wrap dress that you were encased in. For someone who doesn’t like the scene, you blend in effortlessly. But you’re a grown woman, so he takes his eyes off of you and orders a round of shots for him, Jimin, Taehyung and Jin while nursing a bottle of soju.

In the midst of the thumping bass bouncing off of the walls in the club, you’re only aware of you and Mei while you both sing along to whatever song is blasting through the club. Mina disappeared a while ago, presumably to find Jimin.

You’re holding two drinks, one in each hand, and all you feel is the vibrations of the club. Along with your own drunkenness. Mei holds your arm to keep you steady as you move your hips in time with hers. You laugh loudly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders at something she said. Everything is amplified and muted at the same time, the swirl of alcohol settling comfortably in your veins.

You’re having a great time with your friends, dancing, swirling, singing and drinking. It’s a nice night to unwind, in the company of dear friends and strangers.

“Hey,” Mei murmurs in your ear, “I gotta pee and I’m gonna go find Seulgi-”

“You can just say that you wanna go find her,” You giggle, “Don’t blame your bladder on it, Mei.”

“Oh, you’re funny. I’ll text Jungkook and tell him to come find you, alright?” Mei says, patting your head. You nod and tell her to go find her girl, and she does. Leaving you to your own devices for a bit, at least until Jungkook makes his way to you.

However, what neither of you realize is that the cell reception in this building is terrible. Mei’s text never goes through and you stay in your bubble, with your two drinks in your hands and bounce along to the music.

You’re not sure how much time goes by, but it feels like you’ve been alone for quite a while. You squint your eyes at your phone to check the time and send a text to Jungkook. A text that never goes through. You frown and are about to turn on your heel to link up with your man (wherever he might be), but you hear a surprised call of your name.

It’s hard to keep the incredulity out of your face when you come face to face with Yunho, the man who had stood you up all those months ago. The air has almost been punched out of your lungs, and you have to squint at him to believe what you’re seeing.

He calls your name again, giving you a wave and a bright smile. “Funny seeing you here, huh?”

“Uh…”

“Can I buy you a drink? I feel like I owe it to you after…” His eyes are sincere. At least you think so, with your drunk goggles on.

“I don’t know, Yunho, it’s okay…” You mumble unsurely, “Isn’t this weird?”

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” Yunho says and pulls a chuckle out of you.

“Oh, alright. I guess a drink won’t hurt,” You shrug and lead the way to the bar. The least he can do for you after standing you up and hurting your feelings is buy you a drink, you think.

“Hey listen, I owe you an apology,” Yunho says, sliding your drink towards you.

“Oh, it’s- it was a long time ago,” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. Sure, it was a hit to your ego, but in hindsight it doesn’t matter. Not when you have Jungkook. Honestly, you’ve forgotten that Yunho had even been a blip in your radar once upon a time. It was only because of Sora, anyway.

“I had something urgent come up last minute that day and I asked Sora to tell you,” Yunho continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t follow up or even reach out to you after. But I’d heard that you were with Jeon now, so didn’t want to… overstep, I guess.”

And even through your drunken haze, you understand. You sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh boy,” You groan, “Sora never told me about that but we’re not close anymore, Yunho. It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry she got you, too.”

Yunho’s lips part in surprise, “She didn’t… Alright. What’s done is done, I guess.”

“Yeah,” You murmur airily, “And yes, I am with Jeon. Though I can’t seem to find him…”

“I’m happy to keep you company until you do.”

Despite how well you and Yunho seem to hit it off (most of your time spent bitching about Sora), you can’t help but think of Jungkook. You quite miss him, not having seen him all night in the club. You want to dance with him, and little do you know that he’s been scouring the entire club for you in a frenzy once he ran into Mei and Mina and hadn’t seen you with them.

He had sent them a glare, his jaw clenched and walked away to find you. So when his eyes finally land on you at the bar, after about twenty-five minutes of searching and trying to get through strings of people around you, his heart soars. But he sees you laughing with someone else at the bar. With Yunho.

Jealousy is petty, he tells himself. But he struggles to keep it at bay as it rears its head and comforts him. He’s always been protective and possessive of those he loves and cherishes. You’re definitely no exception.

You wobble a little on your feet, but you hold your own. Even from here, he can see the drunkenness of your smile, beads of sweat as they race down your neck to hide in the valley of your breasts. He zeroes in on your necklace (his) around your neck and reminds himself. It’s his necklace that you’re wearing, after all.

Then why is the man who stood you up all those months ago making you laugh like that?

You must have a sixth sense or something for him, because you turn your head a bit as if you can sense him. Your entire face lights up when you see him, in a way that makes his tough heart swell in adoration.

You make your way over to him with your drink and peck his lips chastely, despite his desire to pull you into his arms and kiss you long enough that your knees buckle. So that Yunho sees that he is yours.

“You disappeared on me, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, adjusting your necklace. He’s gripping it tightly, but you don’t notice.

“I was with Yunho, remember him? ‘Member, he stood me up but he didn’t because it was Sora’s fault-”

“That’s no surprise,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes. You take his hand, squeezing and introduce him to Yunho. As if he doesn’t know him already. Jungkook’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t like how Yunho looks at you, how his gaze lingers on your skin and the curves of your dress. You lean against Jungkook heavily, absently playing with his fingers. You stay mostly quiet, sipping your drink as the two men speak (rather tersely).

Jungkook knows he’s being ridiculous.

“Kook, finish my drink?” You murmur, offering him the glass. Jungkook maintains eye contact with Yunho as he downs the remainder of your drink in a few solid gulps.

“Was nice to see you, Yunho,” You say, “I think Jimin and Mina are looking for us, Jungkook. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

With that Jungkook firmly holds your waist, keeping you close to him. You both know that neither Jimin nor Mina are looking for either of you. You’d only wanted to be alone with Jungkook.

So Jungkook leads you to a spot where he knows Yunho can visibly see you both. You let loose, giggling as Jungkook twirls you easily and moving your arms to match the beat of the music. He makes you laugh with his moves, winking at you and shooting finger guns at you as he twirls and swivels around you. He’s always been a great dancer, you realize. That’s funny, because you’re sometimes clumsy on your own two feet. He pulls you into him, his chest to your back and his hips pressed against your ass. You sigh contentedly, head lolling against his shoulder and you rest your hand over his hand to let him lead you.

His nose is buried in your neck, lips lightly brushing your pulse. He bites your earlobe gently, earning a soft laugh from you. Jungkook tilts your jaw to the side to meet your eyes and plants a deep kiss to your glossy lips. He holds you steady when your knees weaken, your belly flipping at the intensity that he pours into you.

Jungkook is all around you, encasing you within his arms and there’s not a single place you’d rather be. When you pull away for air, you thumb away your gloss on his bottom lip and bite his bottom lip gently.

“I adore you,” You say dreamily, “You are so… Everything. Everything. I adore you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks burn, but he ducks his head for another sharp kiss. And if Yunho is watching him shove his tongue down your throat and holding your hips to his possessively then that’s fine by him.

The journey back home is a quick one (after you both stop for fried noodles, despite the inevitable heartburn it’ll give you both the next day but you’re both so hungry). You both stumble into your home in a mess of giggles and groping, nearly falling to the floor due to your clumsiness.

Jungkook has been hard since he kissed you in the club, in front of Yunho. He knew Yunho had been watching, feeling the man’s eyes on you both the entire time. His jealousy has crawled back into the box that it was unleashed from, but he knows that’s something to revisit later.

Something else to revisit is that he liked that someone else was watching him with you. He stores that information for later, instead focusing on keeping you upright from falling.

Somehow, through your blurry vision and wobbly legs, you get on your knees and palm Jungkook’s cock through his pants. A shameless moan rips through you- any and every inch of him makes you dizzy with desire.

You like him so much that it nearly makes you cry.

“Gonna blow you now,” You announce happily, fumbling with the button of his jeans and using all of your concentration and strength to pull his pants down along with his boxers. You sloppily kiss your way down his chest, spending extra time on his tattoo and licking (then biting) his happy trail before humming around his leaking cock.

He’s so wet already, and it’s all because of you.

Jungkook groans, eyes closing in pleasure as your pretty mouth wraps around his cock. He thrusts lightly into your mouth, peeling his eyes open to watch you. Only to find you already staring up at him, your makeup smudged and tears already forming in your pretty eyes. He cradles your cheek affectionately, stroking your cheekbone-

But before he can compliment you, softly praise you, he hears a noise. It originates from the back of your throat, something both familiar and unfamiliar. You gag uncontrollably around his cock, and while it’s certainly not the first time it’s happened, it’s different this time. Because you’re a little drunk. So he should be unsurprised when you retch on his cock, pull yourself off of him before your drunk self can get any more vomit on his cock and sprint into your bathroom.

You manage to lock the door in your frenzy of utter humiliation and alcohol addled mind. You hover over the toilet bowl, the sounds of you throwing up bouncing off of the walls. You’re crying, sobbing more like it- from both the pain in your chest from vomiting violently into the toilet bowl coupled with the humiliation of quite literally throwing up on your boyfriend’s cock.

You groan and squeeze your eyes shut, as if that’ll erase the memory.

“Baby,” Jungkook calls softly, his cock fully hanging out in the open, “Baby, please open the door. It’s not a big deal, but I need to wash my dick off.”

You let out a choked, watery laugh at that and move to flush the toilet and rinse your mouth out. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment when you unlock your bathroom door, and you can’t bear to look Jungkook in the eye. But he holds your wrist to his when you try to escape into the safety of your bedroom.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest, heat flooding your ears in shame. It feels like your head is empty, static filling up the spaces that the silence between you both doesn’t.

“It’s just me,” Jungkook coos, “Do you want to shower with me?”

“Jungkook, ‘m absolutely mortified,” You say flatly, voice a little high in pitch as fresh tears burning behind your eyelids, “I want to evaporate from this plane of existence in about three-point-four seconds, I literally threw up on your penis, I’m so sorry. Don’t even look at me-”

Jungkook winces at your tone and the way your shoulders are hunched, hands gripping the hem of your dress unsurely.

“Baby,” Jungkook sighs, “It’s really okay, there’s nothing to apologize for. Come shower. The vomit is drying on my dick-”

But that’s the wrong thing to say because you start to cry immediately, shoving your face in your hands. Jungkook sighs, mentally kicking himself and running a hand through his purple locks. He calls your name softly and pulls you into his arms for a tight hug, despite the drying vomit on his dick, which is hanging out and brushes against your hip. You sniffle, peeking at him with shy eyes and he rubs your back soothingly.

“When I say it’s okay, I mean it,” Jungkook murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how drunk you were. I know you feel embarrassed, but it’s just me, baby.”

He kisses you, despite your protests, and helps you rinse your mouth again. You allow Jungkook to somehow maneuver you into the shower, peeling you out of your clothes. You feel grimy and sticky from the club and you’re grateful for the cool water against your skin. You stand behind Jungkook, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face in between his shoulder blades, letting him wash himself.

“Can I wash you?” You whisper, voice unsure. You feel awful, cheeks burning but still. He nods and you take your body wash and lather him with it, washing his now limp dick gently and swallowing nervously.

“See? Not a big deal,” Jungkook says, coaxes you out of your nervousness, “Lemme wash you, baby.”

And so he does, taking your loofah and gently rubbing your skin. Under the cool spray of water, your nerves slip away with each giggle and kiss that he pulls and plants from your lips. Your eyes are still a little shy, a little slick with alcohol. But it’s just Jungkook, and you’re safe with him.

Jungkook nearly wrestles you to get you to eat something more, after throwing up the remainder of your guts after you both had showered (it was mainly just water and alcohol at this point). You’re nearly falling asleep on his shoulder but he manages to shake you awake for a slice of leftover noodles and two glasses of water. But eventually, he coaxes you into eating with a few kisses, hugs, and shoulder rubs.

Once you both are in bed, Jungkook wraps himself around you, his hands immediately drifting below your sleep shirt to your belly. Your cheeks burn as the events of the night replay in your mind’s eye and you press your face into your pillow with a groan.

“I can’t believe I threw up on your dick a-and you’re so nice a-about it,” You mumble, “You really are everything.”

“Well, what else am I going to do if the girl I like vomits on my dick,” Jungkook murmurs, “Don’t worry about it, baby. It happens.”

“To who? Only to me,” You say sadly, “I drank too much. I’m sorry, Kook-”

“Shhh,” Jungkook says, tightening his arms around you and kissing your forehead, “I promise it’s okay. I promise I’m not looking at you any differently.”

His words make you relax in his hold and you nod. Jungkook tilts your jaw towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t say anything else after that, only allowing your soft, breathy sighs to spill out of your lips and into him with every comforting kiss and every slip of his tongue in your mouth.

He tells you to rest in between kisses, but your eyes are already closed.

**************************************

MOM TAGS: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe @beeeetsandskzreads @maichiverse @hordanhearsawhooo @anonymous2505 @dreadity @mysugarkoo @ultraanonymousey @moonchild1 @fan-ati--c @yeotan07

TAGS: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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s-brant · 3 years

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Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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littlemissnoname13 · 3 years

Text

Three Days With You - Part Two

Summary: Draco has a rather interesting day planned for the two of you. Joined by familiar faces, old wounds resurface leaving the two of you with more questions than answers.

Warnings: smut,mature language and scenes, drinking, a fair amount of angst, mentions of blood

Word count: 3000

A/n: it’s 4am and I’m sleep deprived. This series is a bit plot heavy as opposed to WOS. I tried so very hard to fit everything under the 3000 word limit I’ve set for each part.

Song that plays as they dance: Fade into you by Mazzy Star

Part one | Masterlist

~~~

Sometime around Umbridge’s reign of terror, 5th year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

With his arms folded, Draco casually reclined against the wall and he watched you write lines with Umbridge’s quill. He tried to keep a straight face but it was hard not to wince as he watched the words etch themselves onto your skin.

It seemed that Dolores Jane Umbridgde wasn’t really fond of you. In fact, he was certain she despised you just as much as Potter.

This was your third consecutive evening in detention and as a member of the inquisitorial squad, he was tasked with the duty of keeping an eye on you.

And while you did a moderately decent job of keeping a straight face through the searing sensations, he could sense that you were clearly in pain.

“Murtlap essence.” Draco said quietly and you dropped the quill and turned around to look at him. “It should help with the abrasions.”

“Why are you talking to me, Malfoy?”

Draco arched a brow at your question but internally, he too was pondering why he was talking to you.

Nobody talked to you.

You always spent most of your time scribbling furiously into what looked like a diary of some sort. You barely had any friends and most of his so-called friends were very upfront about their disdain for you and your muggleborn heritage.

“Why can’t I talk to you?” He finally asked, walking up to where you were seated.

“Are you asking me or are you asking yourself?” You quipped and went back to writing lines with that wretched quill. You always seemed so unbothered by everything.

A part of his brain was telling him to shut up and another part of his brain was trying to come up with a witty response just to impress you.

“I’m asking you.” He sighed in defeat before crouching down next to you to look at the gashes on your hand. “Why can I not talk to you?”

“Hm, let’s see..” You said with a bit more salt than you intended to. “Your Pure blood ideals that classify people like me as mudbloods, the prejudice, not to mention Umbitch who wouldn’t be very pleased to see you talk to me while I’m writing lines for her.”

His fingertips ghosted over your cuts, barely making contact with the blood as he contemplated running outside to look for some murtlap essence himself.

“Dont.” You winced when his skin made contact with the cuts. “Just don’t. I don’t need your pity.”

His eyes caught sight of yours as you pulled your hand away and he immediately felt uneasy at the sight of them. It was a kind of wistfulness, a type of yearning and nostalgia for something that never was. Something that never could be. And it somehow made him want it even more.

Draco lifted his hand, letting his fingers brush against your cheek and he heard you reflexively draw in a sharp breath.

He found himself leaning in to capture your lips in his but you hesitated.

“It wouldn’t be justifiable if something happened in between us.” You whispered, leaning an inch away from him. “It would be highly inconvenient for you if someone found out.”

“Then I guess, no one must know.” His voice was hoarse before he crashed his lips into yours.

How was he ever going to explain himself if anyone found out? His whole life, he was taught to be repelled by your kind. He was, however, anything but repelled.

He was swallowing all of the little whimpers that you made and he was revelling in the feel of your smooth skin underneath your shirt.

How was he ever going to justify the way he was slowly allowing his fingers to trace your inner thighs before pushing your panties aside to press his finger into your wetness.

Gods, the sounds you were making when he pushed a finger inside of you.

Why were you allowing him to touch you like this?

Hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned with your breasts falling out, legs spread open for him to see. For him to claim.

“Is this okay?” He asked before taking a slow lick up your soaked cunt and you raked your fingers into his hair and gripped hard as you nodded eagerly.

One taste of you and instantaneously forgot everything that was expected of him. It didn’t bother him what type of blood ran through your veins. The way he wanted to kneel and worship your pretty and wet cunt was more sacred than the entire bloody sacred twenty eight.

When he finally lined his hardened erection up against your entrance, he noticed that you had suddenly tensed. Your hesitation was notable in the way you tilted your head and stared at the floor like your life depended on it.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, using his index finger to tilt your face back to him. “Tell me, y/n. Do you want me to stop?”

That was the first time he’d used your given name and saying it made his ears turn hot.

“No—No I don’t want you to stop.” You whispered, still refusing to look at him. “It’s just that—I’ve never..”

How could he have been so dense?

The way you were digging your nails into his arms, your whimpers, and the way you winced when he pushed his fingers inside you should have told him that you were a virgin.

He caressed your cheeks slightly and dipped his head lower to press a kiss onto your forehead before backing away.

He didn’t want your first time to be with someone like him, during Umbridge’s detention of all places with your cuts still bleeding and seeping into the cotton of his white shirt.

“Draco don’t.” You whispered his given name softly and grabbed him by the arm before he had the chance to walk away. “Don’t go.”

“But y/n—”

You pulled him in and pressed your lips on his before he could reason with you.

He had the choice to walk away from you, from all this but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt different with you.

He asked you one more time before lining himself up against you. And when you gave him a soft and breathy “yes”, he pushed.

Your walls clenched him in and you tried your best to repress your tearful whimper by biting down on the exposed part of his shoulder.

He made sure to be gentle with you when he made the first few thrusts.

Soon enough, your grip on his arms loosened. Your cries morphed into tiny little gasps and moans of his name and you began to kiss the same place you were previously biting.

And at that very moment he knew you had surrendered yourself to him.

Wholly. Completely. Entirely.

At the particular moment, you belonged to nobody but Draco Lucius Malfoy and he—

~~~

Present day, Pilgrim’s Inn, 9:27 Am

Draco, fixing you both a cup of coffee, stilled and snapped out of the flashback inside his mind when you let out a small grumble in your sleep and reached towards his side of the bed.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself when he noticed the visibly annoyed look on your sleepy face when all you felt were pillows and sheets.

As much he wanted to sit and watch you sleep like a mega creep, it seemed like a good time to wake you up.

~~~

He was still wearing the same trousers and black shirt from the previous night when your eyes fluttered open. Only this morning, the shirt was buttoned halfway, exposing most of his chest and torso. The sleeves had been rolled back and you felt your stomach twist into a knot at the sight of his dark mark.

It served as a constant reminder that you only really had three days with him.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, Draco stood up and walked towards the bed with a ceramic mug filled to the brim with coffee causing your lips to twist into a grateful smile.

“Drink up.” He said as he sat down on the chair next to you. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

After a big gulp of the coffee, you put the mug on the bed side table and looked at him.

“We do?”

“Of course we do.” He motioned towards a turquoise box on top of the dresser, sounding giddy and excited. He almost sounded like the carefree and careless Draco you loved to hate from the first few years at school.

You quickly threw the duvet off your body and scurried towards the dresser; the floorboards of the inn creaked as you did so.

“What’s in the box?” You turned your head back to look at him.

Draco’s cheeks were flushed and he was watching you with darkened eyes. His firm grip on the mug made his knuckles turn pale and you only realized you were standing in front of him naked when you saw the growing bulge in his pants

You ignored your own blood rush to your cheeks while you unwrapped the box to see what he was so excited about.

It was an oxblood red dress, with the softest fabric you’d ever touched. Long flowy sleeves and a plunging neckline, it was strikingly gorgeous.

“A Dress Draco?” You raised a brow at him.

“For our very first date. And for later..” he smirked and you scanned the entire dresser to find an appropriate object to throw at him.

“That’s some way to ask a girl out and must you always think about sex?!” You accused even though you were thinking about it too and reached for a book he’d left on top of the dresser to throw at him.

Before launching the book his way, you paused to examine the book on your hand that read Advanced Potion Making by Libatius Borage. It was only then that you realized that more than half of the books he had in the inn were about potions and alchemy.

How could you have not realised? Potions was the only subject he really seemed to enjoy at school.

Even during the nights you spent together back in school, you’d prop yourself up on his bed, wrap a sheet carelessly around your bare body and watch him stay up late to work on his Potions homework.

You’d always encourage him towards a career in potion making and he’d smile wistfully at the idea before turning to look at the snake and skull tattoo on his forearm. With a vacant look in his otherwise mercurial eyes, he’d remind you that he would have liked that if the circumstances were different.

You dropped the book back on the desk and instantly flung yourself into his arms.

~~~~

When he felt you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, Draco stiffened.

The way you were holding him made it seem like you were already saying your goodbyes and he felt as if someone had repeatedly used the cruciatus curse on him. He couldn’t bring himself to think about his life without you in it.

He wasn’t ready.

Draco quickly sorted out his scrambled thoughts and placed his oculomancy walls up as high as he could.

“As sexy as you are naked, I’d very much like to see that dress on you.”

You slightly sniffled before walking back towards the dresser to slip the dress on. The way you struggled with the zipper was adorable to him and he helped you zip it up with a crooked grin on his face.

Considering the present situation, taking you outside of the inn was risky so he’d taken it upon himself to arrange a perfect little lunch at the inn itself. Complete with vintage wine, a lavish main course and a decadent dessert to top it all off.

Sure, it took another huge wad of muggle cash, and coaxing the owner but the look on your face when he fed you a spoonful of chocolate mousse was worth it.

He was going to be the best fucking boyfriend on the face of this planet even if it was only for three days.

Draco took your hand, kissed you on the knuckle, guided you to the table, pulled your chair out for you and tried his hardest to not stare at your cleavage for more than thirty seconds.

Thank Merlin for all of the etiquette training he had to undergo when he was younger!

~~~

The two of you didn't really get around making much progress on the rest of the items on Draco’s itinerary filled with cliched tripes like reading poetry to each other and slow dancing to a song playing on the vintage turntable in the far corner of the room.

You’d never taken him for a romantic but he was adamant on the idea of finding “your song” from the tracks on the record that was spinning round and round.

When the both of you finally stopped bickering and agreed on a song, he stood up in front of you and offered you his hand.

Fade into you. Strange you never knew…

The chorus went as he took the lead and swayed you slowly across the room, careful not to trip on furniture.

Both of you barely made it to the end of the song and you weren’t even surprised.

~~~

“Gods you really do look beautiful in this dress..” he let out a low growl when he stopped dancing to pin you against the mattress and attach his lips to the pulse point of your neck.

To his utter surprise, you wasted no time in yanking his belt buckle.

“I need you…Draco Lucius Malfoy.” You pleaded as you started to pump his length in your hand. “I need you now.”

Urgency was dripping through every syllable that left your lipstick smudged mouth. Arousal was seeping through the fabric of your panties and Draco was afraid he’d come just by watching you like that.

“Say it again..” he whispered as he attached his mouth to your firm nipple. “Please—y/n, just say my name like that again..”

“Draco…”

With no hesitation or remorse, he pried your legs apart and pushed his cock right where it belonged inside of you. The way your body reacted to the motion drove him insane.

He often questioned his place in the universe, it was a constant battle between light and dark, between right and wrong.

But with you, he always felt like he belonged.

“You’re going to make me come…Draco..”

He buried his face into your hair and continued to fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

It was never like this with anybody else for him. And it was never going to be.

“I love you.” You whispered as you succumbed to your orgasm, heedless of the way your words would affect him.

How could you say those words out loud so often and not care about the consequences that came along with it?

“Don’t be selfish..” He groaned, feeling his own high approaching at the sound of those words. “Don’t you dare…”

“I love you.” You moaned, louder this time. “I love—”

He silenced you with a kiss before you could say it again. The weight of those words were always too much for him. Especially when he knew he had less than seventy two hours with you.

Draco began to think about all those years of childish games and wasted time as strong stinging sensations prickled up on his skin.

First, at the pit of his stomach. Then, on his left forearm.

He’d been called upon.

~~~

“Do not leave this inn. You understand?” He warned as he quickly redressed. “I’ll have someone sent over to look after you.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” You protested as you wrapped the sheets around your body and got out of bed. “I don’t need a babysitter,Draco.”

His eyes darkened and his expressions hardened as he heard your words and you gulped when he stormed over to where you stood.

“Listen to me carefully.” He gripped hard onto your shoulders and shook you. “Stay put and only open the door if you hear three knocks.”

It took a second for you to let his words sink in but you slowly nodded.

His cold hands cupped either of your cheeks and his forehead pressed up against yours; desperate and frantic eyes stared back at you.

“I have one more thing on my itinerary for us.” He said, conjuring the best smile he could give you before leaning in to press a slow and soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll be back soon.”

You held onto his words, dressed yourself in one of his sweaters, paced back and forth in the room, made yourself a cup of strong black coffee and even read through his extensive collection of books.

After what seemed like an hour, you heard it. Three very precise knocks on your door.

Very anxiously, you opened the door to find a brunette boy giving you a Cheshire Cat kind of smile.

He casually leaned forward to squeeze you into a bone crushing hug as if you were a long lost family member and you scrunched up your nose, awkwardly hugging back.

“I believe a proper introduction is long overdue.” He said as he let go. “Theodore Nott.”

“I know who you are.” You mumbled as you stepped back to let him in. “I have seen you in class.”

“Great.” He smiled as his eyes danced around the room to look at the books, the coffee pot, the turntable and the remains of what used to be the dress Draco got you.

A bright pink flush swiped across your cheeks as Theo disapprovingly shook his head. “I know you both spent half of the day shagging but please tell me you managed to do at least five activities from the itinerary!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I had to unfortunately sit and watch him put the blasted itinerary together.” Theo sighed, as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee pot before reaching for a tiny flask inside his jacket. “Occulumancy aside, Ferret is also rubbish at hiding things from me.”

You let out a snort when you remembered Draco the ferret.

After your laughter simmered down, Theo took a rather cautious step towards you before offering you his flask.

“Nothing happened between him and Pansy that day y/n.”

Your heart started to ache as your mind started recollecting that day. That goddamned day.

“And you’re telling me this now because?”

Theo sat down on the floor and patted the empty space next to him with a sad little smile on his face.

“Closure.”

(To be continued….)

~~~~~~

Part three preview:

The two of you laid peacefully next to each other one top of a picnic blanket he’d conjured, somewhere in the middle of a forest clearing

The stark black sky was littered with a million shimmering stars. Protective wards were in place and the air was saturated with the scent of pine wood and moss.

From across the blanket, Draco reached for your hand and gave it a little squeeze and you turned to your side to get a better view of him—his silver hair giving the moonlight a run for its money.

“Lyrids.” He smiled, pointing his index finger at the sky as meteors started falling from the sky, one after another…

TDWY tag list: @nicofiliac @emma67 @kimberlyxmalfoy @palecaramel @letoof @ameliasbitvh @sycathorn-slush @dr4cking @malfoyswifeyy @arzfia @icedlattewithalmondmilk @alisslahey @lieswithoutfairytales @dracoslittlesunflower @dmalfoyswhore @serpentesonagli @dracomalfoys-wh0re

Join the series tag list here.

Love,

A very sleep deprived and delirious vi

#draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fic #draco angst #draco lucius malfoy #draco series #draco x reader smut #draco x you #draco x reader #draco smut #three days with you #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers Lunatic Parade Special Pamphlet Short Story: The 12 Vampires and the Magic Lamp [ENG Translation]

Original title: １２人のヴァンパイアと魔人のランプ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Lunatic Parade Limited Edition Special Pamphlet

Summary: After the Parade has come to an end, Yui receives a special ‘Magic Lamp’ from Count Walter’s butler which can be used to grant a single wish. As she tries to refuse the gift, the Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers promptly stop her and begin to fight over who has the right to use this valuable treasure. She escapes, but the boys chase her around the city, each of them determined to have their own wish granted. ーー And so, their game of tag begins.

“Chichinashi! Where are you hidin’!?”

“Oooi~ Bitch-chan~! Be a good girl and show yourself?”

With the Parade having come to an end, Ayato-kun and Laito-kun’s voices echo through a now quiet and nearly deserted Glimmer Street. While hiding in the shadow of the buildings, a sof sigh fell from my lips.

“...What to do? I have to hurry and go to Bernstein Castle...”

Right now, I am on the run not only from Ayato-kun and Laito-kun, but from a total of 12 different Vampires.

All of this happened because I obtained the golden, shimmering ‘magic lamp’ I’m currently holding in my hands.

ーー It happened after I managed to regain my heart with everyone’s help.

As I was about to leave this city to return to the Human World, I was approached by a butler working for Count Walter. He handed me this ‘Magic Lamp’ as an apology for the trouble his Master had caused me. According to what I was told, it is an extremely valuable treasure which will grant any one wish.

Furthermore...The Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers were there to witness the whole ordeal.

“I just can’t accept something so valuable. ...I’ll give this back to you, okay?”

As I said that in hope of returning to Bernstein castle afterwards, they stopped me in disbelief.

And then claimed that if I did not want it, they would use it instead. ...This resulted into a fight and before they knew it, I had made a run for it, taking the lamp with me.

ーー And that is how our game of tag started.

I am not quite sure what everyone would wish for, but I believe we don’t need this thing if it can fulfill one person’s wish only.

“Heeh...So that’s your reasoning. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s useless though...”

“ーー S-Shuu-san...!?”

“Not just Shuu. I’m here too. Geez, you really made us go through the trouble of lookin’ for you.”

When I raised my head, Subaru-kun was standing next to me as well. ...No, it wasn’t just the two of them. All of the Sakamaki brothers had gathered, from Ayato-kun and Laito-kun whom I believed had walked past me earlier, to Kanato-kun and even Reiji-san.

“Hehe...You’re pretty desperate, Subaru.”

“I mean, Subaru-kun’s going to wish for Bitch-chan to fall head over heels in love with him, right~? No wonder he’s so desperate, nfu~”

“D-Don’t be makin’ up lies! My wish is a new coffin!”

“All I want...is to live surrounded by an endless amount of sweets!”

“In that case, I’m gonna wish for a huge load of takoyaーー No, actually, might not be bad to have Chichinashi turned into a Chichiari*.”

--> チチアリ or ‘Chichiari’ would be the opposite of ‘Chichinashi’, literally meaning ‘to have boobs’.

“Eh!? M-Me...!?”

“You can’t, Ayato-kun. I’ll be one turning Bitch-chan into a voluptuous, young woman after all~*”

--> He literally describes it as a ナイスバディのオネーサン or ‘Nice body no Onee-san’. Onee-san is used to refer to women who are older than you are but since Laito-kun is only 17 in human years, it would apply to a girl in her early 20s as well.

“G-Geez! Cut it out, you two...!”

“...You guys really came up with some bullshit. If it can grant any wish, I’d make it so the Old Man never bothers me again...Pwaah...”

And so, they began to slowly close in on me. The very moment they reached for the lamp, Reiji-san - who had been the only one remaining quiet so far - suddenly raised his voice.

“Would you care explain this to me? ...Because you kept touching the lamp with those sweaty palms, there are now fingerprints all over it! Come on, it is not too late yet! Put these on at once!”

While frantically shouting at me, he threw a pair of white gloves my way. Surprised by his menacing look, I put them on as asked, and Reiji-san finally nodded his head in agreement.

“I am disappointed...Do none of you grasp the true value of this lamp?”

“Haah? Are we really not allowed to touch it with our bare hands...?”

“It looks pretty normal from the outside though~ I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a similar example in Kanato-kun’s room...?”

“Yes. ...Well, that one isn’t capable of granting wishes though.”

Reiji-san sighed deeply at Ayato-kun, Latio-kun and Kanato-kun’s consecutive comments.

“...Only two of these ‘magic lamps’ exist in this world, making them very valuable from a historic point of view. Furthermore, the lamp may disappear once it has granted one’s wish, therefore it revolts me you lot are even considering putting it to use...”

While the other guys seemed little interested in Reiji-san’s emotion-laden speech, he once again spoke up.

“Well, I doubt you will ever understand. ーー Especially you, whom I did not expect to even join us in the first place...”

“...Shut up. Who cares?”

Shuu-san calmly brushed off Reiji-san’s taunt as if it was nothing.

“Hehe...Seems like he doesn’t give a shit ‘bout what you say.”

“Fufu, take a look at that frustrated expression on Reiji’s face. ...This might be the most interesting thing I’ve seen in quite some time.”

“Geez, cut it out you two~ Don’t you feel bad for Reiji~?”

“Feel bad? ...Hehe. Pretty sure your words hurt even more.”

The other four brothers who had been listening in on their conversation continued to chuckle...Which eventually caused Shuu-san to burst out laughing as well.

Seems like this sight dealt a pretty hefty blow to Reiji-san’s pride, as he stood there shaking violently from sheer anger.

I better make a run for it before things take a turn for the worse...

I used the fact they had suddenly completely forgotten about me to my advantage, and left the place at once.

“...Phew. Thank god. Seems like they didn’t notice.”

I eventually found myself on Aizen Alley, one of the streets located in the very back of Glimmer street. To be honest, I wasn’t too thrilled about having to pass through there, but if I wanted to head to the castle while avoiding Ayato-kun and the others, I had no other choice.

“Hehe...Too bad. You can’t escape us First Bloods.”

“Hand over that lamp you are holding at once.”

I gasp at the voices resounding from the darkness. Those who appeared were Shin-kun and Carla-san.

“I-I can’t do that...! I believe it is wrong to use the lamp for one’s own selfish pursuits...”

“If we give it back, it’ll just get thrown into some old, dusty storage room, right? In that case, I’m pretty sure the lamp would be happier to have someone use it as well?”

“B-But...”

“Come on, don’t hesitate. You’re keeping Nii-san waiting as well. Can’t you hurry up?”

“...T-Then, what would you wish for, Shin-kun?”

While snorting at my desperate question, he answered with a smile.

“That should be obvious. I’d make sure those filthy Vampires disappear off the face of the Demon World at onーー”

“ーー No. We want cured ham.”

“N-Nii-san...?”

“We shall change all food in this world to cured ham. That is my...No, the dearest wish of all First Bloods.”

“R-Right...”

Carla-san would blurt that out with a straight face. It is the very definition of a selfish wish but I wonder if Shin-kun is truly okay with it? ...I look over at Shin-kun while wondering that, seeing him look at Carla-san in utter defeat.

“...Well then, woman. Hand it over right now.”

“You’re actually hoping to fulfill that wish...!?”

“Yes, of course.”

All food in this world will turn into cured ham...That is just simply pushing it one step too far. It pains me to have to deceive him...But I decided to tell a certain lie.

“H-Have you already had the chance to try the cured ham galette which is said to be this city’s speciality...?”

“...Pardon?”

“It’s a limited edition galette which is available at stores only after the Parade has ended. While passing by the shops earlier, I noticed that only very few were left, so I figured I would inform you just in case...”

While there was no guaranteeing he would believe me, I wanted to make Carla-san forget about the lamp, even if just for a few minutes. With that sole purpose in mind, I continued my act.

“...Let us go, Shin. Just leave this woman be.”

“W-Wait, Nii-san! You’re just going to believe her on her word!?”

“We will know whether she was speaking the truth or not once we get to the shop. Even if she had been lying, capturing a human woman is child’s play to me. However, if she has been speaking the truth...”

“If we don’t hurry, they’ll run out of cured ham galettes, right? ...Right, I understand.”

Realizing there was no point in trying to reason with him, Shin-kun reluctantly trailed behind Carla-san as they left.

I truly am sorry...While internally apologizing to both of them, I headed towards my desitation.

“Haah...I can finally see it in the distance...”

Some time after I bid farewell with the Tsukinami brothers, I finally got close to Bernstein castle.

“Oh no...I can’t approach the castle like this...”

After all, four familiar figures were standing lined up by the castle’s gate. Those are the Mukami brothers...Of course, with Ruki-kun standing in the middle. As to be expected of a strategist like him. If I wanted to return the lamp to its owner, I would have to make it back here eventually. They were one step ahead of me.

“Eve...Found you...”

“...!! A-Azusa-kun!?”

When I timidly turned around at the voice suddenly calling for me from behind, Azusa-kun - who was talking to Ruki-kun and the others up until seconds ago - suddenly stood right in front of me.

“Ahー M-neko-chan! So this is where you’ve been~!”

“Che...Ya sure took yer sweet time. You’re damn late, Sow!”

“...Calm down, you guys. If we make too much of a ruckus, we’ll attract the attention of the others.”

When I raised my voice, it caught everyone’s attention and without a chance to slip away, I was soon surrounded by the four Mukami brothers.

“I’m sorry, guys. But I won’t hand over this lamp to anyone...!”

After jumping the gun like that, Ruki-kun let out a disappointed sigh.

“...Seems like you have got the wrong idea. I simply want to look after the lamp for you.”

“Eh...? You don’t want to use it to grant your own wish?”

“Of course not. If a Vampire such as myself holds on to the lamp, it will decrease the chances of one of the other guys stealing it.”

“You say that buuuut~ ...Ruki-kun, aren’t you actually hoping to use that lamp to renovate our manor~?”

“Your own exclusive study room off-limits for anyone else, and a play room filled with nothing but chess boards...Hehe, as to be expected of Mr. Eldest son.”

“Kuh...! Don’t assume such things. All I want to do is to make the home we have received from that man the most comfortable for you all to live in...!”

While Ruki-kun chuckles sarcastically after his true intentions are exposed by his siblings, Azusa-kun reached out for me.

“Listen, Eve...The four of us talked it out and...We’ve decided to use the lamp together with Ruki as our representative...”

“Ruki-kun’s so mean, you know~! I was actually going to wish for a hundred year’s worth of Vongole Bianco.”

“I was gonna ask for the power to manipulate the weather...But my idea got shot down at once. ...Haah...And here I thought I could make field work a lil’ easier on myself...”

“I just want to be with Eve so...I didn’t really have any particular wishes...”

“Is that so...? It’s really admirable of you all to hold back on your own desires.”

Even though the younger brothers were voicing their complaints, it didn’t seem like they were going to force their own wishes through. I’m sure it is because Ruki-kun intends to make a wish which benefits the whole family, as the deep bond of trust between the four brothers somehow made me feel warm inside.

However...That still does not mean I will give them the lamp.

“Uhm, you see...It just doesn’t sit right with me to only have one person’s wish granteーー!?”

The second I felt as if something was closing on me, a large sound resounded from the nearby buildings before they collapsed.

“...!? This magic...”

“The Tsukinami’s...perhaps? Look, over there...!”

“Ugeh! They look hella pissed off! Did ya do somethin’!?”

“Uu...W-Well...”

I could feel my heart drop at Yuma-kun’s words. Carla-san and Shin-kun must be upset about the lie I ended up telling them back then...

“Say, what should we do!? At this rate, we’ll all be turned to dust...!”

Kou-kun’s exclamation made me panic as I rushed towards the two brothers. Either way, I just had to apologize as quickly as possible...However, I was stopped by the Sakamaki brothers before I could reach them.

“You’ve got nowhere to run now...Oi, hand me the lamp already!”

“What are you saying, Subaru? I will be using the lamp. You’re in the way!”

“Hell no! I’m gonna have my wish granted!”

“Ehー Let me have the honor for once~ We can only use it once and my wish is obviously the best.”

Shuu-san joins in a little late as well and before I know it, the Sakamaki, Mukami and Tsukinami brothers are all gathered just like when we started off.

Glares were being exchanged here and there as a hostile atmosphere fills the air. I can no longer stop them all by myself. In that case, I will have to rely on an outer source to back me up. I didn’t want to use the lamp to have a wish granted but...This is the only way to stop their fight.

While rubbing the side of the lamp, I spoke up with a loud voice.

“Release lanterns into the sky once more!”

White smoke emitted from the lamp and soon after ー Poof! The lamp disappeared with a popping sound.

When I look up at the sky, I once again witness the same magical sight of countless lanterns floating through the sky, just like they did a few hours ago. ...At some point, their quarreling voices had gone quiet as well.

“You...Haah. You really are a foolish woman.”

“Ya really think we’re happy with this crap? Geez. Ya really used the lamp for some useless shit...”

“...Eh...?”

Shuu-san and Yuma-kun’s remarks catch me off guard as I froze on the spot.

“...Livestock, seems like you did not grasp the true value of that lamp.”

“Exactly...To think a great hidden treasure of the Demon World has been lost over such a ridiculous wish...!”

Ruki-kun and Reiji-san voiced their complaints as well.

“B-But...! All of you were moved by the lanterns, no...?”

I frantically reached out for the others, hoping that at least one of them would agree with me. ...That was all I wished for, yet...

“I mean, sure? But to be honest, I didn’t need to see it a second time...”

“...I’d hate to have to agree with a mere Vampire...But I’ll admit that Kou is right this one time. You feel the same, don’t you, Nii-san?”

“...My cured ham...”

“Too bad, Shin-san...Seems like Carla-san can’t hear you right now...”

“Ah-aah...I was looking forward to seeing a sexy Bitch-chan as well~”

“Me too. I was already making plans for which sweet I would try first...!”

“Fuck! There goes my plan of gettin’ a coffin in which nobody can bother me...!”

All I got in return were negative responses and sighs.

“...Guess I’ve got no other choice then! Oi, Chichinashi! Let me suck your blood to make up for it!”

“W-Wait! That’s way too sudden...!”

“Shut up! That’s the only thing which can calm this anger inside of me!”

While Ayato-kun closed in, I looked around me in search of someone to save me, but all I could see were a bunch of eyes glaring at me from the darkness. At this rate, they will all take my blood. ...There is no way I would come out of that alive. Realizing I had to make a run for it...I dashed away at full-speed.

“Ah! Wait, M-neko-chan!!”

“Geez, Bitch-chan! I’m not scary though~!”

The many lanterns floating through the night sky was a sight to behold, but unfortunately, I did not have the leaway to enjoy that right now. After all, I had to flee from their approaching footsteps and voices calling out for me as soon as possible.

I didn’t want them to fight and while I never expected them to become friends, I wished they would at least try and be on neutral terms with each other.

That wish was most definitely granted. Right now, they had put the strained relationship between the different families aside to join forces.

However, knowing their shared goal is my blood...doesn’t make me happy at all.

ーー The Demon World’s Parade safely came to an end, but my night had only just begun.

ーー END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers short story #diabolik lovers translation #shuu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #ruki mukami #kou mukami #yuma mukami #azusa mukami #shin tsukinami #carla tsukinami #diabolik lovers lunatic parade

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todoscript · 4 years

Text

Love Capsule

anonymous requested: Can I request a Bakugou scenario where the reader and the Bakusquad drag him out on a shopping trip and they see a whole section of vending machines and decide to check them out to see what cute, tasty or weird things they can find and the reader and Bakugou either get lost/ditched or squeezed together in a tight row but they have a good time and maybe the reader got a rare all might mysery figure and Bakugou wants it, so they they he can have it in exchange for a date?

genre: fluff pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 4.8k+ warnings: bakusquad shenanigans. bakugou cursing. pining.

author’s note: My Bakugou angst fic isn’t done yet but I wrote this request on the side. I wanted to have something to publish after not posting any written work for awhile so I did my best to get this out asap. sorry if it seems rushed! (also reposting this because the post stopped showing up in the tags).

There are only a fair bit of things Bakugou loathes more than wasting his valuable time. And that includes wasting that time by getting dragged into public places he has no desire to be, alongside the four most senseless nitwits the boy has ever had the displeasure of befriending.

It feels less like a friend group to him and more of a gathering of idiots as he watches four out of the six huddle around the aisle of vending machines across the mall. Where’s the other one, you might ask? You’re standing right next to him, sipping a bottle of sweet lemon tea dispensed to you from those vending machines.

“Ooh, look at this one!” The other girl in his squad, styling unruly pink hair, pokes a finger toward a blue machine in particular. What she finds interesting about it is that it’s absent of all buttons except a single one above the coin slot.

“Says here that you only have to pay a hundred yen for a mystery item,” Sero reads the instructions printed boldly across the surface, his grin showing his pearly whites. “Can range from food to even toys and cheap plastic jewelry.”

Popping up behind his taller friend, Kaminari squints incredulously at the sign before his eyes brighten like he’s concocted a conspiracy. “No, dude, I’ve heard of these kinds of vending machines before! They want you to think it’s some ordinary convenience vending machine, but these things actually have some super-secret big prize hidden inside!”

“Uh, no, that’s how you get your money robbed from you, Kaminari,” Kirishima tells the blonde, and yet his warnings end up floating from one ear and flying out the other. Kaminari fishes out a small stash of coins taut in between the lint balls of his pockets.

“Yeah yeah, just wait until you eat those words when I come home with a Playstation 5!”

“Why would there be a Playstation 5 of all things in there?” Ashido asks skeptically. She notes the small slot near the bottom, appearing sizable to dispense a large water bottle at most.

“Okay, maybe not an actual PS5, but probably the voucher you take to the game store to retrieve one, of course!” He waves the doubt away as he kneels and begins his succession of slotting coins in the machine until agitation eventually ebbs his features. About five hundred yen down the drain and all he’s amounted with in exchange are two Gudetama keychains, two packets of off-brand oreo cookies, and one can of that cheap instant black coffee he dislikes. Though if it’s one thing, he and the drink have in common it’s that they’re both positively bitter.

Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido all snicker wryly behind him while he deadpans at the snotty series of prizes with the skin between his eyebrows crinkled in defeat. Ashido takes this as the time to move along the row, dragging her sullen blond friend by the elbow. “Moving on! I want to get to the one with the Yakult drinks already!” She points onward and leads her compadres down the treasure trove of intriguing automated food vendors. Two of the boys press forward enthusiastically. Kaminari has to be lugged out of his brooding in order to play along.

“God, please just take me out already,” Bakugou mutters while leering his signature miffed face behind them. According to the giggle he registers chiming to his left, it seems you heard his complaints.

“Hm, not having a good time, I’m guessing?” you ask. The metallic edge of your lemon tea creases into the cushion that is your plush bottom lip. Bakugou finds himself staring there longer than he should and immediately tears his eyes away before he’s caught.

Your playful tone throws him off a beat later than he should’ve taken to reply. “Of course. I didn’t even want to be here to begin with,” he sneers with a brisk click of his tongue, crossing his arms. In a sense, he’s only telling half of the truth.

It’s true Bakugou did not desire to be here on his own accord. The squad dared to call him at the dead of midnight, when he was already tucked into bed by nine o’clock sharp and indulging in a needed rest, only to be ruefully awoken by his phone blaring across the expanse of his dorm room. The four should’ve suffered an earful from him as they tried to arrange a shopping trip of all things at that hour. However, his disinterest in the subject withered at the bait of your name casted into the conversation. Which to them was hook, line, and sinker. The cunning group of friends reeled him in at the idea that his crush would tag along. So, in the end, they got the rowdy blond to yield to the stupid shopping trip.

Though could it count as a shopping trip when four out of the six in their group were so transfixed by the weird vending machines in the place? The same four that organized said gathering to begin with? They’ve yet to cross into a single store here for crying out loud.

“If all you morons are gonna do is waste your damn money on these things, then this is a complete waste of time.” Bakugou doesn’t sugarcoat his irritation in the slightest. You still try to quell the bitterness in his tone with the saccharine that saturates your own.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, lighten up,” you tease playfully, pinching a small bit of the fabric on his arm to lightly urge him forward.

“You should at least try and join in on the fun with everyone—” At the turn of your head, your sentence cuts off, astonished to come across an empty space where your quartet of friends should be.

“And they’re already gone…” you say in disbelief. Your finger initially pointed in that direction falls limp. With their speedy curiosity plowing down the line of machines, the four have effectively ditched you two, leaving no trace of where they could’ve taken off for next.

The sigh from your lips lingers in amusement. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, Bakugou.”

When your eyes meet him again, you witness the scowl he glares at the abandoned space in front of the vending machine. The leer is menacing enough that if the contraption were an actual person, they might have rattled in fear, dropping down the snacks and drinks contained inside to sate his anger.

“Um, Bakugou?” you attempt to call out to him, but he’s too fixated by the peeved thoughts strewn in his head to hear you properly.

What the fuck are those dunces thinking? They planned this, didn’t they? God, I’m going to fucking kill them all! He babbles a seething torrent in his mind. Each one is more unrelenting and harsher than the last while a vein blisters prominently on his forehead.

What were the odds that going on a little shopping trip would end up with him left behind with his crush? Well, Bakugou thinks it’s absolutely none, and that this shit had to be preordained. If not, then it was just his bad fucking luck he supposes.

“—llo, earth to Bakugou Katsuki? Please send back a reply when you receive this message.”

At last, your voice surfaces, no longer drowned in Bakugou’s turbulent sea of thoughts as the hand you wave in front of him swims its way to his attention. “Huh?” He shakes his head twice to grip himself back to the matter at hand, observing in time the playful smile that curls mischievously on your lips.

“All back together I see. Good.” You start pulling on his arm and lead him in tandem with your steps. “Now let’s get going!”

Though he quirks up an eyebrow, Bakugou, weirdly enough, does not reject the way you drag him along without waiting for his response. In fact, with the other four gone, he finds it compelling that you’re taking the reins and asks mildly, “What? Are we gonna be doing some actual shopping now?”

His joke earns him your laughter resonating in melodic lilts to his ears before you leave his side to toss your empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Nope, we’re gonna be doing something even more fun, of course!” Then you resume dragging Bakugou down the walkways of the mall.

It’s not long until he questions the consecutive twists and turns he’s forced to take, having only been answered by your pursed grin multiple times.

“Hey, no more questions! Just trust me!” you quip at his refusal to be quiet and just obediently follow. The blonde can’t help it, of course, given the circumstances he’s wound himself in. Not many boys his age can control themselves if the person they like is pulling them along with as much enthusiasm as you are right now. But Bakugou is different from those other simpletons, crafting a mask to cover the elation hidden beneath with usual displeasure. Nothing but his uncharacteristic lack of annoyance and the ample glances in your direction could truly give himself away to his affections for you.

So with that, he places a generous amount of hope that you guide him somewhere more entertaining than that borefest he witnessed from the squad earlier.

But the moment you two reach your destination, he wonders if he may have accidentally misplaced that same hope down a rabbit hole instead.

“What the…” Bakugou’s words drift in the air at the quizzical sight before him. Mouth hanging open, he’s unable to conjure any sensible thoughts in time before you step in front of him.

“Tada! The Capsule Toy Gacha Room!” You spread your hands outward to present him an unhindered view of the room. It’s teeming with small capsule toy machines that line the walls, stacked on top of each other not to waste a single space inside. His red eyes squint at the assortment of bright colors painted on each machine that assaults his vision.

“Why the hell are there so many of these things?” Bakugou asks, jabbing a finger at the machines. You reply as you walk inside, “It’s the Gacha Room, Bakugou. Of course this place is gonna be filled with them.” You impart him an answer he is not at all satisfied with.

“I used to come here all the time when I was a kid! Glad it hasn’t really changed,” you say, noting the only real difference between then and now were the new toys and characters updated with the current trends. He begrudgingly trails behind you into the narrow corridors sandwiched with the machines on each side. The modest little tune you hum between your lips is a stark contrast to his disgruntled huffs accompanying his dragging feet.

Bakugou thinks being here is not any different from what the other four are frolicking about outside. This might be the worse alternative, considering you give money to a machine that grants you an item at complete random. You have no way of knowing what or who you’re going to get until the colorful sphere pops out at the bottom. And then, in an instance, your anticipation fades away when you open it and receive the character no one particularly cares about—the little charm inevitably gathering dust, forgotten in the drawers of your desk. Overall, these toy capsule machines were just gluttons devouring the money of parents whose kids always whine about never getting what they wanted.

Still, because it’s you, he stays and watches you indulge in your little nostalgia trip.

As your eyes glide down the row of toy dispensers, trying your best to decipher the items contained behind the blurry glass, you chime in, “Say, Bakugou, don’t you have any memories of gacha machines?”

Bakugou’s brows furrow in contemplation. He racks through the nooks and crannies between the crevices of his mind and recalls some standout memories. “I guess. Few of ’em were stuck in front of the arcade place near my neighborhood,” he answers, but those memories immediately begin to sour the more he looks into the details.

You don’t see how his face slowly contorts with annoyance while he plays back a scene in his head.

At the time, Bakugou had only sprouted to the young age of five years old. He’s huddled around his posse in front of the arcade he mentioned, slotting a coin inside the capsule machine that was stocked full of charms of Pro Heroes, which housed a very special limited edition prize of All Might to honor their collaboration with the famous Number One of Japan.

The boy was positively giddy at what was to come out, remaining hopeful thanks to the giant poster of All Might gazing down upon him with his triumphant grin. Yet even when his squeaky little voice hollered out a “Plus Ultra!” to reinforce his luck, he was given dirt in response.

But you know who did get that mystery All Might prize?

Deku. Fucking Deku.

Right after he had his spin of the machine, the green-haired boy stepped up, gave it a go, and got All Might on his first fucking try. To say five-year-old Bakugou was bitter would only be putting it mildly. The unbridled emotions bundled in his tiny body were just waiting to burst in an explosion.

But in the end, did he fight Midoriya for it? No, he did not. For if he did, his mother would have scolded the hell out of him, and his young self reflected in the moment that avoiding parental wrath outweighed the limited edition Mystery All Might figure charm, as sad as that sounded. So since then, he’s tried to repress that memory in the far corners of his mind.

But it seems God just desires to spite him.

“Hey, look!” You pull lightly on his shirt to capture his attention, eyes trained forward at whatever piqued your interest. Bakugou peeks over your head, and what he’s met with does not please him.

“They have a gacha machine featuring Pro Heroes here!” you shout cheerfully, walking toward it with the hem of Bakugou’s shirt in hand, who begrudgingly follows along despite a groan nearly leaving his mouth.

“Isn’t this cool?” you ask. You squat down to peer into the peculiar machine located at the very bottom of the stack. Bakugou clicks his tongue as part of his reply, hands buried in the pockets of his trousers.

“No.”

“Hey, one day they’ll be making toys and charms of you as well, Mister ‘I’m Gonna Be The Number One Hero,’” you say with a giggle, and your comment sparks a bit of pink to dust his cheeks while he looks down at you from his standing position.

He attempts to join you and your fixation on the Pro Hero capsule machine. However, when he starts bending his knees, he finds this to be a bit difficult. The more he squats down, the more Bakugou realizes they truly made this place for children and not bulky teenagers like him training in hero school. His knees and bottoms almost brush up against the plastic sheen of the machines on each opposing side.

Though he has to fidget into a particular position to get somewhat comfortable, he eventually gets there and kneels next to you.

“Why don’t we give a go at this thing?” you suggest, and he tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

“No way, these are a fucking waste of money,” he rejects.

“Hey it only costs two hundred yen!” you counter, “And plus, you might get a certain hero you want, like say... All Might?” You attempt to lure him in using his idol’s very name, but Bakugou doesn’t take the bait so easily and remains rigid in his stance.

Even if he did want to try for All Might, he’s sure his capsule is long gone by now anyway.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, pleaseee?” you draw out your pleas in a cute little tone that takes the blond by complete surprise. Unaware of how much power you have over him, the doe eyes and pout that paint your features make it difficult for him to maintain his hardened facade. Feeling his walls begin to melt away at the endearing sight, he ultimately grits his teeth, eyes shut as his hands rummage down into his pockets.

“Fine,” he mutters in defeat, and that smile appears on your lips once again as you lift your arms in triumph.

Pulling out two separate hundred yen coins, he promptly slides them both into the coin silt. When he hears them clank against the other change inside, he goes for the handle and gives it a quick turn. One of the capsule balls begins its journey down the machine and quickly arrives at the hatch that Bakugou lifts to retrieve his prize.

Snapping the capsule open, he’s met with Endeavor’s ugly mug, seeming even more unsightly from the low-quality production of the charm. The paint job is beyond sloppy, with the colors on the costume not depicted accurately and the figure’s pupils drawn to make him appear cross-eyed.

“Hm, you got the number one hero,” you tease, lightheartedly nudging your elbow at his sides because you know full well it isn’t the number one hero he wanted. Bakugou ignores your taunts and shoves the flame hero’s plastic face down the depths of his pockets, making sure to give it to Todoroki later just to annoy him.

“Yeah yeah, your turn, princess.” He scooches a bit to his right to let you have your go. You gladly follow, taking out the two hundred yen from your money pouch.

Bakugou remains disinterested throughout the entire process but is still attentive enough to observe how you hum those casual tunes of yours despite doing something so mundane. He also starts absorbing the cute shape of your nose and the outline of your lips from this angle. It isn’t long until he realizes how close you are in this position, to the point where he could practically smell your fragrant scent, and soon that pink hue diffuses on his face again.

Fuck, I need to stop that, he urges.

By the time he turns away, the capsule machine has begun its machinations once again.

The sizable sphere descending the hatch this time has striped patterns of red, yellow, and blue, colors that remind him all too much of a certain Pro Hero— Wait. What the fuck—

“This one looks a bit bigger than the others, don’t you think? Wonder what... Oh, hey, it’s All Might!” You go through the emotions—curiosity, anticipation, and then finally, glee.

Bakugou feels like he’s reliving those horrible memories once again as he beholds the shiny, miniature figure nestling in your palms before you lift it to grant a better view of its glory. It twists around from how you pinch it by the attached string while it’s hovering in the air. When the Pro Hero’s face turns in the blond’s direction, it’s like the inanimate object is somehow taunting him.

Compared to Endeavor’s shitty charm, All Might’s is a proper representation of who he is. The better quality plastic molded accurately into the man’s figure, the crevices between his muscles delved into displaying his well-defined physique. The colors on his costume are all correctly painted in his signature red, white, yellow, and blue. They even got the broad grin and shadowy features on his face to the tee.

Whichever company created this toy indeed did All Might justice because it looks exactly like the one Midoriya unsealed right in front of his envious five-year-old eyes.

Bakugou’s body shakes with suppressed anger. His hands clench and then unclench themselves while in conflict with his thoughts. Then, he suddenly moves toward you, darting for the charm that you narrowly pull out from his grapples in time.

“L-Lemme see!” he demands, shifting his hand around to grab hold of it for some reason. The act has you befuddled while you continue to move the toy away to evade capture.

“Huh? Why?”

“I need... to fucking make sure— OOF—”

His sputters are the last things that escape his lips before he staggers off balance due to all those hasty movements. It sends his body toppling over yours onto the floor, where your head would’ve thumped against the hard ground had the boy’s well-trained instincts not maneuvered a hand beneath it in time to cushion your fall.

Your descent to the floor is not at all graceful, wincing slightly at the impact. It’s when the pain ebbs away that you and Bakugou finally realize the very awkward position you’re suddenly both in.

Bakugou is hovering over you, body between your legs as one of his hands is cradling your head. The other is situated next to your face against the ground to keep himself upright, letting his eyes stare down at your stricken expression.

Unknowingly, you had settled your hand on Bakugou’s shoulder out of impulse during fall. The other one is still grasping the All Might figure, which is unharmed despite the abrupt movements.

Bakugou can feel your even breaths caress his lips from how close in proximity both of your faces are in this position. If any of you so much as move the wrong way, your lips would undoubtedly collide into each other. Though Bakugou doesn’t mind the notion, he isn’t going to instigate it if you aren’t willing. But the way your eyes line toward his lips, giving him a similar enamored look to the one he has right now, it seems both of you are on the same page.

Taking your mutual fixations as the sign to continue, Bakugou draws himself forward to close the distance while you rise to meet him in the middle.

And finally, he gets to kiss those lips of yours. The lips that adorn your cute face he always snuck glances at. The lips so unhinged in their playful teasing toward him. The lips he’s been so mesmerized and bewitched by throughout this chaotic excuse of a shopping trip.

And when they meet, they’re as full and soft as he imagined them to be, melding perfectly against his.

The hand he’s nestled under your head allows him to press you further into the liplock. You’re nearly enveloped in his wistful machinations, wanting to drown in the sea of his affections as your arms find their way around him.

You would’ve allowed yourself to do so, if not for the unfortunate security camera you catch in the corner of your eye from where you laid.

Your eyes widen, staggering out of their half-liddedness. You pat your hand in rapid succession against his shoulder, getting the blond to stir and separate from the kiss—an act he detests as he doesn’t want the embrace to end.

“What?” he gruffs. You point up at the ceiling, and he turns in that direction. When he detects the security camera about to automatically shift toward this particular side of the Capsule Toy Gacha Room, his face grows full of panic. He lifts himself off your body immediately.

With the two of you remembering where you are, you rose from the ground and cleaned yourselves up. You try to appear pristine as possible, without letting any suspicion about what has happened get tossed in your direction. Still, the red faces plastering both of your features are already a dead giveaway.

“I… Uh…” Bakugou’s still lost in the haze of the heated moment, unsure of what words he should utter. Much to his relief, his burden lifts when two notifications from your phones ring in sync together, diverting your attention.

When you open your phone and slide across the notice, a text message from the Bakusquad ascends onto the screen.

Mina: heyyyy just finished going through all these vending machines! you wont believe how much money we spent!!

The message follows a selfie of the four holding a myriad of drinks and snacks together in the picture. You can’t suppress your giggle at the endearing sight. Another chime sounds when a new text pops up at the bottom.

Eijirou: let’s all meet up again at that blue mystery vending machine!

“Well, you heard them,” you say while clicking off your phone, “we better get a move on.”

Bakugou relays your words back in a slow nod, following through with a rough “yeah” that cleaves his throat. The two of you walk alongside each other once again while you leave the Capsule Toy Gacha Room. Only your steps padding against the mall’s confounds accompany the quiet atmosphere established between you two—awkward and a bit unnerving.

It’s when you’ve both made it to the meet-up spot in front of the blue vending machine that you alleviate yourselves of the strained tension.

“Soooo… was there any reason you wanted to get your hand on this thing so badly?” you question, drawing out the All Might charm that led those heated events to transpire. It dangles between your fingertips and glances at Bakugou along every rotation. The blonde bounces his eyes between you, All Might, and the ground, unsure if he should admit that he was acting out of childish jealousy and bitterness.

“I… Urgh… Fuck…”

You raise an eyebrow when he fumbles with his words. He mutters blatant obscenities between every possible resolve that crosses his mind.

“Look, forget it. It’s not important,” Bakugou concludes, but you think differently, not satisfied with his answer.

“No. Tell me.”

With that weight in your tone, Bakugou realizes he can’t avoid the subject any longer. He releases a long sigh as he leads you through the infamous tale, observing how your expression grows from concerned to downright amused.

“Really? You’ve held a grudge for that long?” The laughter you initially attempt to suppress ends up bubbling from your throat. Hearing it spurs Bakugou to clutch his hands together into shaky fists.

“Look. If you know me, then you should remember I never want to lose to fucking Deku. The fact he got the All Might charm right after I got garbage fucking pissed me off!” he exclaims loud enough for his harsh words to reach a couple walking by. They spare worried glances at the blonde when they stroll past him.

“Hmm…” you muse in thought. Bakugou can tell by the glint rising in your eyes and your tone that you’re up to something again. “I can give you mine if you want. But only for a very small price.”

He quirks an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what would that fucking price be?”

The smirk prominent on your pretty lips widens while you teeter your weight to your tippy-toes in front of him.

“A date. Just a single date will suffice,” you tell him, and Bakugou’s caught off guard by how simple the offer is. His delayed response has you leaning forward, appraising him for an answer.

“Well..?” You wave the charm before his eyes by the thin string as if to hypnotize him. But in all honesty, Bakugou knows that sweet smile of yours and luster in your eyes is all you need to have him wrapped around your finger.

His playful smirk surfaces his lips. He provides his answer by snatching the figure right from your dainty fingertips.

“You got yourself a deal, princess.”

You happily clap your hands together. “It’s settled then! We’ll have a date here at the mall next week!”

“Hah?! Why the fucking mall again?!”

“Because we didn’t do much here anyway, so I say we should give it another shot together next week!”

“What? And go shopping? I don’t wanna be your bellboy the entire time—”

“Mom! Mom! Look at that boy’s All Might toy!”

You and Bakugou are both surprised by the new, high-pitched voice that enters in the middle of your riffraff. Your eyes trail along to sound and come face-to-face with a young boy staring at the toy in Bakugou’s hand.

“I want one too!”

Unable to control his gloating, Bakugou dangles the charm next to his face.

“Yeah well, too bad, kid. It’s mine so f—”

“Bakugou,” you warn. You halt the obscene words from entering the boy’s ears and avoid giving his mom a hard time.

“Argh… I mean... scram!”

You almost smack yourself. You can’t believe Bakugou has the guile to argue with a child at this age.

Though he forgoes the curses, that doesn’t make Bakugou’s words sound any less harsh. As a result, the kid pouts. He pouts hard. His eyes start to become glassy, lining the edge of his lashes with droplets. Recognizing her child on the verge of breaking out into tears, the mom acts quickly. She’s by his side, patting his back.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go to that blue vending machine over there and see if you can get a toy too,” she cheers him up instantly, dropping a hundred yen coin down her son’s small palm.

“Okay, mom!” he responds, gleeful again.

He dawdles over to the machine with purpose in his steps, inserting the coin, and pressing the lone button on the mystery vending machine.

You and Bakugou don’t perceive any noise emitting from the machine, and yet the little boy is putting his hands into the slot to pull something out.

“Mom, why did the machine give me a paper that says PS5?”

Both of you go rigid. Kaminari is not going to be happy hearing about this.

#bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou scenarios

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