#anyway this game's writing makes my blood boil and i will Not shut up about it

[woodchipp]

It's interesting that Crossroads and Backstage - or, more specifically, the fact they're present in the story at all - imply Sunny really doesn't undergo any substantial development as a character.

The whole point of the game is that Sunny must face reality, as harsh and complicated it is. The Sunny route is meant to be Sunny working on his issues. But before he confronts the final issue - his depression - he dreams about his friends (and whatever that apparition of Mari is meant to be lmao) giving him three pep-talks even though the game spent much of its story hammering in the point that Sunny shouldn't be indulging in escapism like that.

The contents of said pep-talks and their main takeaways are no less... interesting.

Since all the dialogue in Crossroads and Backstage is basically Sunny talking with himself, Basil's line here implies Sunny wouldn't consider his friends "good" if they (understandably) choose not to forgive him. It also implies that he doesn't give much of a shit about their feelings as long as they leave the possibility of forgiving him on the table.

Here, the game tries to pretend shoving Mari down the stairs was the only bad thing Sunny did, conveniently ignoring the choices he made after the accident and over the course of the story.

Again, It's quite telling that Mari urges him to forgive himself. There's no indication that he wants to tell the truth to do right by his friends - it's for his peace of mind.

"You've worked really hard to get to this point..."

Because him loitering around the town for three days without doing anything of note (without player input or not at the request of some other character) is considered "hard work" by this game, apparently.

Oh, and we haven't even gotten to Backstage yet!

"Something bad", huh?

Well, let's go over all of the shitty things Sunny's done, shall we?

(Apparently) was aware of Aubrey's troubled situation at home, wasn't shown doing anything of note to help and/or support her

Threw a tantrum that resulted in the death of his sister because he couldn't watch TV shows with his friends for as long as he'd like

Was relieved that he got away with accidentally killing his sister

Chose to lie to his friends by omission, letting them believe they had somehow failed Mari due of the assumed nature of her death as a suicide and irreversibly traumatizing them

Chose to let Basil take the fall for blacking out Mari's photos in the photo album, which entailed Basil becoming the target of Aubrey's bullying and wore Basil's mental health down to near-psychosis by the time of the game's events

Walked out on Basil - his best friend - when the latter had a mental breakdown despite Basil begging him to stay

Considered leaving Basil to his death as a legitimate option, twice

Wasn't shown to feel any guilt or shame from having a picnic with the people he lied to near his dead sister's grave

Twisted the supportive words of the people he lied to to alleviate his own self-loathing over committing manslaughter

Dropped the bombshell shortly before having to move town, thus avoiding the direct consequences of his confession

I'm not exaggerating any of this. I don't need to. Quite the impressive list for a sixteen-year-old, isn't it?

Sunny doesn't get to "something bad" his way out of this one.

...how do you think Basil felt, Sunny, you fucking asshole?

This is where I have to reiterate my point - despite the game focusing on Sunny having to let go of his escapist fantasies and face reality, he only confronts his depression after... indulging in said fantasies again, imagining his friends saying what he wants them to say. We're meant to feel good about it this time because, uh... The imaginary facsimiles of his friends have different sprites now! Yay!!

I'm not saying this 16 yo who had his eye stabbed a few minutes prior to this should just get over it, obviously, because that'd be absurd lol. However, I do think Crossroads and Backstage should have been cut from the game to indicate that Sunny doesn't need such fantasies to comfort himself anymore because the work he did on his issues over the course of the game did pay off after all.

What's the point of having your character trying to kick an addiction and framing said addiction as a bad thing only to have the character indulge in that addiction once again and frame it as a good thing at the end?

I think it's very telling that the last major appearance Sunny's friends make in the story is being literal props to make him feel better about himself. They're there because he wants them to be there, and what he wants is all that matters to this game. And the game even proves that via what Hero has to say if you choose to interact with him one more time

"We will always want what's best for you. Because what we want and what we feel doesn't really matter. <3"

"And what you do with those feelings... that will be your truth."

What an amazing message to send.

It always comes down to how things make you feel personally rather than doing what's right by other people even if it hurts your feelings. Because your feelings matter more than the feelings of other people or the objective reality of your situation.

Feels before reals.

[letterstolev]

02/20/2024 - I’m sorry for my misery, but thank you for your patience 

I haven’t talked to you much today, and I’m sorry about that. It's probably not the best note to start this archive with, I know. Recently, I’ve been trying to stay afloat. I feel like I’m drowning most days, I know you see it, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t mean to make my misery yours. I wish I could shove it so deep down it boils in my stomach acids and only returns as an exhale, I wish I could hide everything dark and horrible and give you only the best parts of me. I love you so much, even on these days when I isolate and loathe in my own misery, I love you wholeheartedly. Relentlessly and without regret, I write every word with no hesitation, it all comes out like vomit. I can never seem to shut up, all I want to do is show everyone a picture of you and give them a long long list of all the reasons I love you. I want the world will love you the way I do. They could love you the same way and for the same reasons, but they would never love you the amount that I do. It’s like this wasp nest in my stomach and in the veins of my heart, a constant buzzing and whirring. Like a cat purring on a branch, it’s gentle and kind. But like a wave in the North Sea, it’s violent and suffocating. It hurts to love you, it hurts to trust you, but I do it without question. I love you in every form you take, and in every form you’ve taken before or are yet to take. I wonder what you’re doing right now. You’re probably gaming with your friends, or out getting dinner. You do the same things again and again, and I love you for it. I love you for your routine and your discipline with always following your schedule. You hate going to work, you come home in so much pain and so tired, but you do it anyway and you seldom complain. You come over every Wednesday even if your work is an hour's drive, you don’t need to, but you do. You show me you love me all the time, and yet I don’t trust you not entirely at least. I will. I know I will. I have to. Not trusting people has sabotaged so much already, I’ve ruined people and relationships that didn’t deserve to suffer purely due to my own inability to trust. I won’t make this mistake with you. I want to fix it, I want to be better, I want to love you better than anyone else ever could. I don’t care if I suffer, I don’t care if it takes blood, sweat, and tears to get there. I will fix everything and I will make sure I’m better for you. I would love you regardless of how much or little you loved me back. No matter what you do, what you say, who you are, and who you aren’t. I want you to tell me every horrible thing you’ve ever done and I want to love you for it. I want you. I want you and only you, you and entirely you. I sound crazy, I know I do. If anyone saw these letters they’d assume I was insane, but I’m not, I just have so much love for you and no outlet for it. I know I’m so suffocating when I express so much. I have so many big feelings, but I don’t want to crush you with them, so I’ll write them in letters I’ll never send you. You’ll never see these, but I’ll write as if you will. I don’t know what else to write that wouldn’t be repetitive, and I know you hate repetition. I just love you, my sweet girl. I love you so much. I’ve loved you in this lifetime and in every lifetime before. I’ve loved you since we were small whisps of space dust, floating next to each other in the vastness of the universe. I’ve loved you as a frog, and you were a tarantula, an unlikely pair but mutualistic in the eyes of science. We make sense in the most nonsensical way. Thank you for loving me in all my misery, and treating me the same despite how different I act. I love you in all your patient kindness and your unnervingly ethereal beauty, both inside and out. I love you and all the messes you make, I’d clean any puddle that forms under your light pink sneakers. Thank you for being kind when I don’t deserve your kindness. Thank you for being gentle, even when I haven’t been. Thank you for existing, and thank whatever God exists for letting me have the privilege to meet you. 

I’m excited to see you tomorrow, my sweet girl. 

C.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hi i love ur writing can i request a hero and a villain who are both very flirty and they’re are in a battle of who can make the most suggestive flirtatious joke? thanks!

The cat-and-mouse game had to end right now. Right here.

With an inexplicable intensity, the hero’s innards boiled up their torso. Though they had recovered from the chase easily —they were well-drilled in this after all — their emotions had a harder time to settle down.

Frankly, the hero was pissed.

Not only furious, no. The hero was more than ready to reconsider their morality and to shut off every sense of justice and righteousness.

But they didn’t do that. Instead, they performed what they had learnt throughout the years. They took in the cold air of the warehouse and cleared their mind from any feeling related to anger. Anger wouldn’t get them very far with the villain anyway.

Upon hearing the echoes of the hero’s footsteps, the villain turned around idly, a lazy with blood sprinkled grin on their face. Without wasting any time, they spun their in blood drenched sword in impressive yet uncaring circles while scrutinising the hero. What a show-off.

“I bet your hand would make a great necklace around my throat,” the hero said, observing the villain. They had an open cut on their cheek. Not deep nor huge enough to raise any concerns but still visible to an extent which made the hero feel a bit more uneasy. Apparently, the supervillain hadn’t planned on leaving dear life without putting up a struggle. It was a miracle the hero hadn’t noticed the cut earlier at the crime scene.

Preparing for what was coming next, the villain put their sword away.

The hero crossed their arms when they saw that the villain was rising, ready to speak.

“Depends entirely on how tight you want it. Though you seem like someone who doesn’t mind a little pain,” the villain answered, amused. No, the hero didn’t mind pain. However, they weren’t too keen on finding the supervillain killed by the too attractive and too calloused villain an hour ago.

“I don’t expect much of you. But killing the supervillain before I get to them? Seriously? That low?” Though they were anything but, the hero spoke calmly, silkily even. They used the familiar countdown in their head to maintain their breathing scaled and with that, their emotions at bay.

“I can get lower for you. Quite literally.”

One might think a murder would be a burden to bear. But not for the villain. They had been standing over the bruised body, not a hint of regret in their half-lidded eyes. Winking at the hero, they had disappeared and with that turned the hero’s originally intended most success night of the month into an exhausting, almost lethal chase.

It made the hero want to pull at their hair out of frustration. They had been so incredibly close to catching the supervillain. So deliciously close to arresting them. With months of preparation, hundreds of people involved, a whole protocol devoted to the mission, governmental approval and whatnot — the hero had been so well prepared.

Until they got the call that someone was on the roof. And when the hero had rushed into the supervillain’s office, expecting the disaster, the body was already cold.

No one had really cared, the people who were involved had been happy they could go home earlier and safely.

Not the hero, though. The glory wasn’t the problem. Quite the contrary: they couldn’t care less about it. It was their own cursed ambition to do the right thing to the highest possible degree. Having competitiveness as a constant companion was only adding fuel to the fire.

Bored and unbelievably outrageous, the villain had been sitting at the supervillain’s desk, waiting for the hero’s arrival just to tell them how much of a shame it was that they had to part. I would love to take you on this desk. Seems triumphant for both of us, no?

Those were the exact words they had said to them.

Instead of letting their feelings scratch on the surface again, the hero swallowed and redirected their thoughts. Arguing with the villain was useless. They had to use the villain’s weapons instead.

“You must really have a kink for handcuffs. You are practically asking me to tie you up,” the hero said. With one strong movement, the villain threw their hair back, glancing at the hero.

“My, my. I didn’t know my hero was that thirsty,” they answered slowly, alluringly.

As they licked their lips, taking a step into the hero’s direction, the hero wanted to hesitate. They knew what they wanted but the villain had to make everything so much more complicated.

In spite of that, something washed over them. It wasn’t exactly anger. The hero had the dark suspicion it was a feeling which belonged roughly into the category of lust. But too much analysing of that brought raw complications with it.

Whatever it was, it made them shove the villain into the next wall, pinning their hands. Once again, the hero leaned in, their lips close to the villain’s cheek.

“That was my mission,” the hero whispered dangerously low.

Uncannily, it was all just a big joke to the villain, the hero supposed since their opponent simply chuckled, pushing their hips into the hero which made the hero only press them further into the wall. In hindsight, this had probably been the villain’s plan in the first place.

“Oh no, what are you gonna do? Punish me until I start screaming your name? Or would you like me to moan it?” the villain asked, mouth full of mockery. Their eyes dropped to the hero’s lips.

“I have to admit, it would be a pleasure to hear you moan my name. Would certainly be better than enduring you scream it when I foil your lousy plans. However, you blew my only chance at arresting your nice colleague.”

“That’s not gonna be the only thing I will blow this evening.” The hero huffed. It was almost funny, it was almost even hot how the villain was looking them up and down, undressing them with their eyes. How the villain was so obsessed with them, how they did everything just to see them, even kill their mutual opponent. Just to throw a salacious line at the hero. It was almost funny. Almost hot.

“Relax, we all know you would’ve gotten them easily. It’s in your nature. Work and dedication. Speaking of which, I am very dedicated to have you on your back tonight. You can surely squeeze me in somehow?” the villain continued, their lips parted when they didn’t speak, only a breath away.

“Squeeze you in?”

“In your schedule, of course. What were you thinking about, you dirty hero?”

God, the hero hated the villain so much.

So much loathing for a person shouldn’t exist. Just like the amount of time they were devoting to this relationship. It was criminal how they wanted the villain, how they were longing for them and wanted them gone at the same time. And yet, yet, to be away from them for too long was unfair.

They needed the villain. Lying to themselves about this was maybe another form of torture.

In a sense, the hero was obsessed, too. Rightfully so — the villain was incredible and their interest only belonged to the hero. No one else.

There was power in that, the hero knew that, too. So, maybe, even this game could benefit them. Because, after all, the villain had killed their target.

“I like you but my legs wouldn’t be in the air if I took you,” the hero said eventually. They pushed hard enough to draw a breathily laugh out of the villain. They leaned their head against the wall and, unfortunately, the hero could have a look at their exposed throat too well. Quickly, the hero turned their head away before they could find any beauty in this picture, before it could burn into their brain too much.

Why did their nemesis have to be so attractive anyway? Their body demanded to be painted and their mind expected to be admired. Their confidence and how they presented themselves were astonishingly breathtaking. That was unfair, too.

“Hm, I don’t think so. I prefer you on your back with your legs spread,” the villain said, voice turning raspy. They closed their eyes, almost indicating they were feeling comfortable.

“And I prefer your mouth doing something else entirely than talking.” In the flash of an eye, the villain looked at them anew, leaned forward and kissed them. The hunger and roughness of the kiss was unmistakable, especially when the villain’s body responded to the hero kissing them back.

Desire was a feeling the hero knew. It was easy in every aspect.

Which was exactly why they pushed the villain’s mouth open and let their tongue intrude. Which was why the hero drew their hips together. Which was why they raised their own left thigh, their knee pressed against the cold wall to secure the villain in place. They even let go of the villain’s wrists and allowed them to hold up their thigh. Involuntarily, or out of pure desperation, the villain sighed, moaned quietly against their lips.

Desire was a feeling the hero knew. It was easy in every aspect.

Which was why they pulled away without mercy mere seconds later.

The hero’s hands lost the pressure on the villain’s body and just went loosely around their neck without any deep affection. They pulled their leg down again and took a step back from the villain who was still trying so urgently to reconnect.

Although the hero came teasingly close, leaning into the villain, almost brushing their lips again, every time the villain did the same thing in search for more contact, the hero pulled away.

“Please…” they whispered into the hero’s neck but the hero was already playing on a whole other level.

Frustrated, the villain let out a tired groan when the hero gave them a penalising look. They longed for more, it was in their eyes, in the way their pupils were as huge as saucers, in the way they were begging the hero to just get closer again.

“I could give you what you want,” the hero whispered, a finger almost tracing the wound on the villain’s cheek. “But don’t you dare think you deserve it. Don’t you dare think you get it this easily after your actions. You are not allowed to kill my target and expect praise.”

Without saying anything else, the hero drew back, leaving the villain drunk on the last bit of the feelings the hero had resurrected in them. The hero was already thrilled to see them on their knees, begging for forgiveness in the near future.

It was rather clear to both of them that the villain would never kill anyone assigned to the hero after that.

[sparklysung]

✨SWALLOW YOUR WORDS – l.d.h.✨

© sparklysung – 2021. all rights reserved. no reposts, modifications and/or translations allowed.

pairing – lee donghyuck x female!reader

genre – smut | non-idol!au, enemies to lovers!au

warnings – switch!donghyuck, switch!reader, lap dance, cumming in pants, grinding, dry humping, cum eating, hair pulling (giving and receiving), spanking, mirror sex, protected sex (reader’s on the pill), degradation, dirty talk, bondage (belt), possessiveness (i guess?)

word count – 6.043 words

summary – it only took a couple of words to make the blood boil in your veins and being the competitive individual you are, you had to prove lee donghyuck, your all-time enemy, wrong.

note – not my best, probably could've done better, but oh well. also this was frkng hard to write, damn, and i may have changed things a bit? BUT, i think it's better like this so… hope you enjoy! btw, i got the idea while reading this, so go check it out –it's good–.

taglist – @prvncejxon, @iwishihadabettername

another friday night wasting your time at some random classmate’s party. you were everything but happy to be there. you didn’t even want to go there in the first place, only finding yourself sitting on the kitchen counter, drink in hand and an ugly scowl adorning your face, because of your annoying best friend.

“hey, i get it, you didn’t wanna come here when you could have been peacefully sleeping in the comfort of your room, but come on, at least try to have some fun. you’re already here anyway.” eunbin –aka your annoying best friend– said, pouting her lips in a failed attempt of looking cute.

you kind of felt bad for her, you suppose it wasn’t exactly easy to deal with your lazy ass. but still, she was supposed to love you and appreciate you just the way you were.

and most of the time she did, just not in this specific situation.

“this isn’t fun at all, i just wanna go home. there’s nothing in here for me at all.”

you brought the red plastic cup to your lips, taking a sip of the bitter liquid eunbin had mixed for you. you weren’t lying, there really wasn’t anything that would make you want to stay, only a few friends of yours getting drunk somewhere in the big house you were currently in.

“come on, please, stay for me,” eunbin fake cried, and for a moment you thought she was going to give up and let you go. “in a bit the guys are gonna play something fun! we should join them, please?” as her last resort, she looked at you with puppy eyes. she was playing dirty and she knew it, you both knew you couldn’t resist them.

giving in with an exasperated sigh, you jumped off the counter to get yourself another drink from the bar in the living room. you were minding your own business until you heard him, the last person you wanted to see at the moment.

“so, i’m telling you guys, she was literally begging me to fuck her, she even moaned while sucking me off–,” donghyuck’s obnoxious voice filled your ears, making you roll your eyes. he was surrounded by a couple of other guys you didn’t know so well but were sure you had seen them before around campus hanging out with him.

“shut up already, dongdong, no one wants to hear it.” you interrupted, walking past him and towards the half empty bottle of vodka on the bar counter.

the group of boys stopped abruptly, all of them turning to look at you, ready for the scene that was going to take place in matter of minutes. donghyuck’s attention also turned to you, biting back a triumphant smirk with a raised eyebrow. he could see past you so he didn’t mind the mocking nickname you used; he could tell you were trying to irritate him enough to make him go away. but he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. he had been eyeing you all night, trying to find ways to get under your skin to catch your attention. and finally, after staying at a safe distance for a while to not spark suspicions, he got what he wanted.

“why so feisty, babe.” the cocky smirk he gave you just made your blood boil, the growing desire to punch it off his pretty face only getting stronger the more you stared at him.

“don’t you get tired of talking shit all day?” you barked, eyes trained on his body while pouring yourself a good amount of alcohol.

you were certainly going to need a lot of liquid courage to get through the night.

“you boast about girls begging for you but i think you’re just trying to hide the fact that you’re the one who has to beg to get laid.”

“i don’t beg, baby.” you rolled your eyes and muttered a ‘sure’. “also, if you’re jealous of me fucking other girls you just had to say it. i wouldn’t be against giving it to you instead.” the stupid wink he threw at you made your body shake in anger, already fed up with the conversation.

“you wish, asshole.”

“actually, i do.”

donghyuck was so fucking annoying, always teasing you and never leaving you alone. your personalities clashed constantly resulting in fights filled with screams and curses, sometimes to the extent of interrupting the class and getting the two of you kicked out of it. he enjoyed watching you struggle and suffer due to his awful pranks, so you were his favorite target. you couldn’t even have a proper date with anyone because he made sure to mess it up either by scaring the crap out of the guy or sabotaging your plans. he almost completely ruined your love life and cockblocked you forever.

you did not get along and everyone knew it.

although eunbin thought it was pure sexual tension and you just needed to get your frustrations off of you with a good fuck.

it wasn’t though.

or was it?

“let’s go hang out with the guys,” your best friend nudged your arm excitedly and you sighed, not feeling like playing anything with them. every time you decided to give in and take part in ‘something fun’ with the guys, it always ended up with you either in trouble or scarred for life.

you had a bad feeling about this all.

“ugh, fine.” she cheered and pulled you through the crowd of drunk people until you reached the basement.

the sound of laughter and screams drowned the music blasting upstairs, there were empty bottles of alcohol sprawled all over the floor and tables and a circle of people in the middle of the room. both of you joined the group with you sitting between eunbin and mark, a close friend of yours that you sadly shared with donghyuck. while you casually chatted and played around with the boy, happily laughing the night away, you could feel a pair of eyes burn holes into your skull. you didn’t have to look up to know who those eyes belonged to, as said person wasn’t even trying to dissimulate.

and by said person you meant donghyuck.

donghyuck hated the way you leaned on mark’s body, how you let his friend rest his head on top of yours and wrap his arm around your waist.

he was jealous, really jealous of your close friendship with the older boy.

mark and you had been friends for a long time now and you could even consider him your best friend, so you were comfortable around each other. you usually hugged, held hands and cuddled, he was used to you wearing his clothes –half of your closet were stolen hoodies that once belonged to him–, he even had a spare change of clothes in his room just in case you decided to drop by for an improvised sleepover. so it wasn’t surprising when sometimes when the two of you hung out on your own, people –even your friends in common– mistook you as a couple.

and the idea of you two dating made donghyuck feel sick to the stomach.

“we’re playing truth or dare, who wants to start?” seoyeon, one of your friends, spoke while looking around for someone to volunteer.

“i’ll go.” lucas raised his hand and everyone nodded, not minding.

the game went smoothly for a while and eventually, the more alcohol everybody drank, the crazier things got. mark ended up getting dared to lick whipped cream off of yuta’s chest and xiaojun had to cross-dress and dance on a table. everything was fine, you hadn’t been picked by anyone yet so you were pretty much having fun just enjoying the show.

until someone called your name.

“y/n, truth or dare?” jaehyun asked with a smirk.

he had an evil glint on his eyes making you feel suspicious. you knew you couldn’t choose truth or else everyone would make fun of you for being a pussy. and jaehyun just knew you well enough to know you weren’t going to let that happen.

you weren’t one to back down.

still, the way he stared at you made an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach.

what could he possibly have in mind?

“dare.”

seems like your gut feeling was right after all.

“give hyuck a lap dance,” jaehyun said immediately after the words left you mouth, making everyone in the room shake, some in excitement and some –you– in anger. donghyuck wasn’t expecting to take part in the dare, but he really wasn’t complaining either. “thank me later babe,” his shit-eating grin only adding fuel to the fire.

fuck.

just as eunbin, donghyuck could sense the sexual tension. and unlike you, he acknowledged it.

but for him it wasn’t just that.

you two had known each other –or at least acknowledged each other's existence– for a few years now, since high school. he was forced to see you almost every day at school, so, naturally, fondness for you started growing slowly in his chest. but it wasn’t until you both left for college that your ‘enemies’ label was established.

and if someone thought he may possibly like you, they were damn right.

he did.

it all started during freshman year, when he tried to befriend you during one of the classes you shared. you seemed irritated by his advances and wanted him away from you, so after a few attempts of softening your heart, he resolved that the only way to stay close to you was annoying the hell out of you.

childish? yeah. he cared? not really.

“come here, babe.” donghyuck tongued the inside of his cheek, a smirk forming on his lips. as he saw the grim look on your face, he sprawled his legs, patting his toned thigh invitingly, eager to get things started.

the look jaehyun gave you had ‘you’re not backing down, are you?’ written all over.

“shit, i hate jaehyun, why did he have to do me dirty like that?” you mumbled angrily to eunbin and she just laughed, finding the situation way funnier than you.

“maybe tonight won’t be as boring as you thought? maybe you’ll end up getting laid.” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and you only scoffed, “shut up, dumbass.”

“why did you have to do me like that, huh?!” you almost screamed at the older, taking a mental note to beat him up later. he just shrugged and threw you a wink, “asshole.”

mark patted your back to help you relax, he could see you weren’t exactly happy about your dare.

“come on, which song would you like, my lady?” lucas asked, scrolling through his spotify for suiting songs.

“or nah!” yangyang answered before you could even open your mouth. just as you were about to ask for a less sexual song, cheering erupted through the room.

everyone was pumped, adrenaline running through their veins and pushing them to do stupid stuff they would probably regret the next day after waking up hungover. and things just took a rather interesting turn, so they obviously were excitedly awaiting the next series of events.

yay, more stupid memories to regret later.

on the other hand, donghyuck was as doomed as you. he knew the song well, he knew the lyrics by heart but what he didn’t know was if he could control himself with you basically dry humping him in front of a bunch of people to the rhythm of it.

he wasn’t sure it was a great idea.

as soon as you got up to complete the dare, you heard cheering and clapping. and you weren’t going to lie, you wanted to throw yourself out of a window.

breathing deeply in an attempt of relaxing to just get it over with, you made your way towards donghyuck until you were standing a few feet in front of him.

as the music started playing, you started moving. running your finger on the surface of his clothed shoulder, you walked slowly around him, like a predator circling its prey. he tried not to follow your movements, already getting anxious by your closeness and nervously waiting for your next move.

i’ma smoke this joint then i’ma break you off.

i’d be lying if i said you ain’t the one.

you pushed his legs open and settled between them. your hands rubbed his thighs teasingly, fingers drawing closer to his crotch but not quite getting there. you took your sweet time feeling him up, softly scratching his strong arms and leaving red trails behind. donghyuck was so into it, enjoying the sight of you kneeling before him so much that his pants were already starting to feel tight.

heard you not the type that you take home to mom.

is we fuckin’ when we leave the club or nah?

i ain’t spendin’ cash for nothin’ i wanna see you take it off.

and oh how he wanted to see you take it off. all night he couldn’t take his eyes off of your figure, you looked really good in the outfit eunbin had chosen for you.

so good it was almost making him drool.

you sat on his lap, hands going to caress his toned chest and stomach. it was well-known that donghyuck exercised frequently, but it still surprised you. he felt so good you had to bite your lip to prevent a sound from coming out.

when you shifted to sit closer to him, his hands flew to your hips and you could tell his intention was to move them lower to grope your ass, but you weren’t having it.

do you like the way i flick my tongue or nah?

you can ride my face until you’re drippin’ cum.

“if you try to touch me again, i’ll tie you up,” you said with a sweet smile plastered on your face, grabbing him by the wrists and harshly dropping them away from you. donghyuck let out a startled gasp at that, obviously not expecting your attitude. with his hands twitching to grasp anything, he went to grip tightly the sides of the chair.

can you lick the tip then throat the dick or nah?

can you let me stretch that pussy out or nah?

your hips ground against his crotch at such a slow pace that donghyuck was having trouble not pushing you down on him faster. he was getting embarrassingly hornier as seconds passed and wanted nothing more than to fuck you right then and there, even with his friends’ eyes on you both.

donghyuck tried so hard to restrain himself from touching you. he wasn’t one to follow orders, but he tried just for you, he really did.

i’m not the type to call you back tomorrow.

but the way you wrappin’ ‘round me is a prob.

and everything was fine until you kissed him. synchronized gasps filled the room, the sudden show of affection confusing everybody. not even your intoxicated self could understand what the hell were you doing nor who you were doing it with. his breath got stuck in his throat, heart thumping against his chest at an alarming rate. his hands almost tried to bring you closer, but he realized what he was doing on time to stop himself.

he finally broke down when your mouth sucked on his tongue, making his hips grind up against yours unconsciously as his hands grabbed you by your waist, pressing your body flush against his.

that was it.

“you asked for it,” your movements came to a stop as you took off your black leather belt, sticking to your threat of tying him up if he didn’t quit it.

pussy so good, i had to save that shit for later.

took her to the kitchen, fucked her right there on the table.

“oh shit,” donghyuck stirred under you trying to get out of the situation.

this couldn’t be happening.

“no, please,” he whimpered as you fastened the belt until it was wrapped tightly around his wrists, locking his arms behind his back. your audience was unable to hold in their surprise, some mouths falling open. he fought against the restraints to no avail, desperate to free himself, “please, let me go,” he cried out quietly, not wanting the other occupants in the room to hear him.

“stop complaining or else i’ll also gag you,” you spat harshly in his ear, done with his attitude, and he swallowed hard. as you nibbled on his lobe, you felt a strong sense of confidence. it made your chest swell in pride to see the usual big mouth jerk with a smug grin constantly attached to his face falling apart under your touch.

seems like he was the one to beg, after all.

you moved your hips to the rhythm of the music, making sure to press harder against the sensitive tip of his cock, which was already leaking precum. although you weren’t an expert, you’d given a fair share of lap dances, so you knew what you were doing.

and donghyuck could certainly tell.

don’t play with a boss, girl take it off.

take it for a real one.

you gon’ get it all.

“whose bitch are you now, huh?” donghyuck couldn’t speak properly, way too hot and bothered for his brain to come up with any smart-ass response.

you tsked disapprovingly at his lack of response.

“when i ask you a question, you answer.” your fingers tangled in his hair and with a harsh tug you forced him to look up. donghyuck was dazed, lips swollen from you biting on them, eyes glassy from arousal, and mind clouded with lust.

“yours.” he whimpered quietly, forgetting momentarily about your audience.

“good boy.”

you loved how easy it was for you to break him and leave him wanting more, to have him so putty in your hands. specially since hearing comments of other female classmates about donghyuck teasing them almost till the brim of tears was part of your day-to-day life. it felt like you were getting revenge for all of them, so you were enjoying it a lot more than anyone could imagine.

your plump lips trailed down the length of his neck, leaving wet kisses along his honey-like skin, and he threw his head back to give you more access. as you licked, sucked and bit the flesh, donghyuck could hear his heartbeat loud over the music. he usually wouldn’t let a girl suck hickeys on his skin, but the idea of you marking him while everyone watched was rather exciting.

he swore the seconds passed slower than usual. you were just halfway through the song but he didn’t know if he could survive any longer.

donghyuck felt light-headed and painfully aroused, and he wasn’t going to last long if you kept kissing him and moving your hips the way you were.

“i’ma go as far as you let me,” your movements became slower to tease him, making the poor boy want to cry in agony. his jeans felt way too tight to be comfortable and he hoped everyone could just leave you two alone to take it off.

“shit, please,” donghyuck’s eyes closed, head falling forward and hanging low as drops of sweat slid down his forehead. the room felt like an oven and he didn’t know if it was a result of the significant amount of people in such a small space, the alcohol, his choice of clothing or your body pressed closely against his.

probably the latter.

girl, is you sucking me or fucking me or nah?

can i bring another bitch? let’s have a threesome.

“keep saying you’re a freak, you gon’ prove it or nah?” you quietly sang along, pulling his face closer by his hair and grinding down on him harder.

donghyuck was going crazy, he had never expected you to be so sexy, to behave so dirtily. but he loved it, and by the prominent tent in his pants, everybody could tell he was in for the ride of his life.

you’s a ride-or-die chick, you with this shit or nah?

say you not a side bitch, you all-in or nah?

you gon’ make them eggs cheesy with them grits or nah?

you brought him in for a hot kiss that left his head spinning.

donghyuck was growing restless as his climax neared, he was so close he could almost taste it. he couldn’t remember when the last time he got so close to cumming only from some teasing was.

everything was happening so quickly he wasn’t able to stop himself before giving in to the pleasure.

“h-holy fuck,” with a shaky moan that you swallowed, donghyuck shot his load, staining the crotch of his dark jeans. you could feel the wetness seeping through the piece of clothing and dampening your bottoms. his hips gave a few more sloppy thrusts, legs shaking weakly and cock twitching from the confines of his jeans, before falling limp on the chair.

or nah.

as the song ended, he came down from his high. you freed him from the iron grip of your belt, the skin on his wrists was red and slightly swollen. you may have tightened it too much in the heat of the moment, but you weren’t apologizing after giving him probably the best orgasm of his life.

the bewildered expression on his face quickly turned grim as it hit him.

he came in his pants like a fucking teenager.

in a room full of people.

in front of his friends, yours and you.

his friends stood there, both confused and surprised to see donghyuck so affected by your touch. nobody had expected things to end the way they did.

“damn, are you okay my man?” johnny asked, laughing at his friend’s flustered state.

“shut up,” donghyuck answered bitterly. he shot up from his seat, grabbing your hand and shoving you inside the nearest bathroom in the house. he didn’t even care to cover the wet spot on his pants, walking with his chin up and a scowl plastered on his face.

and blame it on how riled up you had gotten from the feeling of his hard dick pressing against your needy pussy, but damn, he looked good.

“i wanna go next!” hendery spoke excitedly. you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually wanted you to give him a lap dance too. either way, it made your lips turn upwards in a smug grin.

once you both made it to the bathroom, he locked the door before pushing you against it, back pressed flush into the hard piece of wood. the ambience took a 180 turn, your confidence faltered slightly at the sight of his angry form.

“you think it’s funny, yeah?” he hummed angrily in your ear. “you think i’d let you do whatever you want and embarrass me in front of my friends just because you feel like it without payback?�� the look on his eyes getting darker as the words left his mouth.

“if so, oh baby, you were so wrong.”

trying to test him, you decided to answer.

“you’re all bark and no bite, what else am i supposed to think?” you smirked devilishly when you saw him clench his jaw.

“you’re gonna regret being a brat,” his slender fingers wrapped themselves around your waist and with a harsh tug, he pulled you closer to attack your lips, biting and sucking on them, making your legs wobbly. he tasted sweet and bitter at the same time, probably from the liquor he had been drinking all night, and you couldn’t seem to get enough. his lips were soft and plush as they mingled with yours, teeth roughly clashing and tongues fighting for dominance, “am i?”

donghyuck hissed through his teeth as he unbuckled his pants, letting his cum-covered shaft spring free. he was already hard and you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together to ease some of the tension building up between them. his hand shot to your throat, tightening his grip until you couldn’t breathe properly, before forcing you on your knees.

donghyuck tapped his hard and heavy cock on your lips a couple of times before speaking. “open up, slut,” and you did as you were told, parting your lips and poking your tongue out, waiting for him to slide in.

but he didn’t.

he wanted you to lick him clean, he wanted to see you do as he said, follow his orders like a good girl without complaints.

“clean the mess you’ve done. now.”

the harsh tone of his voice sent a wave of arousal straight to your core. your hands immediately shot up to grab a hold of his length, but before you got too close he stopped you. confusion was written all over your face and for a moment you worried he had changed his mind.

“no hands, i want you to work on it only with that dirty mouth of yours.”

with your hands gripping onto his thighs, your tongue swiped from the base to the head of his cock, eagerly licking him clean. once you had swallowed every drop of his cum, your mouth took him whole, hollowing your cheeks, one hand massaging his balls. donghyuck threw his head back as yours bobbed at a rapid pace, the tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat as you swallowed around him.

when he was about to cum, he pulled away from your mouth, making you whine at the loss. wrapping his hand once again around your throat like a beautiful necklace, he forced you up on your feet. he turned you around before pulling you closer by a rough tug. your clothed ass pressed against his dick, a mixture of his arousal and your saliva wetting the cloth. your hips ground back to both tease him, desperate to feel something, anything. his hands went to the front of your jeans, rubbing his fingers over your clothed clit and a whimper fell from your lips.

“more, i need more,” you pleaded, the barrier of clothes making the feeling less pleasurable.

he surprisingly complied without resistance, dipping the digits under the restricting cloth. a deep groan vibrated against the side of your neck when he felt the wetness that had been gathering inside your panties since your dare.

“look at you, so damn wet,” his mouth watered at the feeling of your needy heat. at this point, donghyuck knew everyone had an idea of what you two could possibly be doing, and although he would enjoy returning the favour by eating you out to his heart’s content, there wasn’t enough space nor time to do so comfortably. but he swore he would make it up to you some time.

“for who is it, baby?” the answer was obvious, but still, he wanted to hear it directly from you. he inserted one long finger until it was knuckles deep inside of you and you let out a squeak, head falling back onto his shoulder.

“for you donghyuck, all for you.”

“that’s right, slut, only i can make you that wet, only i can touch you like this. you’re mine, don’t forget that,” he inserted a second finger and pumped them deeply into you.

“yes,” you breathed out softly, too far gone to fight back with a snarky remark.

although his fingers felt good and you could possibly –with a bit of an effort– cum just from them, you still wanted more. you wanted to feel the nice stretch of his cock tearing your walls apart.

“please, donghyuck.”

“what do you want?”

donghyuck knew what you wanted. fuck, he wanted it too, so bad. he had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time and now that he could finally have it, he was going to make the best out of it.

“fuck me,” your core ached to be filled so you swallowed your pride and spoke out.

“condom?”

“we don’t need it, i’m on the pill,” you rushed, stomach twisting and turning in excitement, “please, just fuck me.”

donghyuck’s eyes turned darker, lust clouding both of your minds with the only desire to fuck each other stupid. he pulled down your jeans so they were pooling on your ankles and went back to pump his fingers inside you to make sure you were ready to take him. as he entered you, you had to lean on the sink in front of you to hold yourself up or else you would have faceplanted the mirror.

“you feel so good, fuck, so fucking tight,” donghyuck growled when he was balls deep in you.

whimpers fell from your lips from the delicious stretch of his thick cock. after a few seconds of you adjusting to his size, you backed your ass into his hips to let him know you wanted him to move. he gave a couple of thrusts to test the waters before picking up his pace and you gripped the sides of the sink as he pounded into you. his mouth worked on your neck while you brought one of his hands under your shirt to play with your breasts.

“such a pretty sight, don’t you think?” he tugged harshly at your hair to force you to look at your reflection on the mirror, thrusts never faltering.

your makeup was ruined; lipstick smeared messily all over your lips from the hot make-out session, neck full of bruises donghyuck left to claim you, shirt pulled above your breasts displaying your puckered nipples while one of his big hands grabbed your boob as they bounced with every hard snap of his hips.

“you have no idea how many times i had to control myself not to pounce on you,” his eyes never left your quivering reflection, completely in love with the way your frame molded with his, “every single time you couldn’t keep that pretty little mouth of yours closed and all i wanted to do was shut you up with my cock.”

“f-fuck,” his thrusts turned rougher as his free hand wrapped around your neck, tightening his grip and amplifying the mind-blowing sensations he was giving you.

your asscheeks slapped against his hips, which drilled against you at an unhuman pace, hitting the right spots with every snap and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, loud moans threatening to fall from your lips so you slapped your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“don’t, i want to hear you,” he gave a particularly hard thrust to try and draw a sound out of you, “i want you to be so loud that all of our friends know what we’re doing, i want them to know how good i’m making you feel.”

specially mark.

but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

“h-hyuck,” you couldn’t hold back the broken moan that fell from your lips, pleasure overtaking your body. your hands gave in and you almost fell forward, but donghyuck reacted sooner and pulled you by your hair, holding you up.

“address me properly, brat,” he growled in your ear. you felt a hard slap on your ass, the skin of the abused area stinging from the impact.

“i’m sorry… fuck, donghyuck,” your cries went straight to his dick, urging him to fuck you harder. he kneaded the flesh soothingly before spanking it again and again until you could make out the imprint of his big hand on your asscheek.

“f-faster, please,” you pleaded in a whine and he tsked, shaking his head, “such a greedy little slut.”

“what would everyone think of you if they could see you so eagerly taking my cock, mm?” donghyuck hummed, “begging for me to fuck you until you can’t walk properly?

shocks of pleasure shot through you, his dirty talk helping you reach your release faster than you anticipated. his grip on you was so tight you were sure you were going to be sore the next day. your moans turned pornographic as you neared your release, your walls squeezed around donghyuck to the point he was unable to move, so he started drawing circles over your sensitive clit to help you get off.

“let go, baby.”

and soon, his touch threw you over the edge, causing your body to shake and a broken moan to fall from your lips, legs weak as your whole weight only relied on your arms for support. he followed shortly after, grunting as he filled you up with his warm and sticky essence.

as he pulled out, a mixture of your slick juices and his seed leaked from your abused hole, dripping down your inner thighs. his fingers slid over to gather the drops of cum and opposite to your assumption, he didn’t push it back inside of you but brought the digits to your face, waiting for you to open your mouth.

“suck.”

and you did, eyes locked with his through the mirror as your tongue swirled around his fingers to lick them clean.

“fuck,” donghyuck sighed, “i didn’t know you were so dirty, sweetheart.”

and the teasing comes back.

“do you want me to remind you how i made you cum in your pants back there in a room full of people?” you rolled your eyes in disbelief and he just let out a breathy laugh.

“whatever. either way, even if they didn’t have the pleasure of fucking you or at least seeing you get fucked, they surely could hear you from how loud you were screaming my name.”

“good thing mark now knows who you belong to,” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could think and both of you shared a look of pure shock.

“did you just mention mark?”

“…no?”

“you did! what the fuck? were you jealous of mark?” you asked, eyes wide as you remembered the disgusted look on his face when you and mark got too touchy with each other during the game.

“i am jealous of mark.”

“what? why?”

“oh my god, you’re so dense.”

“shut up, i’m not.”

“yes, you are. i like you dumbass, that’s fucking why. why wouldn’t i be jealous if you two act like you’re dating but always deny it when questioned? i can give you my hoodies, i can cuddle you and hold your hand, i can spoil you with cute stuff. i can be your boyfriend, it doesn’t have to be him.”

everything was so weird.

you were supposed to be enemies for fucks sake.

but he looked cute with pouty lips.

“well, you sure have got a damn weird way of demonstrating it.”

“shut up, okay?” donghyuck snapped, done with trying to get you to shut the fuck up. “i just didn’t know how to approach you or talk to you at all, alright?” he sighed, a scowl forming on his face. “you always seem to be angry when i’m around.” the change in his voice shocked you, it was much softer now, as if he was afraid of you hearing it.

“hey, don’t beat yourself for it, alright?” you sighed, feeling bad for being so mean to him for no reason. because you really didn’t have a reason. whenever you weren’t at each other’s throats and you got time to observe him from afar, you saw how caring he was with his friends, even if most of the time he annoyed the crap out of them.

donghyuck actually seemed like a good guy… if you ignored his teasing.

maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

“so, would you be my-,”

suddenly, the sound of banging on the door resonated through the room.

“are you done already? i need to pee.”

you quickly fixed your clothes, embarrassed by the presence of someone outside the door waiting for you and donghyuck to get out and momentarily forgetting about the boy’s proposal. just as you were about to open the door and get yourself the fuck out of the situation, his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer and whisper to your ear in a way you could feel your panties get damp once again.

“we’re not done yet, princess.”

–lia:)

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[murderslugs]

Getting To Know Them || Slasher x Reader Bf/Gf Scenarios Pt 2

Jason Voorhees

When you woke, you were lying in a dim living room. The windows were boarded with thick, rotting oak planks and the doors were bolted shut. The only light left to illuminate the room was a small lamp on the old, rustic coffee table in front of you. Beneath you was a somewhat scratchy couch, clearly taken off of someone's front line with a paper labeled "free to take" on it, or from some dump. However, you were thankful that it at least wasn't the creaky wooden floor instead. You scratched at the rope around your wrists, loosened from being wriggled around and messed with.

You sat up and allowed your vision to re-adjust, and saw the same man in flannel and ski-mask in an arm-chair on the other side of the coffee table. He didn't seem to notice your awakening, or he at least didn't acknowledge it. He was reading a book with a maroon cover, and you couldn't make out the small copper-shaded title. You studied his movement. He was calm and showed little emotion in his body language, simply reading in peace.

In a split second, you decided to break the peace and silence. "Who are you?" The man put down the book in his lap, but only looked up at you for a moment, silent. You could see him think, then make a few hand gestures. You came to the realization that it was ASL, but you never really learned the language, despite your interest in it. You saw him take a deep breath and get up, grabbing a pen and a notebook off a table to the side. He slid the items onto the coffee table before you and slowly unbound your wrists. You wrote your question out again, "Who are you?" and slid it around for him to see. He read it, and wrote quickly, in slightly messy handwriting, "Jason. any more questions?" and slid the items back.

From here, you two went on for hours, listing out questions on the notebook and answering them for each other. You filled out pages and pages, ranging from basic questions to things like "what was your childhood like?" Certain things like that, he would pause and then write that he didn't want to talk about it. Through the night or day (due to the lack of natural light, it was hard to tell,) this game went on.

Michael Myers

Though you tried your best and struggled and squirmed, the man who had taken you still had gotten you tied to a chair; where you sat with a belt tying your wrists to the wooden beams, thankfully with a cushion underneath your rear. You shut your eyes for a second and groaned, throwing your head back. You always thought of yourself as strong and independent, a fighter who didn't need help from anyone. Alas, this was one ass you couldn't kick, and you hated yourself for it.

Across the kitchen, the bright lights shined on the tiled floor, and a tea kettle whistled ceaselessly. The sound of running water stopped as the man who had taken you walked from the bathroom and into the kitchen. The man dried his hands on his pants and took the kettle off the burner, shutting the flames off. You observed him take two random mugs from the cabinets above, and place them on the white countertop. He carefully poured the tea into the two cups, and a light herbal smell filled the air. After a moment, you recognized the smell of hibiscus tea. This was a familiar smell, something your aunt made every morning when you spent the night at her house in the summers between school years.

The man walked over and brought the two cups with him. A low, slightly muffled, silky voice came from behind the mask as he slid a mug across the table to you. "Careful, it's scolding." The tall, built man walked across and unbuckled one of your arms from the chair for you to pick up the mug with. "Drink." He said, before taking a seat before you. This is when he slid the mask off, to reveal a face beneath that you never would have expected. Dark brown, shaggy, messy, wavy hair fell over his forehead, and he blew it out of his grey eyes. His face was scarred and his lips were chapped, but it somehow wasn't unappealing or revolting.

"What's your name? Who the fuck are you?" You asked, leaning as far as you could with your restraints still intact. The man pushed his hair back and sighed heavily, sipping the near boiling tea. "Michael. 24. Libra." He said in a monotone voice. You rolled your eyes. "This is an introduction to your victim, not The Dating Game." You told him harshly. "Well, is there something specific you wanna know? It's not like your giving me anything to go off of, sugar cube." 'Michael' replied with the same energy in return. "Fine. I'm (Y/N). What else is there to say?"

Carrie White

Like the pale girl suggested, Carrie if you remembered correctly, you came back to the public library next Sunday, around noon. You had finished the book you had most recently checked out, so you had to return it anyways. Walking down the pavement, you saw here in a light sundress, walking up the few steps and into the library. You ran to catch up and followed her, careful not to startle the girl. As soon as you got inside, you carried yourself to just behind her, and tapped on her shoulder.

The girl turned around, and a look of confusion appeared on her features. "(Y/N). We met here last week? I suggested you check out Narnia." You reminded her, an eager smile painted on your face. A spark formed in her eyes, and she returned your smile. "Oh! Yes, yes, I remember. I'm sorry, my mind is awfully clouded lately." You assured her that it was alright, and you two went along.

The two of you walked down the aisles of bookshelves, and she looked for something new to try out. Maybe she would check out a cook-book and try a new recipe, or read up on WW1. Although, you DID notice that she avoided the religious aisle. However, you didn't comment on this, out of respect. You two checked out a few books, and on the paved outdoor steps, you stopped her. "Would you like to go for coffee or tea? Even a pastry? There's a little shop down the street, I'll buy. I'd just like to talk a bit.

Carrie obliged happily, and the two of you took your books and walked down to the small cafe. It had a dim, rustic theme, and brought peace to anyone who entered it's walls. There was a faint vanilla sent in the air, welcoming you two. For about an hour, Carrie sat down with you and talked about your life, your week, basic things. It was nice to get to know her. She seemed kind, and gentle. Everything about her was graceful, from the way she sipped her latte to the way she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. As you two finished up your chats, you grabbed your things and greeted each other farewell, agreeing to meet again next week.

Jennifer Check

The pair of you had become half-decent lab partners over the last few weeks, but she didn't seem to be doing well with the subject. As a result, you decided that you would volunteer to tutor her in the subject after school. So, there you were, on your way to her house after school to hang out and help her study up on the subject and with the homework. It was a cloudy day, and you could tell that a storm was brewing in those clouds above your head. Because of this, you decided to walk a bit faster to avoid being soaked.

As you arrived at Jennifer's house, you knocked gently on the door. When you received no answer, you hesitantly knocked harder. Very suddenly, a slightly older woman answered the door, assumingly Jennifer's mom. The woman looked you up and down, then quickly turned to yell over her shoulder, "Jenny! Your new friend is here!" She then quickly invited you in and brought you a small tray of white-chocolate macadamia nut cookies, offering you to take one or two ((If you have an allergy to nuts, then M&M cookies.)) "I made these for you two while you were studying. There's also sodas in the fridge in case you need a drink." Jennifer's mom said joyfully, before scooping the strap of a purse onto her shoulder. "I'll be off now, I have a job interview to get to. Jen's room is upstairs, first door on the right. Have fun you two!" She informed you before heading out the door.

You walked up the stairs until you found an oak door, and knocked before coming in. "Uh, hi, it's (Y/N), I'm here to help you study..?" You said as you slowly walked in and shut the door behind you. Jennifer was standing, looking in the mirror and smearing concealer under her eyes. She sighed and looked over to you. "Sit on the bed. You know, I was gonna gut you like a fish and drink your blood like a Slurpee, but my mom seems to like you, and I don't think you're too bad. Shame, would have been a great opportunity." She said nonchalantly. As she turned to you, you saw that her face was pale and broken out in acne.

Your heart skipped a beat and the color drained from your face. "I'm sorry, w-what...?" You tried to gulp down the fear in your words. "I'm a succubus, idiot. Don't think that I didn't notice you staring at the blood on my shoes the first day we met. I feed on people's bodies and sexual energy so I can feel good and look good. But I've decided you're worth keeping around, so I'll save that for the next chump. So, shall we get to know each other?" She said calmly as she sat down beside you on the bed.

Billy Loomis

You were home alone yet again, but this time it was mid day. You were watching horror movies out of boredom on your couch, when you got a call. You hesitantly answered, to hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone. "I'm here, come let me in." You carried the phone with you. You figured one of your friends had stopped by to say hi, and their voice just sounded messed up due to shitty reception. You went to your front door, and looked through the peephole to see someone in a shitty costume, probably from Walmart, as it was October, and stores were starting to sell Halloween costumes and decorations. You hung up the phone and stuck it in your pocket, opening the door slightly with the chain lock still intact.

"Cut it out, prankster. That's not a very creepy costume. Ooo! I'm so scared!! Listen, I've seen the original Japanese film The Ring a million times, I'm not too scared of much." You heard the person sigh and push the door forward aggressively, breaking the lock. You jumped back in shock. "Hey! You're paying for that, asshole!" You yelled only for a quick response. "No, I don't think I will, beautiful. The man said, taking off his mask. To your shock, it was someone that you went to school with, Billy Loomis. You remember him graduating just the year before you, and were a bit shocked at his sudden appearance. You two had talked a bit, and you could consider yourselves acquaintances, but never really close friends.

Billy took a step forward, and in turn, you took one back. He put his hands up, showing he had no weapons in his hands. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt, that's not what I came to do. I just want to...get to know you. Look, you can pat me down, if you really feel the need. I don't have any weapons on me." You lowered your defenses a bit, but still kept them up. "Why would you want to know me so bad?" You asked hesitantly. "Well, I looked through your window and realized I'd found you again. And I wanted to get to know the pretty (girl/boy/person) I used to look at in the hallways every day." He said in a smooth tone. And that's where your night started.

Thomas Hewitt

It was a lovely Texas summer day. A warm breeze carried through the semi-tall grass in the fields, and the smell of fresh bread filled the small wooden house. On this fine afternoon, you happened to be listening to some old music, from the 50s-60s, and baking. When you least expected it, you heard a loud knock on the door. You figured it might have been one of your new neighbors looking to get to know you, or ask to borrow something. You strolled to the door and opened it, to see a rather large man in a butcher's apron, curly dark hair, and a rather scarred face on the other side. Though he had somewhat of a threatening aura, you knew that there was more behind his appearance.

You saw him open his mouth, but then stop and think for a moment. He hesitantly put his hands up and made a few broken and hand signals. You realized quickly that it was sign language, as you had an uncle growing up that happened to be deaf, so you learned it so that you two could talk. "I'm not deaf, I just don't like to speak." You watched him sign apprehensively, and responded allowed. "That's okay, hun. What can I do for you?" You asked, and he thought for a moment. "Do you have some salt I can use? Papa shot a..." He stopped for a moment, then looked back up to meet your eyes. "Papa shot a deer, and we ran out of salt to dry out the hide and season the meat." He asked, and you replied. "Of course! Come right in, I keep a few bags in the cupboard, I have a half-full one you can take home." You told him as you allowed him to come in and shut the door behind him.

Your bread sat warm in the window-sill, cooling down. As you handed him the salt, he pointed over to it. "Oh, do you want a piece?" He nodded aggressively, and you smiled. You grabbed the metal baking sheet and put it on the counter, slicing a few pieces. "Here, you can have more than one. I make it all the time, and it's just me here to eat it anyways." You told him. "Would you like to sit down and chat for a moment? I can make you tea or coffee too if you like? You can tell me about yourself. That is, if you don't have to be home right quick." The man nodded again, and set the salt down on the counter. "My name's Thomas. I'd like some...Peppermint tea, if you have it." The man signed to you, his guard down as he clearly felt welcomed in the household. "Okay, Thomas, right on it." You smiled warmly and handed him a thick slice of warm bread with butter and mulberry jam smeared over the top. "Take a seat, dear."

____________________________________________

~Author's Note~

Hi guys, I'm so sorry it took so long to get this second part out :( I've just been really stressed and not in a great mental place, plus the factor of writer's block and being scared to burn myself out. But thank you for those who have stayed through the hiatus to continue reading!! Please comment below if you have any character or scenario requests. Goodbye for now, loves!

[captainlevisteacup]

Oooh, an idea has struck. The brothers reacting to Dom Male!MC reuniting with his childhood bestfriend in the Devildom, only their bestfriend is now a high ranking/powerful incubus who has a fuck ton of influence & money. (Not nearly as powerful as any of the brothers or Diavolo, of course, but you get the point)

And while normally a simple childhood friend wouldn’t be enough to bother the brothers, DM!MC’s Femboy CH!Bestfriend is the optimum of gorgeous, with a lithe & toned body and an “innocent” charm to him.

Spoiler Alert, CH!Bestfriend has been in love with DM!MC since they were kids (though it was just puppy love back then) and is determined to never let him get away from him again, resulting in him being extra clingy and needy.

Another Spoiler Alert, DM!MC’s childhood bestfriend may or may not be a mix of a “Worship” & “Self Sacrifice” Yandere.. (Look up “The Dere Types Wiki” if your confused)

You have some very interesting ideas😂 im so sorry this took so long, I didn't want to post it until I was back up to my full working capacity after getting injured and after breaking up with someone😁

Anyways, without further ado, here ya go😘

The Brother's Reactions to M! MC'S Yandere Childhood Incubus! Friend

Warnings: Violence, Language, Blood, VERY SLIGHT sexual themes, some non-consentual touching in Levi's section, brief mention of drugging in Beel's

Lucifer

At first, didn't think twice of MC having a childhood friend

But when he heard the word incubus

He got the smile on his face

You know the one

Lucifer "innocently" is around whenever the incubus is around

Its starts off small

Little poisoned glances from the incubus here and there

But eventually it escalated and turned into him putting a possessive arm around MC's waist

Lucifer snapped

The second the Incubus was alone, Lucifer followed him down an alley

Slammed that fucker against the wall and held him there by the throat

The incubus started laughing, even when Lucifer tightened his grip

"You'll never get rid of me. I have connections to everyone, Fallen Angel. I've loved him since before you even knew he existed, and a prissy peacock like you isnt gonna stop me from making him mine, even if I have to drug and kidnap him"

Lucifer only smiled and released him

The incubus smirked, daintily dusting off his lithe figure

Thinking he won, he shouldered his way past Lucifer

Only to stop short in horror

Deep growls greeted him

Lucifer didn't even bother hiding the screams of the incubus as Cerberus ripped into him

After a while, he signaled Cerberus to stop

As the incubus lies on the ground whimpering, Lucifer calmly says:

"Now that I've shown you just what I'm willing to do to protect MC, I'll make you a deal. MC cares about you, as a FRIEND. But his heart belongs to me and me alone, and mine belongs to him. If you can understand and respect that, I'll allow you near him. But one wrong word, one wrong placement of a hand, and I won't hesitate to finish you off myself. And believe me," he says with a dark chuckle "I won't be as gentle as Cerberus."

Mammon

This man immediately is on high alert

Someone trying to take what's HIS?

The incubus makes him more greedy than ever

Decides not to leave MC's side for a second

Even when he's sleeping

When Mammon can't help the incu-bitch (his nickname for the childhood friend) being around, he acts sort of like a child, which makes him look like a dick in comparison to the incubus's calm and innocent facade

Mammon tries to tell MC there's something up, but he just chalks it up to Mammon being Mammon

One day, MC randomly receives news from the human world that his mother contracted something contagious and was placed in ICU

The incu-bitch was, of course, right there when MC started tearing up, letting him cry into his shoulder

Mammon sees this and starts to protest

This leads MC to snap and tell Mammon he's being a child

Mammon leaves them be and thinks hard

Comes to the conclusion that maybe MC is right, and he begrudgingly decides to apologize to the incubus

As he approaches him, Mammon catches a glimpse of the Incubus's *expensive* phone

Unable to resist, he throws a coin against the wall in the opposite direction.

When he turns to look at the noise, Mammon snatches the phone and yeets off to his room

When he gets there, he opens the phone- no lock- and is startled by what he sees

A fake texting app, along with the messages telling MC his mother was sick

Mammon was about to run to find MC, when he heard a slight chuckle

Looking up, he saw the incubus...holding a knife

"You just couldn't stay away, could you? You've been a pain in the ass ever since I got here. But no matter, once MC sees how *cruel* you are to his defenseless childhood friend, he'll want nothing to do with you. And he'll be mine to fuck and own as I please."

Mammon gritted his teeth and ground out "Making MC think his mother was gravely ill just to get close to him when he's vulnerable? You're disgusting. I actually care about MC, and I respect them more than you ever will."

The incubus snorted, and raised the knife.

"Oi! What do ya think you're doing with that?" Mammon yelled

He raised the knife....and slashed it across his own arm

He then threw the knife towards Mammon, threw himself to the ground, and yelled out in pain

Suddenly, MC burst into the room

Mammon sputtered out a panicked explanation, but MC cut him off with a stare

He kneeled down next to his friend, who reached up with a bloody hand to cup MC'S face

MC put his hand over the incubus's....and sharply bent it backwards

He leaned down and whispered into his ear: "I heard everything, you little shit. Now, get the FUCK out of my house and away from my boyfriend, and don't even THINK of defiling my life with your presence ever again"

After he left, Mammon cautiously said "boyfriend, huh..?"

"Shut up mammon"

Levi

Oh, this won't do

Immediately feels threatened and triggered

He is the avatar of Envy, after all

His response?

Prove to MC nobody can know him as well as he can

He does this every single time the incubus is near

"MC, I got you your favorite drink!"

"MC, I ordered you some food. Don't worry, I already know what you like"

Flinches whenever the incu-bitch touches MC. It literally makes him cringe

His suspicions are confirmed when the incubus shoots Levi a malicious glance next time he touches MC

Levi snaps

Challenges the incubus to a video game duel

He surprisingly accepts

He cheats like hell and beats Levi

Levi goes into his demon form and rages

But MC thinks he's just being a sore loser

He tells Levi to back off and to go cool down

Once Levi storms off, the incu-bitch thanks MC for standing up for him

Then, he promptly tries to make a move on MC

He reaches out a hand to unbutton MC'S shirt

MC slaps his hand away, but not before noticing writing on the Incubus's hand

Before he can pull away, MC snatches his hand and sees cheat codes written on them

Gets super upset and tries to get up to apologize to Levi

The incubus pulls him back down by his wrist and pins them to the couch

"MC, don't you realize? You're all I want, all I need. I WORSHIP you, MC. And you're going to be mine. Nobody else can have you. And you're going to love me, whether you realize it right now or not. You'll learn with time to need me just as desperately as I need you"

Starts to take off MC'S clothes in spite of their fighting and protests, the incubus shushing him

"Shhhh, I know you don't see it, but this will make you see."

Levi slams open the door, tail lashing and face white with rage

"Get your normie hands the fuck off of my human. Now."

The incubus nopes the fuck out. He may be a high ranking incubus, but he still isn't as strong as one of the seven demon brothers.

Levi holds MC tightly as they fumble over an apology

"Shhh MC, its okay. I'm here now. Let's watch some anime and calm down together, yea?"

Satan

Do I even have to explain this one?

Is hostile as soon as MC even MENTIONS a childhood male friend, let alone an INCUBUS

Honestly, the Incubus is a bit scared of Satan

But, he decides he wants MC more than he fears Satan

So, he swallows his fear and patronizes Satan in tiny, unremarkable ways

Ways that would only be noticed by Satan

A stray hand here and there that lingers a LITTLE too long

Wiping a crumb from MC'S lips during a meal

Tucking a stray hair behind MC'S ear

Every last one of these actions makes his blood boil

It gets so bad that Satan is just in a perpetual state of rage, never leaving his demon form

Satan starts passive aggressively insulting the incubus's intelligence

"Oh, you mean you don't know how disestablishmentarianism impacted the overall congruence of Midwest society? Thats odd, its fairly simple. Practically common sense."

Is shocked when MC got livid at him, because he was being condescending for seemingly no reason

Starts to get angry at MC

"Can't you see? He's trying to turn you against me. Just LISTEN, DAMNIT!" He says as he grabs MC'S shoulders

The incubus barges in and shoves Satan away from MC

"Are you ok, MC? Did he hurt you?"

The amount of white hot rage in the room was tangible

He can't do it anymore

Slams the incubus against the wall

Knocks him to the ground

But when he falls down

A bunch of photos fall out of his jacket

Not normal photos

Horrifying ones

One of MC while he showers

One of MC sleeping

One of MC changing

Even one of MC and Satan having a steamy moment

MC goes still...and then SLAPS the shit out of the incubus.

He wordlessly turns to Satan, eyes pleading

"It would be my pleasure, MC" *evil grin*

Cue Satan dragging the incubus off by his hair

Asmo

P A S S I V E A G R E S S I V E

He sees this lovely incubus with NEARLY perfect hair, a lithe and toned body, and a seemingly innocent attitude, and he just wants him gone

He's been with plenty of Incubi, so he knows what they're like

Because of this, he doesn't want this one anywhere NEAR his darling MC

Comes up with a plan to use all his fashion design connections to outdress the incubus

He knows they're vain by nature, so he comes to the conclusion that this is the best course of action

But there's a problem

"Is that a statement piece from Priya Lacroix? She hasn't even released her collection yet"

Asmo.exe is not responding

He knows that HE is the only one Priya would ever give an early release to

So why does THE INCUBUS have her statement piece?

And WHERE is his phone?

Complains to MC, but MC doesn't take him seriously because he's too busy catching up with his friend

Asmo gets jealous and storms off to do a stress relieving skin routine

As MC and the incubus hang out, the incubus's phone goes off

Only...the ringtone is sinful indulgence

Mammon storms into the room

"AHA! I FOUND YA ASMO, YOU ANNOYING LITTLE- huh?"

"I/N? Why do you have Asmo's phone?"

"MC, you have to understand, I just want you to realize I'm the only right one for you. You NEED to realize you can't be with anyone else. Because you're mine, MC. You always have been."

Screeching could be heard in the distance, then footsteps quickly getting closer and closer

"THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY" Asmo yells as he slams open the door

"As if MC would choose a crusty, obsessive, STEALING, lying, probably STD having Incubus like you over me! Now give me my phone back and get out of here. And while you're at it, take off that Priya piece. There's a reason I'm the only one allowed early access."

Beel

Honestly doesn't think that much of it at first

He thinks its nice MC reunited with one of his childhood friends, and an Incubus at that

But when he meets the friend, something just feels off

He gets a weird sensation, and its not hunger

Its like his senses are on red alert

The incubus was nice enough to Beel, seemingly charming and genuine

But Beel couldn't help but feel rubbed the wrong way, with a sensation similar to seaweed against legs in the ocean

He doesn't want to mention this to MC, because he's convinced he's just overreacting

He feels a little sad that MC is too busy for him, but he does his best to give them time together

One night, he had made some food in the kitchen and decided to bring MC and I/N some

When he neared the door, he almost dropped the plate

He heard a loud thud, and MC saying "Hey, I said no, okay?"

He gently opened the door and looked at MC, who immediately forced a smile to his face

"Hey MC, I brought you guys some food. Is everything ok?"

"Thanks Beel, that's sweet of you. Everything's fine, I promise"

Beel relaxed a bit, although he still knew something was off.

The incubus excused himself to use the restroom, encouraging MC to eat without him

Beel and MC sat down, and Beel scarfed down his portion

Chuckling, MC offered his plate to Beel, who gladly accepted

The incubus opened the door shortly after with an expectant look on his face, as well as rope and a gag in his hands

Upon laying eyes on MC, a shocked expression came onto his face as his eyes darted between MC and the empty plate

"How are you still conscious?" He blurted

Confusion flashed across MC'S face. "What do you mean, I/N?"

"You drugged it, didn't you?" Beel spoke up.

"I thought it tasted odd," Beel continued "but I never would have guessed you would actually drug MC. I'm guessing you couldn't handle that MC rejected your advances, so you drugged the food while MC was distracted talking to me. Am I right?"

The incubus chuckled. "Guess I was wrong about you. You are more of a threat than you seem. Heh, I guess you're not just a talking stomach after all."

A loud smack could be heard shortly thereafter.

But the devastating blow didn't come from Beel

It came from an enraged MC

"Trying to drug me I could keep my cool over. If thats all you did I would have just told you to stay the hell away from me. But the SECOND you spoke to Beel like that, you signed your own death warrant."

Before he could react, MC summoned the brothers one by one, Beel explaining the situation.

"Well, MC, perfect timing as always. I was just beginning to get bored" Satan drawled

*screams*

Belphie

It takes a yandere to know one

Belphie doesn't want to alarm MC though, so he decides to outmaneuver the incubus without him noticing

It starts small, with I/N reaching out to put an arm over MC'S shoulder, and Belphie's arm already being there

Eventually, they start glaring daggers at each other the second MC looks away

After a while, Belphie decides to up the ante

Religiously falls asleep on MC when I/N is trying to spend time with him

Goads the incubus so much that he corners Belphie when he snaps and can't take any more

"Listen, I know exactly what you're doing. But if you think that YOU can take him away from me, you're sorely mistaken. MC is mine whether he likes it or not. And if it turns out to be the latter, well, let's just say he won't have much of a choice in the matter, nor will you have any control over it. Got that?"

Belphie does the one thing he knows will get the outcome he had painstakingly built up to the past couple weeks: he laughs

"Ah, you have a good sense of humor, know that? Funny stuff. All kidding aside, MC already belongs to me. So your child's play isn't gonna cut it. Got THAT?"

With a choked cry of fury, the incubus pulls out a knife and stabs Belphie

Belphie, having planned this, falls to the floor just as the door opens to reveal a shocked MC.

"BELPHIE! Shit, please be okay! What the FUCK is wrong with you, I/N?"

The stunned Incubus could only stammer out a couple words

"I- he...was gonna...tried to take what was mine. Tried to take you..."

MC laughed bitterly and shoved him to the floor.

"I don't know what sick world you're living in, but I belong to Belphie. I love him. And I hate YOU. Now I'll leave you be so you can deal with THAT. Ta ta." He says as he scoops up Belphie and heads out the door

"Deal with what?" I/N nervously asks after him, backing up warily

The incubus stops when his back hits something hard.

Gulping, he looks up...

"Hello, I/N, I'm Beel."

"Nice to...meet you? I imagine you're one of the brothers?" He replies shakily

Beel smiles. The light doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, I'm one of the brothers. You see, I'm Belphie's twin."

Across the house, Belphie smiles at the faint screams, MC curled up next to him after patching him up.

He succeeded in protecting what was his. He deserves a good nap. Holding MC tighter, he goes back to sleep.

[ohpretty-baby]

my babysitter’s a quarterback • jjk

⇥ pairing: qb!jungkook x cheerleader!reader

⇥ side pairing: namseok

⇥ synopsis: after getting cheated on by the star of the hockey team, park jimin, your life (as expected) goes downhill. what you don’t expect is your parents being skeptical of whether or not you’re a good older sibling for your sister. you also don’t expect them to call jeon jungkook—the person you hate most—to babysit the two of you.

or, alternatively: jungkook babysits you even though the two of you are the same age.

⇥ genre: fluff, crackfic, angst, e2l, jungkook is stupid, jimin’s an asshole, hoseok’s a sweetie, namjoon is also a sweetie, reader is Stressed, pining, mutual pining

⇥ warnings: cursing, crude humor, mentions of cheating, divorce

⇥ word count: 30.0k

based off a request for @fan-ati--c​ (i hope you like it dear!)

a/n: hi everyone!!! this is my first ever lengthy fic, so pls have mercy on me. i had a lotta fun writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy!!!! much much much much MUCH love <333 (feel free to give feedback and your opinions!)

“Y/N, what has gotten into you?” Your mom gently places the tip of her fork on her plate, folding her hands together. Her words are stern, but she doesn’t raise her voice in order to save face. The air at the dinner table is dense and heavy on you, and the fact that your father and your little sister, Clementine, seem to have their eyes glued on you doesn’t help either. Clementine sniffles and the sound makes your blood boil.

You sigh, looking up from your phone to shoot a glare to your mother. You also send a glance of distaste towards your sister, which allows you to get a quick sight of her puffy eyes and runny nose. The prongs of your fork are poking your lips while you lazily chew the spaghetti stuffed in your mouth. Shrugging, you place your phone and the fork down, folding your hands in order to mirror your mom seated in front of you.

You stay silent, lips pressed tightly into a thin line, because you know she has more to say.

“Darling, you’re being extremely immature,” Your mom always had to give it to you straight, “You know that Clementine didn’t mean to upset you.”

As always, your mother is articulate and sharp when she speaks. Not once does she stutter, and after being her daughter for 17 years, you’re not entirely sure if she’s ever stumbled on her words before in her entire life. It’s indicative of her personality: intelligent, quick-witted, skilled, yet unbelievably blunt. From the way her patients praise her for constantly being compassionate and kind, you often wonder if your mom really is a psychiatrist or if she’s hired a clone to work in her stead.

It’s not that you hated your mom. You loved her dearly, as you did with the rest of your family. The reason why you seemed to always butt heads with her, though, is simply because you have a little too much in common with her (personality-wise). Your dad’s always said that you were a carbon copy of your mother, after all.

“All I’m asking is that Clem asks me if she can use my makeup,” You cough, a few bits of the noodles going down the wrong pipe, “You, of all people, mom, know how expensive lipstick can be. I need that for football games.”

It’s not a clear statistic, but it is a pretty solid fact. You always use facts in order to back up your arguments, just so that your parents can’t say anything in response. Sometimes it works. You’re still waiting for the day when you have something impactful to use.

“Well, you know that when she sees you getting all pretty,” She taps her fingers on the wooden table, “She wants to do the same, and as the-“

“As the older sister, I have to share,” You roll your eyes, and you shift your focus on Clementine, “Sorry, ok? I won’t get so mad next time.”

“Clementine, what do you say?”

“It’s ok,” She sniffles, wiping her eyes.

“No, dear. What do you say?”

“I forgive you, Y/N.”

You bite back the sarcastic comments you’re dying to say, opting to stuff your mouth with spaghetti instead. The rest of your family starts eating as well, and you keep your head low to avoid making eye contact with your sister. You love her with almost every bone in your body, but right now, you can’t tell if you want to throw your food at her or slap her with your ceramic plate.

Today, she took it upon herself to go through your makeup bag and steal one of your (again, highly expensive) lipsticks so she could slice it with a butterknife purely out of boredom. This all happened while you were taking a bath, and when you got into your room, you saw her sitting at your desk, lipstick chunks spread all over one of your old math notebooks. So of course, you yelled at her.

Then she cried. Then your mom made you apologize because you were upset that she wrongfully went through your stuff without permission. But that’s really how things have always been, ever since you were 5 years old and Clementine was just born. You’ve grown up constantly taking the blame for Clementine’s wrongdoings. It’s just how things work in your household, because your parents genuinely believe that she could do no wrong.

Apparently, being 12 gave you lots of perks.

“Y/N?” Your mother’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, “Y/N, listen to me when I speak to you.”

“Sorry, what’d you say?” You don’t care about matching your mom’s formality anymore, your cheek puffed up with more food.

“I was asking you how your day was.”

“Oh, just wonderful. Fantastic. Dandy,” You snap back, not really aware of what you’re saying as your words fly out of your mouth.

“What’s with your attitude, young lady?” She scoffs, then pauses a bit before speaking again, “Listen, I know that it’s tough, having to see Jimin-“

You slam your hands on the table, standing up. Your chair screeches awkwardly against the wood flooring of the dining room. Swallowing down the rest of your food, you try to soothe the hard lump forming in your throat.

“Do not try to analyze me. I’m not one of your patients. There’s nothing you need to fix about me, got it?” You raise your voice, staring her dead in the eye, “I just had a shit week and I very much do not need you to try and pinpoint whatever’s going on in my head.”

Your mother gasps, and only now does your dad decide to speak.

“Young lady, go to your room right now,” His words fall flat, and you scoff at him.

Your parents were complete opposites. If your mother was over analytical, your father could never read the room. Not because he was dumb, per say, but because he was always in his own little world. He always responded a little too late, felt things a second after they should be felt. That’s just how your dad thinks. He doesn’t mean to be mentally absent when all of you were at home, but he’s always been preoccupied with his work. That’s a big thing you’ve admired about your dad, how easily he can focus on one thing and ignore the rest. It’s one of the main reasons why he was so successful as an architect. Growing up, you would stay up past your bedtime just so you could be with him in his office. You’d watch how he could just sit down and create a multitude of building designs without getting distracted.

By the way he looks at you with a flash of guilt in his eyes, you can tell that he’s the only one that gets your reasoning. You can also tell that he knows how wrong it is for your mom to bring up your ex-boyfriend during dinner.

But because he wants to uphold his “authoritative” figure, he needs to “put his foot down”.

“I was planning on it anyway, thanks,” You grumble, storming off.

Once you reach your room, you slam the door—purely for dramatic effect. You throw yourself on the bed, getting out your phone and doing the first thing that pops into your head. You call Hoseok and he answers right away. A smile flashes on your face as you feel some relief from your anger.

“Hello?”

Jung Hoseok has been your best friend ever since you first stepped into your hellhole of a high school building. He was your saving grace. The only thing that kept you sane.

When you joined the Monarchs, the cheerleading squad of your school, Hoseok was the only person who talked to you during practice, even if he was a year older than you. An infamous characteristic of his is his big smile. His lips always resembled a widened heart, and he showed off his pearly whites wherever he went, exuding happiness that was extremely contagious. And if his smile was big, his heart was even bigger.

You know this because Hoseok immediately asks you “Is everything okay?” when he hears your shaky breath over the line.

You explain to him what had happened seconds prior to this phone call. Then your conversation spirals into you ranting about how your parents have been telling you that you’ve been a terrible sibling. It’s something insulting to hear, knowing that they’ve always made you take the blame for everything your sister does. It hurts even more that they can’t acknowledge the fact that getting through a breakup is hard for a 17 year old girl. They couldn’t even cut you some slack.

A pang of guilt hits you when you relay everything you’ve said to your sister over to Hoseok. Maybe you were somewhat in the wrong here. But could you blame yourself? You were going through a hard time, and it’s not unusual for someone who’s stressed to act out. Not to mention when the stressor is heartbreak.

During the beginning of September, you found Park Jimin, your past boyfriend of one year, and some other Sophomore on the cheer team making out in his car afterschool. It was now the end of October, but the memory haunts you in your every waking moment. The image of another girl pressed up on him, her skirt hiked up high enough so that you could see her spandex, flashes in your mind. In your head, you see Jimin running her hands all over the girl’s skin, purple splotches blooming on her neck and on his.

You shut your eyes, rubbing them violently as you try to ignore the painful truth: If you hadn’t decided to surprise him with some brownies you made for him that day, they would’ve done a lot more than just making out.

The notion makes tears prick your eyes, the familiar sting returning. You had been crying almost every night. Everytime you close your eyes, the same image of him and that girl appears and you can’t get rid of it at all.

You’re about to break down again, and Hoseok talks you through it. He allows you to vent, to let everything out, and he promises that the two of you will hang out after tomorrow’s practice. It gives you relief, something to look forward to at the end of the next school day. Tomorrow was Friday after all, and like you said before to your mom, your week was shit.

There had to be at least one good thing you could have this week.

That statement is short lived, however, because instead of sitting with Hoseok at your favorite diner with a strawberry milkshake in front of you, you’re sitting at your dinner table yet again, poking at pizza with a plastic fork. You stare at the grease stains on your paper plate in disgust, as the dining room is so silent you can practically hear the small ticks of the red second hand of the clock on the wall. 

What a great way to start the weekend. Friendless, boyfriend-less, and miserable. You look up from the greasy mess before you to shoot a glare to the person in front of you.

“Why the hell are you here?” are your first words to the boy.

“Your parents called me?” He responds, mimicking your questioning tone. You scoff at him.

Jeon Jungkook. The cocky, annoying as fuck quarterback on the football team who coincidentally sits behind you in Pre-Calc everyday is now sitting across from you at your dinner table. The boy who breaks off pieces of eraser chunks and throws them at your head just to annoy you while the teacher is giving a lesson. The kid who kicks your chair at least five times every single day just because he has fun getting a rise out of you.

You don’t know how exactly your hatred for him began, but it definitely started when you first became a cheerleader.

Popularity was never something that came easily to you. Many people don’t remember, but in Freshman year, the only time your class knew of you was when your name was called for attendance. You didn’t play any sports, nor did you participate in theatre or had any musical talents whatsoever. You were simply just, there.

This all changed when your mom suggested cheerleading. You did have a few years of solid gymnastic experience and you really had nothing better to do, so you decided to take the opportunity to sign up for tryouts.

It was hard, and you slipped up a lot of times, but the coaches saw potential in you. They told you that you’ve really got drive, and they praised you for continuing to get up and perfectly following directions when they asked you to execute an especially hard move. Eventually, you were accepted and once you had more time to practice, you had gotten the hang of cheerleading quite quickly. You ended up falling in love with the sport, working hard both on and off the field. You always got constant praise for your willingness to learn new things.

And with your new success on the team, you gained a reputation for yourself.

When, exactly, did Jungkook join the picture?

You’re not sure. He kind of forced himself in.

One day, you weren’t at your usual best. The sun was beating down on you harshly, which didn’t make things any better. The football team had been practicing with you guys, and it was obvious that many of the boys were ogling at the cheerleaders. They would nudge each, looking suggestively at the girls while whispering crude comments about them.

Jungkook, being the youngest and most energetic one on the team, had other ideas in mind. You see, he lived quite loudly and he was… Eccentric, to say the least.

His eyes were focused on the cheerleaders, pinpointing at anything that would be of use to him. He peered around intently, looking for any mess ups or mistakes that they had made. He would have made fun of anyone, really. Jungkook didn’t know much about the girls on the squad, so he really had no problem using their flaws to his benefits. He wanted to make his own team laugh, and that in itself was justification enough for Jungkook.

It was just unfortunate that you were his target.

Once he saw you topple over on the ground, he was ready.

“Hey, thunder thighs! Be careful out there!”

After that, you heard nothing but boisterous laughter from the football players. It was an immature insult, one ridiculous enough to enrage you. You wished you could’ve ran over to the other side of the field and just punched him the gut, right then and there. But his own coach and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him towards you so he could apologize.

It was a lame apology, and you could tell that he was trying everything in his absolute power to bite back the laugh he was holding in. You would've said something about it, but since Jungkook was more built than you and there were authorities present, you reluctantly accepted the apology, choosing to go on with your practice instead of letting it get to you.

And after that day, Jungkook has made it his goal to torment you whenever he sees you. Since he sits behind you in Pre-Calc now, that’s become his job every day.

Jungkook was taller than Jimin. He was a pretty attractive football player, too. You would give him at least that. But he was meaner than Jimin. A bigger asshole than Jimin. More annoying than Jimin could ever be.

Literally any good quality that you thought you could find in a guy, Jeon Jungkook did not possess it. Any kindness, sympathy, or even general decency in his heart was nowhere to be found.

He had messy brown hair, a smug grin on his face that you’d love to punch, and a lean body that you wish had gone cripple. Confidence wasn’t something that he had a lack of. In fact, Jungkook’s cup overfloweth with so much confidence to the point where describing him as merely confident would be a misdeed.

Narcissistic was the word. He was extremely narcissistic and obsessed with himself, which was indicative of the daily gym snaps he’d post on his Snapchat story. He was everything that disgusted you about guys combined and turned human.

Jungkook’s very presence could set you off, and you know that he lives off of that.

This is no different from your Friday night, as he’s gnawing on pizza right in your own damn house. He’s scrolling through his phone and you’re staring at him in disgust, while Clementine has already eaten and is now sitting on the couch, curled up with some sci-fi book she got from the store last week. Taking in his appearance, you inwardly cringe when you notice him lick the oil that has found itself on his fingers.

“There’s a napkin right next to you.”

“That would be a waste of paper,” Jungkook responds, licking away the last remnant of oil and marinara sauce on his thumb, “Gotta be eco-friendly, y’know?”

He wiggles his fingers at you, his infamous shit-eating grin appearing yet again. You hate the way his mouth tugs up to the right a little bit, how his eyes gleam mischievously since he’s so full of himself. If Clementine wasn’t in the house right now, you’re certain that Jungkook would’ve been on the floor, knocked out. You would’ve hit him with a frying pan, like in that one Disney movie Clementine loved so much. Or you would’ve hit him with your Pre-Calc textbook. That shit was heavy. You could knock him out cold with that. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

You roll your eyes at him, saying nothing and eating the rest of your pizza. You make a mental note to ask your parents why the fuck they thought it was a good idea to call over Jungkook on a Friday night.

But you know the answer to that already. They seem to believe that you haven’t been “responsible” enough for Clementine, which is weird, knowing that you’ve practically raised her all her life. Your parents have always been too busy to spend enough quality time with her, save for when they defend her at dinnertime.

So instead of having a civil conversation with you—or even asking if you were doing alright—they decided (without your permission) that a babysitter would be the best option for your little sister. And you still had to stay at home tonight because your mom asked you to “see if the babysitter is okay for Clementine”.

You’re not sure where the logic was in your parents’ thought process, but you did feel bad about your sister. She had warmed up to you a little bit after yesterday, but you know that she’ll stay closed off for a while. Not only to you, but to everyone else. You wish that your parents had known that. If they did, they’d be able to get that you’re probably the best babysitter for her. But no, they had to invite Jungkook over, someone who’s boisterous and annoying, and they probably expect Clementine to get along with him just fine. (And also, what had even compelled him to start a career in babysitting?)

So you decide to stay, just so she won’t be scared of being in her own house. You have been hard on her for a little bit after all, getting irrational and moody whenever she talks to you. It’s the least you could do for her. Despite everything, you still did really love her. 

She was your sister, for goodness sake!

“Hey, just a reminder,” Jungkook’s at your trash can, throwing away his plate, “Your bedtime’s at 10 tonight.”

It’s a stupid statement, and both of you are aware that the rules are for your sister. You can’t help but feel yourself heat up, though, when he sends a wink your way.

“That’s for my sister, you dumb fu-“

Your obvious response and insult combo is interrupted when you find Clementine standing in the doorway.

“Y/N?” Her voice is timid, shy, and her head hangs low when she speaks. She doesn’t like how there’s some random stranger in the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“Can we play Telestrations?” She keeps her eyes on you, and you feel yourself soften. It’s been a little bit since the two of you played anything together.

“Mind if I join in?” Jungkook says before you can actually respond to her. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and Clementine blinks at him, stunned. All she does is nod, too afraid to verbally respond to your classmate.

You’re also stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. His cocky aura is replaced with a soft tone, smiling brightly at Clementine instead of smirking at you. He walks over to her, asking her where the board game is. She mumbles something quietly, something only Jungkook can hear, and he responds with an even more enthusiastic grin. He turns to you before they make their way back to the living room.

“You coming, or…?”

So that’s how you find yourself at your coffee table with your little sister and the most annoying person you’ve met in your entire life, getting ready to play a round of Telestrations.

All you can say is that your night definitely isn’t going the way you planned at all.

He’s sitting criss cross applesauce on the carpet, extremely relaxed as you pass out the cards, the drawing pads, and the dry erase markers. You try to hide the scowl you oh so desperately want to show, but if Clementine sees you upset with him, she’ll definitely feel less safe with him.

You don’t know why you’re defending him, but here you are, attempting to be civil with him just to make sure your sister doesn’t feel as threatened as you do. You try your best not to start any fights with him, either. You’ve heard enough about people calling you a bitch at school. Ever since you broke up with Jimin, you’ve somehow been deemed the psychotic ex by all of your peers, because how could Jimin possibly do anything wrong?

You can’t tell what’s worse: the fact that everyone says you’re a bitch, or the fact that girls come up to you now, asking you for advice on your ex-boyfriend.

Sighing, you watch as Clementine rolls a four and chooses “This Side” of the cards. You internally groan when you look at the yellow side of the card. The glossy square seems to laugh at you, presenting what your subject would be.

How the hell were you supposed to draw “tunnel vision”?

Writing your name and the word on the first page, you mentally prepare for the challenge heading your way.

“Y/N,” Clementine calls for you, “Mine isn’t working…”

Jungkook hands his marker to her before you can, and he’s testing all the other markers in the box to see if they’ll work for him. You look at him accusingly, eyes asking him: “What the hell are you trying to gain?” He shrugs at you, a simple action that tells you:

“Sorry, I’m just a great babysitter.”

He quickly goes back to his own card, copying down the words with his new marker. You return your attention to your pad, figuring out how you were going to draw your word.

“Are you gonna set the timer, Clementine?” Jungkook asks, and she shakes her head.

“We don’t use it,” She responds in a mere whisper, and Jungkook can’t hear her.

“Huh?”

“We don’t use the timer,” You answer for her, “It’s more fun that way. You can take your time.”

He nods, and the three of you flip to the first page so you can start.

You draw—well, attempt to draw—a pair of glasses facing two strange rods. You squint at the doodle, examining it as if you had to guess what the answer was. The only possible answers you’ve come up with are that A.) You’re terrible at drawing, B.) Art is definitely not your future career, and C.) No one is going to be able to figure out your drawing, not even yourself.

“So, Clementine,” Jungkook starts, catching both you and your sister’s attention, “That’s a pretty cool name.”

“Thank you,” She doesn’t look up from her pad, too focused on her drawing.

“Do people call you anything else?” He prompts, going to work on his own pad as well.

“What do you mean?” “Like, nicknames.”

“Oh. My friends call me Tina,” She says, “Y/N calls me Clem, though.”

“That’s dope,” He pops the “p”, and the way his mouth moves is enough to annoy you.

“Yeah,” Is all your sister says, and it’s obvious that both of them are determined in making their drawings look good. You, on the other hand, are already done with your sad chicken scratch of a drawing, and you take the time to watch Clementine as she leans close to her pad, right hand clutching the marker tightly.

Like your dad, Clementine was able to immerse herself in a single task, but unlike him, she was incredibly skilled in multitasking. Sometimes, she’d read a book while having a full conversation with you, and she’d still remember the content of the chapter she was reading. It was a skill that you both envied and admired about her, how she could easily redirect her attention to one task while also still performing the second task flawlessly.

“You done already, Y/N?” Jungkook quirks a brow while he looks up from his drawing. You sneak a glance at your sister, who’s immersed in her drawing, before responding.

“Don’t push it,” You mouth out, folding your hands together on your lap while you wait for the other two to finish. Jungkook flashes an obnoxious smirk your way, and it takes everything in you to not kick him in the balls right now.

“I’m done,” Clementine announces, passing her pad to you. You pass yours to Jungkook, praying that he doesn’t say anything too terrible to you. He then passes his to Clementine, completing the circle.

“W-What?” Jungkook mumbles to himself, biting back a laugh while he examines your drawing. You internally groan. There was no use in hoping that he’d have mercy on you.

In an attempt to block out his bothersome snickering, you try to guess what Clementine’s word was. You feel part of yourself die inside, as you can already tell what she’s drawn. You write the word “deer” on the third page, after looking at the drawing one more time. In the short amount of time Clementine had given herself, her depiction of a deer was scarily accurate.

“Are you guys done?”

She has her pad lying on the coffee table while she drums her fingers on the surface. You nod, while Jungkook has his hand covering his mouth. He shakes his head, still trying to decipher your sad, sad drawing. Instead of making fun of you, he’s actually making an effort to figure out what your word was, eyebrows deeply furrowed while his eyes run across your pad multiple times.

You’d feel bad because you truly don’t have an artistic bone in your body, but seeing him frustrated by your doing slightly amuses you.

Jungkook takes a few seconds before taking a deep sigh and quickly scrawling something on your pad. You can’t tell if you’re excited or dreading what he put down for your word, but that doesn’t matter because now you have to draw Clementine’s guess of what Jungkook’s word is.

A frog?

How come everyone else’s words were so easy? And how are you supposed to remember what a frog looks like?

Biting your lip, you hesitantly put the dry erase marker on the pad. You stop when it makes the initial hit, a small dot appearing on the laminated surface. This is because Jungkook’s leaning over to watch you draw, his hair mere centimeters away from tickling your skin. When you freeze, Jungkook finally moves away, turning to face you.

“You need something?” You ask in an accusatory tone. He shrugs.

“I dunno. You look constipated, so I was curious,” He says, working on a new drawing. It’s another dumb yet excruciatingly annoying jab at you, and you’re baffled at how anyone could think that that was something of use to say.

Clementine giggles, and both you and Jungkook gawk at her in surprise. You feel a sense of betrayal, seeing as your own sister finds someone like Jeon Jungkook humorous. But she’s having fun, so maybe your dignity would have to be something to sacrifice tonight.

And your parents wonder whether or not you’re a good older sister for Clementine, as if you weren’t literally tolerating the person you hate most right now just for her. You steady yourself, being proud of your kindness to him so far. The fact that you’ve actually restrained yourself from knocking Jungkook out in itself is a surprise. You’ll be sure to reward yourself with something later.

You go back to your drawing, working on the small bumps for the eye sockets and the wide almond shape of the frog’s mouth. The frog looks incredibly awkward, its eyes a little too close for your liking. Did frogs have nostrils? Obviously, right? You draw two thin slits on top of its long line of a mouth, hoping that that’s what a frog’s nose looks like. It resembles a frog, and honestly you’re willing to take whatever you can get, so you close the pad, waiting for the other two to finish.

When everyone is done and all of the pads have returned to their respective owners, you get ready to present the devolution of your prompts. Clementine’s eager to go first, which puts a soft smile on your face.

She shows off her deer, and then your correct guess, and then Jungkook’s drawing. Quite frankly, you’re quite amazed at Jungkook’s depiction of the prompt.

There’s a cute deer standing on some grass with a few random flowers around it. Like Clementine’s, it’s quite realistic, keeping in mind of the limited time and resources you’ve all had. Jungkook’s chest swells in pride when the two of you stare at his drawing for a few more seconds, secretly admiring his handiwork.

“I didn’t know you could draw!” Clementine’s indirect praises increase his ego but you stay quiet, not willing to say anything too positive around him.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Jungkook responds, pointing out how good her deer is.

Jungkook takes his turn to present, and even his frog is amazing. Then, he flips to your drawing, a failed imitation of a frog compared to Jungkook’s accurate one a few seconds ago.

“Tina,” The sudden use of the nickname confuses you. Since when did he think he could be this informal?

“Yeah?”

“Your sister’s not really the creative one in the family,” The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, “Don’t you think?”

Clementine thinks about what to say while Jungkook watches the steam coming out of your ears in pure delight. No matter how good of an artist Jungkook is, or how good of a babysitter he could be, nothing would ever make you want to be acquaintances with him, let alone being just civil with him. What makes matters worse is that Jungkook can easily get away with making infuriating jabs at you since your sister is here with you.

You also try not to think about how Jungkook is getting paid for tormenting you outside of school, because if you dwell on it for far too long, you don’t know what you’d do.

“Y/N doesn’t have to be good at that kinda stuff,” Clementine turns to you happily, “She’s already cool.”

You sheepishly smile back at her, and then she asks you to show your drawing pad now.

“Okay, so,” You clear your throat, “Uh, my word was tunnel vision.”

“...That actually makes sense now,” Jungkook nods, stroking his chin dramatically. He squints at the drawing as if he was in an art gallery.

“This is my drawing,” You flip the page, revealing your chicken scratch from before. Clementine bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but become a little annoyed at her reaction.

“How did you not get that?” She asks Jungkook, and you feel the anger bubble away and instead become replaced with smugness. Your sister still had your back after all.

“Hey!” He points at your drawing, baffled at your sister, “Look at that and tell me that you’d guess it correctly!”

“Um, yeah,” Clementine snickers.

“How?”

“It’s glasses. Vision,” You chime in, “Then those are tunnels. Tunnel vision, right, Clem?”

“Yeah!”

“What?!” Jungkook gawks while you give your sister a triumphant high five.

“What could you have possibly guessed?” You chuckle, turning the page out of curiosity.

Before you can see the word, however, Jungkook forcibly snatches the pad out of your hands. He’s no match to your quick reflexes, though, because you’re pouncing onto him, pinning him to the carpet so you can retrieve your stolen drawing pad.

You’re about to grab it, but then he grins at you, making you stop in your tracks.

Your eyes widen, realizing how you’re in an extremely close vicinity to him, his face inches away from yours. The two of you make unnerving, silent eye contact, each of you staring at each other’s face from time to time. It’s during this that you notice how big his eyes are, resembling Clementine’s drawing of the deer from before. You also notice the mole under his bottom lip and how his lips are naturally tinted a pleasant pink. Jungkook chuckles tauntingly at you and you come back to your senses. You’ve been staring at his lips far longer than you’d like to admit.

“Can’t get your hands off me, huh?” He whispers, winking at you. The pizza you had eaten 20 minutes ago crawls up your throat right away, and you immediately peel yourself off of him. Jungkook still has the pad in his hands, signalling a victory for him.

You cough awkwardly, returning to your seat and wiping away imaginary dust on your lap. You claw at some loose fabric of your sweatpants, balling up the material in your hands. Jungkook sits up as well, nonchalantly fixing his now messy hair. He remains unphased, even though you were literally on top of him a few seconds ago.

“He put Harry Potter and taquitos,” Clementine says, breaking the silence. Jungkook’s eyes shoot up to send her a glare with feigned annoyance, while you end up laughing a bit louder than you’d like to. Then again, anything to relieve the uncomfortable tension would work.

Jungkook’s cheeks are tinted a shy, light pink, while embarrassment is painted all over his face. It’s a lame situation to laugh at, one that you probably would never admit to anyone that you find it humorous, but seeing Jungkook flustered makes you the happiest girl in the world.

The night continues with Clementine bringing out all of the board games your parents bought you over the years. It’s fun yet unbelievably painful, having to cooperate with Jungkook just for the sake of Clementine. When you played Monopoly with them, you were always reluctant to give Jungkook money, even if it was fake. You were also reluctant to receive money from him, even if the action was beneficial for you and not the other way around.

He spends the night still making stupid jabs at you, some of them earning laughs from your sister. You suck it up and deal with it, because this is the happiest you’ve seen Clementine in a long time, so you just strain a smile and move on.

When it’s about 9:45 PM, the three of you stop playing board games since Clementine has to get ready for bed. You come up to her room so that you can say goodnight and tuck her in.

“Today was fun, Y/N,” She giggles while you pull the covers over to her.

“That’s good to hear, Clemmie,” You respond, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Before you shut off her light, Clementine grabs the bottom hem of your shirt.

“Y/N?”

“What’s up?” The scared look in her eyes tells you that you’re gonna have to stay for a little longer, so you sit down on the bed.

“Are mom and dad gonna be okay?”

At first, you’re shocked that Clementine had even noticed, but then again, she’s always been this observant. And she was 12 already. She wasn’t dumb. It was also obvious that the reason why your parents randomly decided to go to dinner tonight was because they were trying to iron out some issues that they’ve been having.

All you do is nod and ruffle her hair playfully. Another smile appears on her face when you kiss her cheek.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” You say, although you’re not so sure yourself.

Recently, you’ve been having trouble sleeping as well. This was because your parents always start fighting whenever they see that Clementine is asleep. You don’t know what exactly they’re arguing about every night, but you’ve assumed that it must be money issues or something along the lines of that. Real adult stuff that they want to keep you two out of, but it’s so hard to ignore when they’re yelling at each other so loudly.

Clementine’s room is closer to the stairs. Of course it’s not a surprise that she’d notice there was something wrong with your parents.

“Do you think I…?” She mumbles out the question, but you don’t need her to finish the rest of it because you’re wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close to you.

“Don’t ever think that,” You say, sighing, “You didn’t do anything, ok? Mom n’ Dad are just fixing things between themselves.”

She nods, hugging you back.

“You should go to sleep,” You pull yourself off of her, placing yet another kiss on her head before tucking her in under the covers, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Promise?” She sticks out her pinky finger and you chuckle, sticking out yours and looping it around hers.

“I promise.”

“Night, Y/N.”

You say goodnight to her, turning off her lamp and shutting the door. Now that she was attended to, you had to start cleaning up. You walk downstairs to see Jungkook sprawled out over your couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. You wish that the saying “Make yourself at home” never existed, since your parents have an affinity for using it, which in turn forces you to deal with Jungkook laying on your couch like a complete slob.

The first job you assign yourself is to tidy up the living room, and you stack up all of the board games together so you can put it in the random storage closet your house has. Jungkook, of course, doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that you’re cleaning up the house all by yourself.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you. You walk over to the kitchen to have another slice of pizza while Jungkook acts like you don’t exist in your own house. Your stomach grumbles obscenely, even though you had a slice a few hours earlier.

It must be the stress. You do tend to be hungrier when you’re under a lot of stress, and today threw many annoyances your way.  

You check your phone and you realize that Hoseok texted you an hour ago.

[October 9, 7:30 PM] Hobi: Y/N i honestly think i’m gonna lose my mind?????????? Y/N? Y/N where tf are u i’m going insane holy shit text me when u get this PLEASE

Right away, your fingers move at the speed of light

[October 9, 10:30 PM] Y/N: omfg hobs you have no idea the shit i just went thru think i got three years taken off of my life anyways sry for the late reply what happened?

The iconic three dots and text bubble show up. You stifle a laugh. Hoseok must’ve been waiting by his phone for your text.

Hobi: i think i may have gotten myself into a date???

Y/N: a WHAT with WHO Hobi: yknow like mymanwhosnotreallymanbutheis yeah him Y/N: ur joking SPILL

You eagerly chew on the cold, stale pizza in your other hand as you wait for Hoseok to tell his whole story. Whether he’d be sending a voice memo or he’d just spam you with a multitude of texts, you never really knew. That’s just how Hoseok was.

But that didn’t really matter, because Hoseok had a date. With the kid he’s liked since the beginning of last year. Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon, coincidentally in Hoseok’s photography class this semester, was easily the smartest person in the whole school. The teachers were more than heartbroken knowing that he’d be graduating this year. The students, more specifically the girls, were also saddened, because Namjoon was also quite attractive. He was tall, kind, and extremely smart, and because of this, he had earned the title as “The Package” by Hoseok. He was everything everyone ever wanted in one person. Accurately put, Kim Namjoon was a  full package.

Hobi: ok well like we have a project in photography class where we have to take pics of nature and i wanted to do the flowers bc yknow, easy A and since u couldn’t hang out today >:( Y/N: hey, not my fault my parents think that i’m a terrible sister

Hobi: yeah u have to tell me how that went but anyways i went out to take pics after practice and guess who i saw? namjoon

Y/N: aaaaAAAAAHHHH

Hobi: YEAH and then we were talking and stuff and it turns out that he’s doing flowers too and then he gave me HIS NUMBER Y/N: omfg,,,

Hobi: i  k n o w so like i think two hrs ago he texted me and we started talking and stuff and then he was like “yknow there are prettier flowers in the botanical garden downtown” and then he asked if i wanted to hang out next week so i said yeah Y/N: holy shit hobs

Hobi: yeah so it’s not really an official date but i’m counting it as one in my book

You hold back a squeal, though you want to scream at the top of your lungs so badly. You opt to just smiling from ear to ear at your screen as you continue to freak out over text.

Hobi: the only problem is that i have to pretend that i like nature :( but not only that…. like i have to know stuff

Now Hoseok’s begging you for advice on nature, and you mention that you also aren’t the biggest nature lover either. Hoseok tells you he’ll have to do some research on flowers and you think that he’s the funniest person you’ve ever met. 

Your brief moment of happiness is rudely interrupted, however, when you suddenly see Jungkook before you, standing across from you at the kitchen island.

“You’re still hungry?” He says, opening the box and grabbing the last slice.

“You’re one to talk,” You scowl, watching him take a bite from his pizza.

Jungkook leans on the island, which in turn causes him to be closer to you, since you’re also leaning on the same surface.

“You don’t really smile a lot, baby,” He teases, wiping off sauce from the corner of his mouth.

So there he was. The Jeon Jungkook you’ve known and hated so dearly. He’s always called you random pet names, simply because he knows how much you despise him. It takes everything in you to hold back the urge to cuss him out. The walls are thin and your sister might wake up.

“Don’t call me that, first off,” You spit, “Second off, why do you care so much?”

“Jus’ makin’ conversation,” His cheeks puff up as he continues to stuff his mouth with food.

“Like I give a shit,” You grumble, looking away from the chewed up food that you can see in his mouth. It’s so unfortunate that Jungkook thinks it’s a good idea to talk while eating.

“Wow, you’re so mean to me,” He takes a large swallow of his food and then pouts, “You’re killin’ me here, babe.”

Despite his seemingly sad words, Jungkook’s giving you a big, toothy grin. He winks at you for the umpteenth time tonight, and you try to think of all the ways to kill someone in silence. Right now, you wish that Clementine was awake, because it’s only around her that he seems to be somewhat decent towards you.

“You have a nice house and nice parents,” He says, more to himself rather than you as his eyes scan the tidy kitchen, “And your sister’s so nice. Why aren’t you?”

“Why are you such an asshole?”

“Why are you such a bitch?”

Some would say that 10 PM is too late to have a nonsensical argument with some douchebag quarterback from your grade, but here you are having a ridiculously heated dispute with Jungkook at 10 PM. Again, all of this is happening in your own house.  

You roll your eyes at him, and you wonder how you haven’t hurt yourself by the amount of times you’ve done that today.

The two of you eat pizza in angered silence, an uncomfortable situation you never thought you’d ever have in your entire life. Well, you’re a lot angrier than Jungkook, who’s got a smug, satisfied look on his face because he just thinks it’s so much fun to annoy the hell out of you. That makes you even more upset, which causes you to get angry with yourself because you know you shouldn’t let someone get to you like this. It’s a never ending cycle of negativity whenever you’re around him, really.

Soon enough, the faint, muffled sound of the garage opening is heard through the door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That’s Jungkook’s signal to leave.

Before he leaves, though, he turns to you yet again.

“Thanks for the money,” He winks, “And the free pizza.”

The weekend goes by pretty slowly, but eventually, you end up in the classroom again.

Your school day is pretty much uneventful until you get to 5th hour Pre-Calc.

The busy click, click, click of mechanical pencils and the sound of scribbles from students’ writing are all you can hear after lunch. You follow their leads, hastily scrawling down your own notes on the lines of your notebook on your desk. Once you finally get into the zone of your note taking, you feel Jungkook lean in behind you. He’s so close that you can smell the cologne he uses, and the familiar odor sets off your flight or fight system.

Now that your parents have officially “hired” Jungkook as Clementine’s full-time babysitter, you realize that you’ll be forced to see him more often and have that strong, pungent cologne constantly wafting into your nostrils. You’re certain that you’d lose your sense of smell eventually.

If only Clementine hadn’t continued praising him after he left last Friday. Maybe then your house would actually be a safe haven for you. But no, now Jungkook is allowed to come and go into your house whenever your parents need him. (Again, as if they didn’t have a whole other daughter who was willing to take care of Clementine.)

But that’s another issue to worry about later, because Jungkook’s obnoxiously chomping down on his gum right in your ear. He’s so close that you can practically smell the watermelon flavor from his mouth, and you want to barf.

All you can think is: A.) Who in their right minds would ever actively choose watermelon gum over mint, and B.) Who would think it’s a good idea to chew on their gum so damn loud in the middle of class?

To both of those questions, the answer is Jungkook, plain and clear.

“Do you mind?” You hiss at him as you try to copy what the teacher has written on the chalkboard, “This isn’t a fucking ASMR channel.”

“Slow your roll there, baby,” His words come out in a teasing lilt, the pet name causing you to tighten your grip on your pencil, “First off, mind your business. Second off, I’d be an amazing ASMR youtuber, thank you very much.”

He’s imitating the way you talk to him, which makes your blood boil yet again.

“Well, you’re not giving me any chills.”

“I could if I wanted to.”

His statement causes you to freeze in your seat, mind racing as you try to think of a good comeback. Nothing appears, and you’re sure that if you were in the right headspace, you would’ve already had something good to say.

But you’re still going through heartbreak and the stress of dealing with your parents, so all you can muster to say is:

“You’re disgusting.”

Your words remind you of Friday night, which then makes you want the Earth to cave in under you and swallow you whole. You’re still dumbfounded at how Jungkook was able to come into your house without setting off all of the security systems your parents have installed there.

“Aw, baby girl,” The use of that pet name makes the digested lunch from 20 minutes ago crawl up your throat rapidly, “You really got me there! I’m so hurt, you know that? You’re so mean to me.”

You can’t see him, but you just know that he’s clutching his heart dramatically. Your whole body burns up in flames as you imagine the annoying smile on his face, the way it tugs to the right side a little more because he’s so proud of himself. He can see the steam pouring out of your ears, and all that does is egg him on.

Now he’s poking your back lazily with the end of his pencil, propping his head up on his elbow as he tries his hardest not to laugh.

It takes approximately ten seconds until you snap.

Once the pencil hits your back for the umpteenth time, you reach behind you quickly, snatching it and tugging it forcefully out of his hands. Without thinking, you hold the ends of the pencil between your fists and when your fists shoot up away from each other, the pencil breaks in half cleanly. You’re satisfied with the splintering ends of Jungkook’s pencil while he’s gawking at you, wondering how the hell you could have broken a pencil without any struggle. The smug smile is now on your face, but it quickly fades away when Ms. Lee turns to you and places her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. You make eye contact with her and you immediately straighten up your seat, your breath hitching as you attempt to remain calm under her threatening presence.

You weren’t scared of many things, but Ms. Lee definitely made your skin crawl.

“Miss Y/N?” Her voice booms all the way to your seat in the back of the class, “Would like to share with the class as to why exactly you’re breaking a pencil in the middle of my lesson?”

“No, ma’am,” You quickly respond, your words coming out in a pathetic squeak.

You can feel the mischievous gaze Jungkook has on you, but you pay no attention to it. The teacher grunts, turning her back to the class and resuming her ever so important task of writing important formulas on the chalkboard.

You let out a soft groan and you noticeably slump in your seat, making Jungkookk chuckle.

“Nice save there, Y/N.”

“Fuck off, will you?” You toss the pencil halves back onto his desk, not wanting to have anything to do with any of Jungkook’s property. You made a mental note to wash your hands once class ended so you could rid yourself of whatever pathogens lurked on Jungkook’s pencil.

“Do you always have such a way with words?”

If you were in a private space with Jungkook, where his hands are tied and he couldn’t do anything to hurt you, you’re sure that he would’ve been beaten to a bloody pulp by now. You desperately yearn to have just one day where you can beat his ass.

But you frown, knowing that that day would never come.

“Do you always act like a pretentious dick?”

“Baby girl,” The name returns and you have never wanted to kill someone as much as you’d like to Jeon Jungkook right here, right now, in 5th Hour Pre-Calc with Ms. Lee, “If there’s anything to describe this dick, it’s certainly not pretentious, I’ll have you know that.”

“Wow,” You scoff, “Do you always have such a way with words?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact-“

“Miss Y/N and Mr. Jungkook!” Ms. Lee bellows, “I am teaching a lesson! Would you like to share-“

“No, ma’am!”

You keep your head low, continuing to copy down the notes on the board. Jungkook kicks the back of your seat multiple times throughout class, and the only thing you can think is:

How is this guy allowed to be around little kids?

Usually, when you see someone regularly in your life, your bond with them grows stronger. But with Jeon Jungkook, you’ve learned with each passing day that your hate for him becomes stronger and stronger. And it’s been exactly five weeks. You’ve kept track.

Because now that he’s your sister’s babysitter, he’s become a lot more involved in your life. At least, he’s become involved in Clementine’s life (which ultimately means yours as well).

And as a result, your parents have started going out almost every single night, save for when there’s a football game or when Jungkook is too busy with homework. This meant that he was at your house at least 3 times a week, sometimes even more, because he just loved being with your family and your family just had to feel the same way. Sometimes your parents would even ask him to drive Clementine home from school. 

(An issue that would easily be solved if they let you learn how to drive. But apparently that was absolutely preposterous.)

One thing you’ve learned about Jungkook is that he’s scarily good at acting. He’s amazing at being sweet to Clementine, offering to drive her home after school whenever he can and creating inside jokes with her all the time as if he wasn’t planning on ruining your life this whole time. Since he’s such a “good babysitter”, your parents have started having him come over for dinner, and almost every night you had to restrain yourself from starting a food fight with him. He was always polite to your parents, though, making easy conversation with them at the table but never even daring to say a single word to you.

If someone was on the outside looking in, they’d think that Jungkook was a good person. Like a superhero, however, when he was around you, he would take off his disguise and reveal what he really is: a conceited jock who only thought with his dick.

The only possible benefit of him taking care of Clementine is that you have a lot more freedom now. That freedom has turned into occasional hangouts with Hoseok on the weekend. You’d usually use any chance you could get of hanging out with your best friend, but you also didn’t trust the dangerous human being who was constantly in your house, watching her. As a result, you’ve chosen to stay at home with Clementine, babysitting her babysitter. You label it as being a protective older sister.

But as Jungkook annoyingly puts it, with his notorious, cocky grin:

“You really like my company, don’t you, babe?”

He couldn’t be further from the truth.

This is different from tonight, though, because you’re relishing in the overly sweet, artificial taste of the strawberry shake right in front of you. It tastes like relief, like some much needed freedom from your overbearing parents on a Thursday evening.

Today, they took it upon themselves to lecture you about your sleeping schedule, telling you it’s irresponsible to stay up so late. What they don’t get is that you’ve been working on an important paper for your AP Lang class while also helping one of your classmates with their own paper. It strikes you that they don’t realize how much schoolwork your teachers pile on you. And it infuriates you even more that they always jump to the conclusion that you’re a bad kid, even though you’ve constantly had good grades while balancing schoolwork with cheer. That notion’s always gone unnoticed.

Of course, this wasn’t a pretty sight to be seen, your parents arguing with you right before their dinner date, and coincidentally, right as Jungkook stepped into the house. You don’t know what his reaction was, but you presume that he was most likely stunned. The only time you’re ever truly enraged, bluntly saying whatever harsh comments come to your mind, is when your mom starts to belittle you. This was the first time Jungkook’s ever seen you this upset. Or articulate.

It was safe to say that things didn’t end well, you storming up into your room and slamming the door.

And, as expected, you chose to have a much needed diner date with Hoseok tonight. Clementine even encouraged you to go, saying that she’d be fine with Jungkook, but you couldn’t help but still be concerned for her safety.

“Y/N, stop checking your phone,” Hoseok whines, snatching it from you, “What’s got your panties in such a knot?”

You grumble in protest when Hoseok scrolls through your conversation with your little sister over text message.

The music from the old, torn down jukebox fills the diner, and you’re surprised that it still even works. That jukebox has been there ever since your parents were kids. Nonetheless, you enjoy the nice, cheery melodies playing from it. You kick at some random bits of fries on the floor, your beaten red converse still visible under the dark shadows of the table. The diner smells of fried food, a scent that you’ll happily breathe in everyday. There’s an elderly couple sitting at the other end of the diner, waiting for their waitress to bring them their food. The old lady waves to you, and you wave back, flashing a small smile her way.

“Y/N, Tina’s gonna be perfectly fine,” He says, creating a shooing motion with his hand, “It’s not like he’s going to kill her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He literally loves her,” Hoseok takes a bite of his burger, some of the juice from the patty seeping out, “Yesterday he asked me to ask you what type of music Tina liked, Remember? Granted, he was too scared to talk to you. but-”

“Don’t,” You groan, stealing a fry as compensation, “Don’t remind me.”

“Hey, I don’t like him either,” He says, “But I’m just sayin’ that you don’t gotta worry so much. Your sister’s 12 already. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And technically, there would be no clear motive for him to do anything wrong because he’s getting paid,” Hoseok takes a fry for himself, “Why would he feel a need to get rid of his only source of income? That’d be ridiculous.”

You sigh, resting your head on the table in defeat. He was right. Even if Jungkook was a douchebag towards you, he wasn’t insane.

“Don’t do that!” Hoseok scolds, flicking your forehead, “Your menu was just on that table!”

“So?” You rub your forehead in a failed attempt to the pain Hoseok has just inflicted onto you.

“You know menus can have 185,000 germs per square centimeter?” He exasperatedly explains, pulling out some hand sanitizer from his backpack, “Or was it only 85,000…? No, I remember it being-“

“Wonder where you got that information,” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows while you cleanse yourself with Hoseok’s hand sanitizer. The tips of Hoseok’s ears turn red in seconds, and you laugh at his misfortune.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” He grumbles, hiding his face in his hands. You giggle, eating so many of Hoseok fries that he decides to order some more for you. That’s how your diner “dates” usually went, you only ordering a shake but then stealing all of Hoseok’s food.

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“He’s adorable, as always, but he’s really… How do I say this?” He pretends to search for the right words before deadpanning, “An absolute fucking idiot.”

“What?” The statement catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your shake.

“He’s so dumb, Y/N,” Hoseok hits his forehead with his palm, “So we’ve been hanging out a lot, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me why he can’t get the clue that I want him to actually ask me out?!” He groans, “Like, I’ve been trying to bring up prom, but he doesn’t get from the multiple times that I’ve said that I don’t have a date that I want him to ask me…”

Hoseok angrily chomps down on the last bit of his burger, while you’re still roaring in hysterics about how he finds Namjoon frustratingly adorable.

“I don’t get boys,” He pouts, “I really don’t. And I am one!”

“You can say that again,” You chuckle, sipping the rest of the shake in your glass.

The two of you catch up on everything you haven’t been able to share from weeks before, since school can provide only so much time for talking. When spending time with Hoseok, you realize how often you let the little things get to you. You tend to sweat the small stuff so much that you don’t realize all the good things happening to you. It was a nice albeit short break from reality, sitting with Hoseok in your favorite diner with your favorite strawberry shake and some greasy, delicious fries.

Eventually, you end up back at home at 10:30 PM. You come a little bit later than your assigned curfew, but it’s not like your parents would notice. They’d be home even later, since they’re stuck at your grandparents’ house. You snicker to yourself while you unlock the door, imagining the invigorating conversations they’re having over there.

The first thing you’re (begrudgingly) met with is Jungkook sitting on your couch, watching football.

“You’re home late,” He says, eyes glued to the screen. You kick off your shoes, letting them land wherever they want to, and you ignore him. You weren’t about to let anyone, not even Jungkook, ruin the fun night you had. It was too much for you to be constantly miserable.

Then, as if on cue, the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafts into your nose rather pleasantly.

“Did you guys bake?” You ask quietly, taking off your jacket. Jungkook nods.

You walk over to the garage door, where the coat closet is. Putting away your jacket, you smile to yourself. A cookie sounds amazing right now.

Grabbing some milk out of the fridge, you pour yourself a glass and take a second to really take in the beauty of the cookies. They’re perfectly browned at their edges, while their center is a light tan, and there’s a few visible chocolate chunks in all of them. Your mouth waters, despite stuffing yourself with milkshakes and fries. You place three cookies on a plate.

“I’ll be in my room,” You say as you walk up the stairs. You know Jungkook doesn’t care, but it’s been a force of habit ever since you were a kid.

When you reach your room, you quickly open the dormer window so you can sit on the roof.

If you were ever to meet the person who designed this house, you would give them a big hug and ask them to marry you, regardless of their gender. The dormer window and its alcove has been a safe space for you growing up, and you sit on the roof every time you need to clear your mind or if you just needed to treat yourself on an especially rough day.

You swing your legs outside the window, slowly moving near the edge of the sill until you’re comfortable. The brisk night air makes its way into your room, the wind pushing your hair gently in different directions. There’s a soft symphony of crickets chirping, and you take this moment to stare at the night sky.

A handful of stars shine in the pitch black sky, more than you’d see in the city but less than you’d see in the country. You make a silent prayer that one day that you’d be able to experience what a full starry night sky would be like.

Your plate of cookies and glass of milk is placed on the window seat. A cookie finds its way off of the plate, into your hands, and then into your mouth. The first bite is perfect, bits of chocolate and cookie crumbs left on your lips. You lick them eagerly, feeling nothing but euphoric as you take a sip of your milk.

“Never knew Tina could bake,” You hear a low voice behind you. It’s soft, but you still jump when you’re taken out of your cookie-intoxicated trance.

Looking up, you see Jungkook at your door, walking over to you. Your face is stuffed with mashed up cookie bits and some milk, and usually you’d be embarrassed, but you’re too tired to care, nonchalantly wiping off your faint milk moustache with the sleeve of your sweater.

“She’s great at it.”

“I know,” He chuckles before pointing to the window cushion, “Mind if I…?”

“If I said that I did mind,” You move your plate and your glass to the side so Jungkook has space, “What would you do?”

“I’d sit down anyways,” He jokes, doing just as he says.

“No point in asking, then.”

An awkward silence befalls the two of you, but that’s how nights with the babysitter went, unnerving pauses constantly appearing as he tries to figure out what to say to annoy you.

In fact, you’ve created a game out of these situations. You try to guess what he’ll tell you this time. Right now, you’re betting that he’ll mention something about your peach fuzz, or that you’re a fattie for having cookies late at night. He’s called you thunder thighs before. You wouldn’t put him past calling you a fattie.

“She talks about you a lot, y’know.”

You’re initially taken aback, but the night is too calming, so now you’re pulling your legs close to your chest, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You have your back turned to him, sitting on the window sill while he’s on the window seat, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You hear him sniffle, “Didn’t know that you liked the Power Rangers so much.”

“Are you kidding me?” You turn around to face him, “That was my childhood.”

“Mine too,” He smiles, one that’s different from his usual smirk, “Favorite ranger?”

“Trini, easily,” You point to the Yellow Ranger plushie laying on your bed, and he chuckles.

“I personally like Zordon the most.”

It’s not something you’d usually laugh at, but Jungkook ends up cracking up at his own joke and somewhere along the way, you find yourself giggling at it as well.

Another silence comes, and you finish the rest of your cookies and milk while he fidgets nervously with his hands. If Jungkook was trying to have a conversation with you right now, he was failing miserably. It’s somewhat interesting to you, seeing him open his mouth to speak, hesitate, and then closing it out of the corner of your eye.

It’s kind of cute, even.

You blink, looking forward. What the hell were you thinking? Was the loneliness really getting to you that quickly?

“Tina made those for you, actually.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“Yeah, um,” Jungkook scratches the nape of his neck, “She told me more about what happened earlier today.”

“Huh?”

“With your parents.”

“Oh.”

You imagine what Clementine must’ve thought, seeing your parents continue to yell at you for hours on end about your sleeping schedule. She hates seeing her family upset, and that probably made her sad for a while. You hope that she’s sleeping peacefully in her room right now, tucked away into a land of dreams.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, “I’m sorry about that.”

Involuntarily, you let out a scoff. Whether it’s directed towards him or your parents, you’re not sure. You are quite surprised, though. Since when did Jungkook ever apologize for anything? Since when did he ever feel bad?

“No need to be sorry,” You mumble, “Not like you did anything.”

Another silence, this time being accented with some awkward coughing.

“I mean, I think it’s sweet.”

“You think my parents getting on my back about sleep is sweet?”

“No, no, no,” He quickly sputters out, “I mean that your sister cares about you so much. I think that’s really sweet.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” You say, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, “That’s Clementine for ya. Sweet.”

“Like the fruit.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Did you know her name means ‘mercy’?”

It’s a fact you like to share with anyone willing to hear.

“That’s really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, my mom chose that name because I was too mean when I was younger,” You shake your head at the memory, “She said that we’d need someone more forgiving in the family, so the name stuck.”

“I can imagine that.”

“Shut up!”

“Sorry, sorry,” He laughs, and there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, “It’s nice, having dinner with you guys.”

“Dinner’s alright. Shockingly average,” You shrug, drawing out the last two words, “Why do you like it so much?”

“It’s nice to see you and Clementine together, I guess,” He runs a hand through his hair, “Things like that aren’t so simple for me.”

“What’s wrong with your home?” Your tone seems a lot more blunt and judgemental than you intended it to be, but Jungkook isn’t phased. He laughs at your question, even.

“Which one?”

You got the memo.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re not the reason why my parents split,” He says nonchalantly, but then he laughs at himself again, “You know, I have a little brother too. He’s a little bit younger than Tina.”

You turn around and stare at him, and you’re unable to hide the surprise in your face. The position of you constantly craning your neck just to talk to him is uncomfortable, so you sit on the other side of the alcove, pulling your legs to your chest once more.

“What’s his name?”

“Yeonjin.”

“Not trying to be mean, but I always thought you were an only child. You kinda give off the vibe,” You rest your chin on your knees, “How come he’s never with you?”

“I don’t blame you,” He says, “It’s ‘cause he tries to always be with our dad. He also hates my guts, so there’s that, too.”

“...Can I ask why?”

The warm glow of your bedroom light shines on one half of his face, while the dim lighting from outside paints his other half. You take in his appearance, how his hair has gotten messier every time he runs his hands through it, how his soft brown eyes are bouncing around your room, studying each poster and each picture that you have placed on your wall. He takes a sharp breath before speaking.

“I hate my dad,” He scratches his cheek, “Well, not really? I don’t know, it’s confusing.”

“I get that.”

“I caught him cheating on my mom, I think two years ago,” He bites his lip, “And y’know, I told my mom. So they split.”

You nod, listening intently to every word he says.

“Yeon doesn’t know that. I begged them not to tell him,” He says, resting his head on the wall and staring out the window, “So he thinks that I’m why they’re not together.”

It’s during that moment where you realize that you don’t know much about Jungkook outside of the classroom and your home. You try to imagine what he must’ve felt during that moment, seeing his own dad with another woman. Then, you think about what it was like for him to know that his brother still blames him and will continue to blame him for everything.

The conclusion you reach is that you can never truly know the pain that he’s going through.

“You know it’s not your fault, though, right?” You point out, “It’s your dad’s.”

“Yeah, can’t help but feel bad sometimes, y’know?”

“I mean, no shit.”

A few light, sad chuckles emit from both of your lips.

“Well, that was strangely freeing,” He hummed, “I think you’re the second person in our school who knows that now… I don’t really know why I shared that, sorry.”

You look at him. He’s still staring out the window, his Adam’s apple clearly defined since his head is leaning back. His black shirt stretches loosely over his skin, giving you a vague hint of the muscles underneath, and his sweatpants make him look… cuddly, almost. You don’t know why, but somehow he seems as if he’d be so comfortable to hug.

Even if he’s in basic clothing, he still seems to look good.

Your initial reaction to this thought is that it’s wrong, but you’re too tired to protest it. Instead, you’re focused on how shy Jungkook has gotten, how he avoids direct eye contact and slurs his words together, save for the occasional stutters in between his sentences.

“Don’t feel bad, that’s pretty heavy. You gotta let that shit out sometimes.”

“Yeah…” He says, more to himself rather than to you, “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

“What’s up?”

“Why’d you and Jimin break up?” His eyes are on yours, and he’s immediately trying to take back his question, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, cause that’s none of my business-“

“You’re good,” You chuckle, “He cheated on me.”

“Damn, I’m sorry, I never knew...” He frowns, “Y’know, everyone thought you were endgame.”

“Me too,” You replied, “But apparently not.”

It isn’t until you feel Jungkook’s hand on your face that you realize you’re crying. He gently wipes away the influx of tears falling from your eyes, not saying anything sarcastic or mean towards you. He’s just… there. Ready and willing to listen. He even shuts the window when he notices you shivering, a shocking contrast from his usual behavior towards you.

It’s the first time anyone other than Hoseok has asked you for the real story. The first time someone that’s not your best friend has actually taken the time to listen to the truth.

“You know that’s not your fault, either, right?”

He’s repeating your words, but for some reason they don’t sound so convincing to you.

“I dunno,” You sniffle, “Feels like it is.”

“Why would it be? He cheated on you. Not the other way around.”

You take a few moments to steady your breathing before you speak. You don’t know why you want to spill your emotions out to Jungkook, but under the moonlight and your bedroom lights, there’s a sense of security in opening up to him.

“This is gonna sound so fucking stupid,” You start, “And you better not tell anyone, or else I’m for sure gonna kill you right when I see you.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

“I’ve never… done it,” You cringe right when the words come out of your mouth, “I told Jimin that we should wait until we… y’know.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” He states, and you can’t help but be surprised at how understanding he could be.

“You don’t think it’s a little bit weird?”

“Nah,” He replies, “I also think it’s absolutely not a reason to cheat. There’s literally no valid reason in doing that, no matter how unsatisfied you are with your partner.”

“I guess so.”

The fact that Jungkook is getting mad in your stead makes you giggle.

“And plus, it was you. How do you cheat on someone like that?”

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook pauses for a minute, processing what he had just said.

“I mean, if I was Jimin- No, I mean, if I was me,” He gestures to himself, “Which I am, I would never cheat on my partner. It just makes no sense. You already have a whole ass person who likes you. I think I’d be happy enough with that already.”

“Yeah, you’d think so,” You add, and now it’s you taking a few moments before speaking again, “Um, thanks, by the way. For talking with me, and stuff.”

“Oh, no worries,” He smiles at you, “Just kinda wanted to see how you were doing because of earlier. You did look pretty upset before you left the house.”

You smile back, and it seems like he’s about to say something, but the sound of the garage interrupts him, signalling that it’s time for him to leave. He stands up from the alcove and grabs your empty plate and cup to bring downstairs.

“Hey, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

You both know the answer to the question but Jungkook asks it anyway.

“Yeah, of course,” You can’t seem to wipe off the grin present on your face, “There’s nowhere else I could be.”

If you had to go back in time and tell yourself that eventually Jungkook would start driving you home after school and that you’d actually enjoy his company, you’re certain that your past self you’d slap your future self in the face and say that you were insane.

And maybe the latter was true.

“You’re terrible at singing,” He snickers, trying his best to keep his eyes on the road.

You’d retort and say that he doesn’t know shit and you’re actually an amazing singer, but you’re too preoccupied screaming One Direction lyrics off the top of your lungs. You decide to just jokingly flip him off instead.

The band’s songs hold a close place in your heart, because their music was what brought you and your sister closer. Although you’ve somewhat grown out of their cheesy lyrics about love and youth, you had to admit that their music was extremely catchy.

And apparently Jungkook thought this as well, because he was quietly singing along to each song word for word.

“Didn’t know you were a fan,” You tease, and he’s caught off guard.

“I’m not…”

“I bet you cried when Zayn left.”

He doesn’t look at you, because he’s driving, but the tips of his ears turn bright red, and you roar in hysterics at his reaction.

“You know I very well could’ve just left you at school,” He’s got a smile on his face despite his harsh words.

“Oh, you’d never,” You reply, staring out the window and enjoying the basic scenery around you.

After the one night where Jungkook and you dumped all your emotional baggage on each other, you found yourself looking forward to him being in your company from now on.

At first, you only decided to be nice to him since he knew the fact that you were with Park Jimin—that bombshell of a boy—and you never got it on with him. It’s not something you’re ashamed of, but you know you’d hate it if anyone else knew, because the rumor that you were crazy would just then become truer and truer to them. So you became nicer, gentler with Jungkook. Plus, hearing his story made your heart sadden a little whenever you saw how excited he was to be with Clementine.

And somewhere along the way, between him walking you to your classes and buying a Poptart pack and saving one for you after school every day, you realized that maybe he wasn’t such a bad kid to be around. He seemed to like being with you a lot too, always offering to drive you home when you had practice and when you didn’t, he’d offer to get fast food with you before going home.

Maybe it was the solidarity of experiencing pain, or it very well could just be that you’re one of the only people who knows Jungkook’s secrets and he’s one of the only people who knows about yours. Maybe there’s some pity for each other present, or it’s simply just because the both of you are tired of constantly bickering whenever you’re within a 20 foot-wide radius of each other.

You could spend countless hours trying to draw a conclusion, and you’ve tried to, during the late nights where you can’t sleep where you’re tossing and turning around restlessly. But eventually, you end up falling asleep, always answerless to the paradox you’ve been trying to solve.

Whatever the answer was, you’ve stopped caring about it, because you deemed it useless to keep trying to find it.

“How’s the new routine going?” He asks, desperate to change the topic.

“It’s going, that’s for sure,” You chuckle, “I think we just need a little bit more practice and we’ll be good.”

One thing that you’ve learned about Jungkook after becoming his friend is that he loses his natural vulgarity when you know about his family history.

You noticed this when Hoseok came over to your house one night and Jungkook didn’t call you a demeaning pet name at all during the time being. He also never bothered the two of you, making some small talk with Hoseok before leaving to play Just Dance with your sister. (He bought her that game when he found out that you guys had a Nintendo Switch that you never use).

The first thing Hoseok said to you when the two of you went to your room and you closed the door was:

“Where the hell is Jungkook and what the fuck did you do to him?”

It was a comical night, Hoseok freaking out over the wonderful, ever elusive mysteries named Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook.

Another thing you (and Hoseok) had learned about Jungkook is that, surprisingly enough, his best friend was the Kim Namjoon himself.

This happened that same night, when Jungkook knocked on the door and accidentally overheard Hoseok say his name. Jungkook’s initial reaction was:

“It’s you?!” He almost shrieked in disbelief, “You’re the one Joon has a crush on?!”

His words, of course, came with a shrill: “He has a crush on me?!” from Hoseok.

Through this rude awakening, Hoseok and you learned that Namjoon was the only friend Jungkook had. Apparently, he started tutoring Jungkook when Jungkook was about to fail freshman year. Jungkook said that Namjoon was the only reason as to why he survived his first year of high school, and because of that he never left Namjoon alone. Eventually, they had strangely become the best of buddies.

And being the best of buddies meant that he knew Namjoon’s secrets.

(Safe to say, it was a rough night for both Hoseok and Jungkook but a fun one for you.)

“How’s Seok and Joon?” Jungkook asks, out of the blue, and you can tell the question has been on his mind.

“Hobi’s waiting for Namjoon to make a move.”

“Ha, that’s funny.”

“What?”

“Namjoon’s waiting for him to.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I honestly wish I was,” He chuckles, driving into your subdivision.

“It’s amazing how glaringly obvious the two of them are,” You sigh, “Hoseok made bracelets for him. Tell me that that doesn’t scream: ‘Oh hey, by the way, I like you!’”

“Yeah, Joon has so many pics of him on his Insta, you’d think they’d be dating by now…”

“They’re really, really oblivious.”

“Well,” He shrugs, taking a turn into your driveway, “It happens to the best of us.”

Jungkook walks out of the car, heads over to your door, and as usual he helps you out while reaching for your backpack and your cheer bag so he can carry them for you.

Clementine’s sitting in the kitchen, working diligently on her math homework.

“Tina!” Jungkook sings, setting down your bag on the couch. You walk over with him to her, and she has a bright smile on her face when she sees the two of you together.

“Hi!” She responds, “I’ve got something to tell you guys!”

“What is it?” You ask, sitting next to her and taking a peek at her worksheet. It’s something about fractions.

“I think I have a crush!”

“Holy-“ You stop yourself before you can say anything bad, “Uh, wow, Clem!”

“Yeah, wow…”

You and Jungkook look at each other with somewhat sad eyes. He may not have known her for as long as you have, but he feels the same, strange dull pain that you’re feeling in your chest.

Your little sister isn’t so little anymore.

Tonight was going to be a long one.

Late night conversations with Jungkook at your dormer window have become a regular thing.

It’s the moments where fatigue starts to really hit the two of you that you have the most fun with him. There’s no shame in what you say, and no judgement stemming from one another. During then, it’s just you, Jungkook, the occasional plate of pizza and snacks, and the moon.

“I can’t believe she has a crush already,” You muse, a hint of melancholy in your tone.

“She’s 12, Y/N.”

“That’s still too young, don’t you think?”

“How old were you when you had one?”

“I think,” You pause, sorting out your vague childhood memories, “In Kindergarten, maybe?”

“My point exactly.”

You curse under your breath as you’re obviously defeated. You hate when logic is used against you. Jungkook just laughs, performing his usual habit of rubbing his nose and jerking his head so his hair can stay out of his eyes. Both of you are leaning on either side of the alcove and the window is slightly open so that you can hear the regular music of crickets outside. A light gush of wind blows through, gently shifting around random strands of your hair.

Jungkook’s yet again scrolling through his phone, looking at funny memes on Instagram and sending them to the group chat titled: “Namjoon’s Angels” that he so cleverly named. Your phone buzzes multiple times, and when you turn it on, 4 notifications from the said group chat appear on your screen. They’re all from him. You look at the boy in front of you and he’s got a delighted smile on, eyes crinkled up into crescent moons while he’s so focused on whatever’s on his phone.

“We’re in the same room, Kook,” You say, showing your screen to him, and Jungkook’s a bit surprised at the nickname, but he quickly shoots you a fake glare before going back to his own phone.

“Those aren’t just for you, princess,” He retorts, tapping away on his screen, “Those are for Joon and Hoseok too.”

Your phone buzzes once more, and this time it’s a notification from just Jungkook.

[November 15, 10:40  PM] jeon.jk on Instagram *Sent a post* [November 15, 10:40 PM] jeon.jk on Instagram This one’s for you! :)

Upon opening the chat, you’re met with an obscure picture of-

[November 15, 10:41] y/nnnn_ beans? jeon.jk Beans.

You send him a questioning look, and Jungkook squeakily laughs, almost out of breath by how funny he thinks the picture is.

jeon.jk Do you not like it? I think it’s rather nice.

The most surprising thing you’ve discovered about Jungkook is that he’s quite the articulate texter, which is a weird juxtaposition from his usual character. It’s certainly the strangest thing you’ve known about him.

y/nnnn_ it’s quite off putting jeon.jk :(

“I’m right in front of you,” You declare, turning off your phone and putting it on the cushion. Jungkook rolls his eyes, but nonetheless does the same.

“But that’s no fun.”

“You’re so weird, you know that?”

“I like to think I’m pleasant to be around.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you before looking out the window.

“Are you going to the football game tomorrow night?”

“Kook.”

“What?”

“I’m on the cheer team…”

“Oh,” His lips form a small, tight circle and then spread into a sheepish smile once he connects the dots, “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He starts, “Anyways, did you get invited to the party after?”

“At Taehyung’s?” You ask, and he nods, “I did, yeah.”

“You gonna go?”

You bite your lip, deep in thought over the question. Hoseok got invited too, and he was begging you to go because you hadn’t talked to Namjoon enough, save for whenever he asks you where Hoseok is after school.

While it would be a good idea to come along and really start to get to know your best friend’s crush, you could already tell that it wouldn’t slide with your parents.

“There’d be no one to babysit Clementine,” You reason, “I mean I’d love to, but yeah…”

Jungkook visibly deflates, so much so that he looks like a cartoon character. You suppress a laugh, an apology coming out instead so that you don’t make him feel any worse.

“No, I get it,” He sighs, shoulders slumped down, “It’s no worries then. We’ll still see each other after the game, then, right?”

“If you really want to, sure.”

“I want to.”

You smile at him, and Jungkook mirrors you, a toothy grin flashing your way.

Your favorite moments with your unconventional, newfound friend are during the late nights, because of times like this. Around you and around him, the world is soft and light. There’s a calming simplicity when you’re talking to Jungkook, and your chest constantly feels light and fluttery. His lame jokes become funnier, and your words towards him become kinder.

Even though it’s dark, the nights seem to shed light on who the two of you really are and how you two really feel about each other.

There’s no malice, no ill intentions towards each other either. You like being there with him. Time isn’t an obstacle, which is something you’ve always felt slipped out of your hands like fine sand. The world just comes to a standstill, both of you trying to talk as much as you can before your parents come home.

For you, time has been a nuisance. You lose sleep while you hunched over your desk, working on assignments because the night is the only freetime you have. Because of that (and so that you can peacefully talk to Jungkook whenever he babysits), you simply just do your homework in the morning. Your alone time is always cut short, since you’re swamped with cheer, homework, and family obligations.

You hated how time ran out.

After all, your time with Jimin had run out.

But when you’re sitting on the cushion in your alcove with Jungkook, you slowly but surely start to adjust to the ever changing world around you. Sure, you feel guilty about constantly dumping your emotional baggage to someone you’ve just become friends with after two years of having pure hatred for them, but time and time again he’s always reassured you, telling you that he really didn’t mind you venting to him.

It’s not like Jungkook was your only option, since you always had Hoseok to rant to. But seeing Hoseok happy made you happy, and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a complete pity party.

So yeah, maybe Jungkook was the only option you had. You didn’t really mind either, since Jungkook had his fair share of problems that he’d talk to you about. There was no point in feeling bad at all, actually. There was a fair exchange of listening and venting between both sides.

You did find having an issue to restrain yourself around him. Everytime he spoke about his brother, you just wanted to jump into his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even more so when his voice cracked and slowly turned into silent whispers and warbled mumbles. Your heart always broke when he would start blinking more and more so that his tears wouldn't come out. Sometimes, when things really got rough, he’d let a few ones fall, but he always followed it up with forced laughter and a strained smile.

It always made you wonder if he was hiding anything else from you.

“Wait, Y/N,” He says, raising a pointer finger up, “You can go to the party!”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you forget?” He asks, seeing how confused you are, “I’m Tina’s babysitter.”

“I didn’t forget that…?”

“I’m gonna be at the game, cause, y’know, I’m, yeah,” He explains, “Your parents are gonna have to stay at home regardless.”

You stare at him blankly as it registers in your head that there’s nothing stopping you from going to Taehyung’s infamous house parties.

“You’re right,” You mumble, “Sorry, I must be tired.”

“When’d you sleep last night?”

“Yesterday?” You stare up at the ceiling while you try to remember the other night, “4… I think?”

Jungkook shakes his head at you, ashamed.

“What’d I say about sleeping late?” He wags a finger at you, “You’re gonna ruin yourself if you keep doing that.”

“Okay, thanks, mom,” You snicker.

He then changes the topic, now complaining about the very same paper that you stayed up late to work on. You added on to his ranting, speaking your own mind as well.

The conversation is stopped abruptly when you hear knocking. Jungkook and you turn from each other to see your parents standing at the doorway. Neither of you had even heard the garage opening, or your parents walking upstairs.  

They’ve got tired, but happy smiles on their faces, and it comforts you knowing that they’re starting to iron out whatever issues they're going through. Your mom waves at you two and you echo her movements.

“Ah, I gotta go, then.”

Jungkook swiftly gets up from the alcove, grabbing his jacket that was resting on your desk chair. He greets you goodbye and then does the same with your parents, your dad walking him to the door. When both of the boys leave, your mom joins you, replacing Jungkook’s spot. She smells of steak and has a faint scent of wine about her. The relaxed, blissful state she’s in tells you that she’s intoxicated right now.

“Glad you had a fun night out,” You say, a soft smile on your lips.

“I quite like Jungkook,” She seems to not have heard your words, “Don’t you?”

“He’s nice, yeah.”

“He reminds me of your dad.”

She’s definitely a lot more drunk than you thought she was.

“Let’s get you in bed, mom,” You chuckle, standing up and helping her, “I think that’s enough for today.”

When you take her to her room and she staggers over to sit in her bed, you say goodnight to her. She responds, and you know very well that she’s most likely going to fall asleep with her dress on. You decide that your dad could handle that.

After getting ready for bed and crawling under your covers, your mind starts to wander, fixated on the idea of Jungkook and your dad being similar.

You can’t find a single distinct comparison between the two of them, but then your mind travels to the topic of your parents when they were younger. When they weren’t dating and they just knew each other as neighbors. Were they nice to each other?

Was there ever a time where they hated each other?

In between the many questions traveling through your mind, you start to enter the deep limbo of being half asleep and half awake. This doesn’t stop your curiosity about your parents story, as you see the two of them in your dreams. A young version of your mom bickering with your dad.

Then, it suddenly flashes to you walking with Jungkook in the hallways of high school, talking and bickering like you usually do.

Despite being heavily sleep deprived, you actually have a good night’s rest for once.

It’s Friday, which meant one thing and one thing only. It’s game day.

And although you complain about how sore your muscles are after practice and how you hate staying after school for so long, but when you’re sitting on the track, listening to the shouts from the student section and watching the football get tossed back and forth between players, you can’t help but be excited for halftime. You even become immersed in the sport, intently watching the boys tackle their way through the field. Half of the time you’re not completely sure about what’s going on, but you definitely were having fun sitting with Hoseok and watching the football teams brawl for a simple leather ball.

You had to admit it. There really was something magical about football games.

It was the way the grass smelt of rain and sweat, the way you could hear nothing but excitement from the crowds of students in the student section, the way that everyone was donning the school’s signature colors of purple and gold. The energy tonight is explosive, and you relish in every single section of it.

Your teammates are focused on the game and on themselves, making sure they remember the routines you have been practicing for months. But you, on the other hand, have separated yourself from the group of girls standing on the track and talking to each other. Instead, your focus is stuck on Jungkook.

Watching him on the field is like magic.

You don’t mean to, but your eyes follow him as he rushes past the opposing team, pushing past everyone effortlessly. He knows exactly when to keep the ball clutched closely to his chest or when to throw it to his fellow teammate, and he defends himself against the opposition, turning his back against them in order to protect himself from their tackles. It’s all like clockwork, like Jungkook could predict the other team’s movements. Even though you’re far from him, you notice the way he scans the field, so much so that you can see the gears turning in his mind. He’s got a whole map of the field and the teams in his head, creating a strategy right on the fly. All to get a touchdown.

Jungkook may be the big-headed goofball who used to enjoy annoying you, but he was a completely different person on the field. He’s someone determined and clever, and he doesn’t show off or become cocky when he’s on the field. Instead, he looks out for his own teammates and becomes a real leader.

You see this when Kim Taehyung, one of the running backs, gets tackled and crashes straight onto the turf, his helmet thudding quite loudly. Before Jungkook grabs the ball in Taehyung’s hands, he gives a quick tap on the running back’s helmet as a simple way of telling him that he’s doing a good job. To tell him to not give up and to get back on his feet. It’s a barely visible gesture that no one in the crowd would notice. It’s basically insignificant to… anyone, really. But you feel your heart soften when you figure out what the gesture meant.

Then you sit up, slightly, because his eyes meet yours and suddenly all the air in your chest has decided to leave. The crease in his eyebrows disappears and he’s beaming at you.

What amazes you is that Jungkook still has the ball secure in his hands, shoving his way through the hordes of players like they’re nothing.

You wonder what it’d be like to see Jungkook running up close. It’s hard to see from this distance, but you can see how the sheen of sweat glosses his skin. There was no doubt that he was muscular and you knew that, because you saw him every single day, but tonight his body is even more defined. They flex as he moves, biceps bulging because he’s clutching onto the ball so tightly.

You’re unaware of the way your thoughts travel to Jungkook being sweaty and hot on the field. Somehow it makes you feel like you’re betraying everything you’ve stood for by thinking like this, but instead of creating an even greater inner conflict between yourself and your conscience, you give up and continue to spectate the game.

(If by the game, you mean Jungkook.)

It isn’t until you decide to give him a small wave that he stumbles. He passes the ball to Kim Seokjin, the receiver, and quickly gets up on his own feet before he can fall on the ground. The opposition’s focus is now moved onto Seokjin, and so is Jungkook’s.

Seokjin reaches the end of the field. He scores a touchdown, and the crowd goes wild. The roaring sounds like music to your ears and you stand up, cheering along with your friends to congratulate your team. You beam when you see Jungkook running alongside the receiver, genuine grins on the boys’ faces. You feel proud, but you’re not entirely sure about what.

“We’re gonna kill it soon, Y/N!” Hoseok grins, and you mirror him, a happy smile on your face as well. He’s also too focused on memorizing the steps in his head to notice that you’ve been drooling over your little sister’s babysitter.

“I mean, duh,” You dramatically flip your hair over your shoulder, making the both of you giggle.

People say that cheerleading is such an outdated sport, but you actually loved it with your entire heart. You’ve created many lasting friendships with the girls (and Hoseok, of course) on your team, and the cheer squad was the exact reason why you had a somewhat reputation at school. It was basically the only thing that kept you going during the 3 years of high school you’ve gone through, and you’re sure that it’ll be the only thing keeping you sane for the rest of your years at this hellhole of a school.

Well, that was a topic for another day.

Because before you can have another existential crisis about the fact that you’re already on your junior year of high school—you haven’t figured out exactly what you want to do with your life—and that time has really slipped you by, the timer on the big, chunky, outdated metal screen ticks down. A bold, orange “0:00” appears, signalling that it’s halftime. The football teams slow down and head back to their respective sides, getting ready to take a break while the cheerleading squad gets ready for action.

When all of the boys are seated at their benches, some of them guzzling water or simply just catching their breath, you, Hoseok, and the rest of the girls make your way onto the turf. The speaker announces your team, staticky voice emitting from the speakers and filling the air.

It’s go time.

You all huddle in a circle, hyping yourselves up with team chants. It’s invigorating, being with all of your friends, getting ready to present the routine you had been trying to perfect for the past few months. You step into the circle, and the girls lift you up, throwing you up in the air. As you’re thrown, you let the force move you, your body twirling around. You land gracefully back into their arms, and the crowd goes wild once again.

The cheerleaders grab their pom poms that are lying on the turf and they get into position. Everyone places their hands on their hips, smiles forming on all of your faces as the crowd simmers down to get ready for the show. A beat starts from the drum line, and you all wave your pom poms in the air, the tinsel-like material sounding almost like rain as they swivel in circular motions. You scan the crowds, looking at all the different students sitting together.

Then your eyes meet, and your face falters.

Park Jimin is sitting in the bleachers, beaming at the Sophomore on the cheer team. You’re rudely reminded of her sitting on his lap in the back of his car, and your eyes become hazy as you try to save face.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Hoseok whispers, “He’s not worth it.”

You nod, averting your focus from Jimin. This was the final football game of the season. You had to make the most of it, and you weren’t going to let him get in the way of it.

The cheer captain starts with a “5, 6, 7, 8,” and the rest of you follow her chants.

The routine starts with a high kick and a right punch up, followed with another high kick and then a strict order of arm positions along with a few more kicks that you all execute with style. Some of the girls move to the front, doing backflips to entertain the crowd. The flyers, bases, and spotters, get ready for extensions while the girls in the front keep the student section preoccupied.

Hoseok is assigned as one of your bases, and two other girls—a base and a back spotter—get into formation along with him. They lift you up carefully, steadying you right away as you're raised up. The other flyers are lifted up, too, and you sigh in relief knowing that everyone did their extensions easily. You flash bright smiles to the crowd and they all scream, cheering you on as well. Your combined shouts add even more energy to what was already an electric game.

The cheer is something cheesy about having more spirit than the other team, and the words are really cringy at points, but you don’t care. You’d shout them to the ends of the earth for all you cared. What mattered was the way the student section responded with almost double the enthusiasm. Kids are hollering, practically jumping out of their seats and yelling as they repeat the school’s signature lyrics. There’s nothing but pure excitement for the game, the football team, and the cheerleaders.

You’re lowered down for a few minutes by the bases only to be thrown up quickly. Keeping your stomach tight and your arms stiff, you fall back into the arms of the cheerleaders underneath you. It’s a perfect execution of a cradle, and you’re practically glowing with pride for your team. It’s obvious that the coaches would praise you all at the next practice. The crowd goes crazy for your team as well. Once you’re placed on the ground, it’s your turn to perform flips and high kicks, and you carry out the rest of the routine effortlessly.

Staring at the crowd, you take in how everyone is smiling at you and your team, impressed at the stunts you all pulled off in such a small time frame. Their eyes are shimmering with pride and you’re certain that their throats have gone raw from all their hoots and hollers. The night sky is painted black, but the atmosphere you’re in is far from dull. The crowds are colored purple and gold, matching your uniform and the football players’ uniforms. There are kids from different cliques, but they’re all sitting together and cheering, showing the solidarity a school could have.

You hold on to the moment for as long as you can, your chest heaving up and down as you pose confidently when the routine is done. Hoseok looks at you with immense pride and you do the same, both of you practically radiating out there on the field.

Eventually, halftime is over and you’re back to sitting on the track. You’re sweaty, but you don’t care. You know you did amazing and that was worth it.

A wave of uneasiness hits your chest when you see the sophomore rush over to her backpack to check her phone. She grins at her screen before running over to your coach, using some lame excuse so she can leave. After that, she rushes out, and you see Jimin following suit.

You plan to see what they’re doing, but Hoseok grabs your wrist, already knowing what you were going to do.

“Y/N,” His voice is stern, “I love you. Don’t.”

“But-“

“It’s not a good idea. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Some of your nerves fade away when Hoseok demands that you’ll get pictures with him, even if both of you are drenched in sweat. He reasons that it’s because you rarely have any pictures with him. But isn’t that the sign of true friendship? Not being able to have pictures because you’re either having too much fun together or the both of you look so ugly you can’t even bear to have a photo taken? You use that reasoning with Hoseok and he simply pinches your cheek, telling you that you’re insufferable and forcing one of your teammates to take your pictures.

When the game is almost done, the sophomore is nowhere to be seen.

You see your coach asking around the other girls, but they all respond with a shrug. Hoseok keeps you distracted by talking about the new friend group you’ve created with him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. Then, he starts to talk about Namjoon and the latest “date but not date” that they had last weekend. You realize you’ve never wanted to talk about Namjoon more than ever before.

While he’s gushing, you look at the photos you’ve taken with your best friend. A satisfied smile finds its way on your face when you see that they ended up a million times better than you thought it would. Hoseok also admires them while you swipe through the many new pictures in your camera roll.

“Told you it’d end up good.”

“Oh, whatever.”

You decide that you’d post your favorite ones, since you haven’t put anything new on your Instagram.

You tap on the app, planning to create a draft to post tomorrow. To your surprise, though, a new post from Jimin appears on your timeline. It’s a picture of the girl in his car. She has a bright smile on her face, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink.

Under the picture there’s a blue heart.

You’re reminded of all of the posts he had of you that had the exact same caption. You frown. Blue was your favorite color.

You go to his page, and all of your photos from before are gone. You’re frozen in your spot. Your mouth feels incredibly dry and a hard, rough lump forms in your throat. Your eyes start to sting, and the pain you thought you’ve forgotten about has come back twice as strong.

Hoseok notices this and you hand him his phone.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”

“I’m gonna,” You wipe your eyes and fan away the moisture so you don’t mess up your mascara, “I’m gonna go home after this.”

“Do whatever you need to,” He says, patting your head so you can rest your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You text your parents, asking them to drive you home.

The game is slow, dull, and boring, but after such an excruciatingly long wait, it finally ends. Once it’s over, you’re immediately walking out and making your way to your parents car. You ignore all of the students around you, pushing your way through them.

You also ignore Jungkook, who’s been running after you right when the game ends but loses you in the crowd.

When you come home, the car ride with your mom consisting of you breaking down and your mom comforting you, your mom quickly takes you to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath for you. She closes the door so neither Clementine or your dad can see the state you’re in, and she drops in a few drops of lavender into the steamy water. You hastily take off your uniform and your makeup, wanting nothing more than to get in the tub.

Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to feel the warm water soaking your skin. The oil she added to the bath creates a pleasant scent to the steam, and your lips curve upward when you get a whiff of it. You rest your head against the edge of the porcelain surface, eyes getting hazy as the scent of lavender drowns out your senses. Your mother puts her hands through your hair, massaging your head with shampoo.

If your mother was being this gentle, this nice to you, then this was really serious.

When she plants a loving kiss on your forehead, humming sweetly, you feel your lip quiver. You were tired. This was your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore. Warbled, shrill sobs escape from your lips and you’ve lost all notions of self control. Your mom holds you close to her, indifferent to the soap suds and water soaking her shirt.

“Sometimes change is necessary for growth,” She says as you cry everything out.

“It hurts,” Your words come in between gasps.

“I know, darling, I promise you that you’ll find someone who truly deserves your love.”

“...Really?”

“Yes, and, you know, I already know one person who deserves it.”

“Who?”

“You.”

You hang onto every word she says, hoping that they’re actually true.

[November 16, 9:35 PM] Jungkook Hey, is everything okay? I tried talking to you after the game but I couldn’t find you Why is that? You don’t have to tell me, just wanted to know if you were okay I’ll tell Joon you say hi later tonight. He was really excited to hang out with you Sorry, I must be spamming your phone Anyways, just wanna say you did great tonight

Read at: 10:01 PM

[November 19, 4:02] Jungkook You didn’t show up to school today I think this is actually the first time you’ve skipped school Let me know if you need the homework or anything Read at: 4:10

You tap out of the conversation and put your phone face down on your nightstand. Tossing around in the bed, the sheets are uncomfortably hot around your sweaty skin. Your room is humid, since you’ve been doing nothing but lay in your bed for the past 3 days. Your eyelids slowly droop downward while you attempt to remove yourself from the throbbing pain in your head.

A slow, soft creak emits from your door. You open your eyes to see your sister, holding a tray with a cup of water and a grilled cheese sandwich. She still has her school clothes on.

“We ran out of soup,” She says, walking over to you.

You give her a weak smile, shifting over so she can sit next to you.

“Thank you, Clem.”

She sits up straight, expectantly watching you eat. She waits for your reaction, and your lips curve up naturally while you chew, she lets out the breath she’s unconsciously been holding in.

“Are you… doing okay?”

“I’ll be alright,” You nod, and then you roll up the sleeve of your hoodie to flex your bare arm, “Your sister’s strong.”

Clementine giggles and she leans back, resting her head on your shoulder. Her hair tickles your skin, but you don’t care. The grilled cheese in your mouth tastes absolutely amazing—most likely because you haven’t eaten anything since a bowl of soup yesterday.

“I never…” She starts, but then stops. You reassure her that she can tell you whatever she wants, and with a deep breath, she continues, “I never really… liked him.”

“Hm?”

“Jimin. I never liked him,” Her words lower into a nervous whisper. You wonder how long she’s been holding it in. She looks up at you once more, “Sometimes I could hear when you guys talked on the phone.”

Your initial response is to be angry, but there’s no point to. It wasn’t her fault that your rooms were so close to each other. Clementine scoots down so that she can rest her head on your chest, and you wrap your arms around her.

“He was kinda mean,” She sighs, “And I didn’t like how he talked to you.”

You nod. There was a truth in her words. You imagine what she thought hearing you cry behind a closed door, hearing you freak out because Jimin would end the call on you randomly when you mentioned Hoseok. Thinking back on it, Jimin was quite possessive when the two of you were together. Quite ironic.

“He’s like Gaston.”

“Gaston?”

“Yeah, full of himself,” She spits bitterly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen your sister speak negatively towards someone, “Only likes you ‘cause you’re pretty. Gets mad if you don’t give him something when he’s nice to you.”

Despite her dulled down description of Jimin, her words are a rude awakening for you. It’s as if you were roughly picked up and dropped into a cold, freezing bath, the frigid water creating an abrupt awareness of the reality of your past relationship. The reality was that Jimin was terrible to you, and no matter how many times you tried to label it nicely, tried to dumb it down so you yourself could swallow it easily, the truth is that whatever the two of you had wasn’t love.

It hits you that you really don’t know anything about love.

“You deserve someone better than Jimin.”

“You can say that again,” You chuckle, but Clementine cranes her neck and looks at you with burning eyes.

“No, I mean it,” She huffs, “He was terrible-“

“I know, I know, Clem,” You give her a light, reassuring smile, “But we’ll figure that out later, ‘kay? Right now it’s just you and me.”

“Yeah,” She relaxes, resting on you again, “I’d like that.”

You pinch her cheek before speaking again.

“So, you wanna tell me more about the new guy?”

She hides herself in your embrace instantly. Her new crush, Lucas, seemed quite nice from what she tells you.

The rest of your day is spent with Clementine over board games, movies, and cookies, and from how she eagerly spills out everything to you, you realize just how much she’s held from you, afraid to bother you since you “had a lot on her plate”. You secretly promise her that you’d be there for her more, that you’d forever be a shoulder to cry on for her from now on.

It’s almost funny, how a breakup forced you into having a better relationship with your sister.

When the night falls and you’re in Clementine’s room with her, ready to say goodnight, she musters enough courage to say something else to you.

“I like Jungkook.”

“I know, so does everyone,” You reply, suddenly remembering the multiple text messages from him that you’ve ignored.

Would he be upset with you? You decide that you’ll deal with that later.

“I like the way he looks at you.”

“What do you mean?” You questioningly state, taking the covers and putting it over her body. Even though she’s already 12, you don’t think you’ll ever stop tucking her in. She doesn’t object, either, eagerly accepting your advances and pulling the covers over so only her head pops out.

“He kinda,” She yawns, “He looks at you different.”

“Different?” You chuckle lightly, reaching out to turn off her lamp.

“Yeah,” She slowly closes her eyes, “Like how Dad looks at Mom.”

You freeze in place at her words, but then you quickly shake it off. She was most likely dreaming.

“You must be tired, Clem,” You mumble, “You should sleep.”

“Yeah, I should.”

You leave Clementine so she can sleep peacefully. With the absence of her around you comes the presence of an underlying issue that you never noticed was in your life.

When did Jungkook ever come into the equation?

Returning to your habit of tossing and turning around uncomfortably in your own bed, your mind tackles the notion of what your true feelings are for Jungkook.

Was he a bad person? Certainly not, from what you’ve learned. Were you guys friends? Yes, you were, obviously, from all the conversations you’ve had at your window.

Staring at said window, you imagine Jungkook sitting there, with his wide grin and his tousled, chestnut hair. You can almost smell the scent of his laundry detergent on your nose. His laugh rings in your ears, soft, breathy chuckles sounding almost like a melody to you. You think of all the times he’s walked you to your classes, dropping you off to your room before rushing on over to his own class that was on the other side of the building. He’s never told you, but you know that he’s always late to class because of you. This revealed itself because you’d see Jungkook hastily walking over to the attendance office to get tardy slips for his teacher.

You chuckle at the thought. It never registered in his head that the office was in the hallway of your 6th hour, so whenever he gets a slip you’ll see him pass by your doorway.

An image of Jungkook with Clementine flashes in your mind when you close your eyes. You see him dancing goofily with her to some Spanish song you’re not familiar with, all so that Clementine will be comfortable dancing around him. You take in how he smiles at her, how he looks at her so happily, and how he’s so eager to embarrass himself because he just likes seeing her laugh.

Then, when you close your eyes, you see Jungkook looking at you. His eyes are soft, and there’s something there you can’t really describe. It makes you feel safe, makes you feel like you can put your guard down around him. You notice that whenever your eyes meet his, there’s a bright, warm smile on his face.

A light, fluttery feeling hits your chest, but it’s far too faint for it to be significant, you think. You brush it off as something trivial. Jungkook was your friend, and that was that.

He was nothing more and nothing less, thank you very much.

[November 20, 12:30 AM] Y/N sorry for not texting back haven’t been feeling well i’ll be back tmrw, tho you got time to talk after school tmrw? we could get burgers or something [November 20, 12:31 AM] Jungkook Of course, yeah It’s no worries btw, Y/N Just wanna know you’re okay. I’m driving you I’m guessing? Y/N yeah there’s no one else who will, lol

Going back to school is a little rough, and although you only missed one day, you were already toppled with absent work and new lessons that you had to teach yourself.

But every worry seemed to disappear when you finally got to the diner with Jungkook. During this, you explain everything to him, stuffing your mouth with the fries that you loved so much. Jungkook listens to every single word you say, gnawing down on his bowl of mac n’ cheese.

“That’s so shitty of him.”

You can sense the anger in his tone.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” You shrug, pulling your strawberry smoothie close to you so you can take a sip, “Not my place anymore.”

Jungkook redacts what he was about to say, only nodding as to make sure he doesn’t speak over you.

“Sorry about not responding,” You mumble, and he shakes his head profusely.

“No, no, I get it,” He smiles fondly at you, “Don’t be sorry. I’m here for you, okay?”

It amazes you how understanding he can be. Seems like just yesterday he was chewing gum obnoxiously in your ears, blowing bubbles and popping them in hopes that the sound would destroy your eardrums.

Jungkook fills you in on what you had missed yesterday, already offering to help you if you need any help. The two of you spend the time at the diner talking about anything and everything, and things somewhat feel normal for once.

You wish that everything could stay just like this in the diner, where Jungkook is sitting in front of you, cracking lame jokes left and right and you’re laughing so hard that you can’t even be bothered to breathe anymore.

A few weeks pass, and you’ve slowly started to adjust to the “new normal” of your life. But this was only because you had such amazing friends to help you out whenever you saw Jimin with his new girlfriend. Hoseok has been there for you and always will be, Jungkook constantly has new jokes up his sleeve that he’s constantly waiting to use, and even though you’re not that close with Namjoon just yet, you’ve learned just how kindhearted he is.

This is because when you told him the whole story of you and Jimin, he started sending you pretty flowers every single day. Those were Namjoon’s “cheer up” texts that gave you a soft comfort when you received them.

Slowly but surely, your regular diner dates with Hoseok have turned into full on hangouts with the other two boys. Jungkook would drive you, while Namjoon would take Hoseok. Usually, though, your hangouts would consist of you and Jungkook losing your appetites over how sweet Namjoon and Hoseok are to each other. There wasn’t one time where Jungkook wouldn’t roll his eyes to you when Namjoon would compliment Hoseok’s hair, and you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve lost it over Hoseok pinching Namjoon’s cheek whenever he teases him.

It’s still a complete shocker to the both of you that they’re only friends.

But you honestly wouldn’t change your new friend group for the world. Albeit sort of dysfunctional and unconventional, you all worked together nicely.

Things slowly came together piece by piece, and you felt that maybe your life would continue on peacefully, just how you wanted it to.

However, today is different.

After school, Hoseok asks you if the two of you can hang out one on one, just like before, and of course you agree, because you had to admit that you did miss spending time with just him. So you expect it to be a fun filled Friday afternoon with Hoseok. Maybe you’d hear him rant about Namjoon being clueless for the umpteenth time without ever acknowledging how oblivious he is himself.

What you expect, however, is very different from your reality, because when Hoseok and you walk out of the school building and into the parking lot, you’re met with a pretty sizable crowd. There’s kids, mostly boys, pointing their cameras and you hear multiple shouts and cheers from the crowds.

You’re about to stealthily dodge the crowd and head over to Hoseok’s car, but then a gap forms in between a few students and your jaw hits the ground.

“Fuck you,” Jungkook spits, his familiar voice confirming your suspicions.

The other boys spur him on, yelling out incoherent words that you can’t decipher. You grab Hoseok by the wrist and pull him over to the crowd.

Getting a closer look at the scene, you and Hoseok give each other a scared, concerned glance. Jungkook has Jimin on the pavement, landing multiple brutal punches across his face. Jimin, whose eyes have turned hazy, has blood coming out of his nose, and if Jungkook lands one last punch, Jimin is bound to have a broken nose (if he already didn’t).

It’s a good thing, though, that the principal suddenly appears, pushing past everyone and splitting the two boys up. Jungkook and Jimin are both sitting up now, tattered and beaten down. Jungkook wipes away the blood on his mouth, while Jimin tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving up and down heavily. His face is screwed up in agony and you wince upon seeing the newly formed black eye that he’s sporting.

Jungkook doesn’t look any better either. He’s got bruises all over him, and a handful of deep cuts and scrapes from falling on the ground. He has blood on his sweatshirt, and you can’t tell if it’s his or Jimin’s.

The crowd disperses, students not wanting to get involved with the authorities. You and Hoseok stay, however, because Namjoon appears out of nowhere, his arms crossed and a tired look on his face while he assesses the damage. The principal pulls them away by their collars in order to create distance from the three of you standing there. Once there’s a reasonable space between all of you, he begins to mouth them off.

“He made jokes about it but I never thought it’d happen,” He sighs, rubbing his temples, “I got the principle once I saw what was going on. I was too late.”

“What’s gonna happen?” You ask, voice coming out in a weak whisper.

“They’ll both be expelled for a little bit,” Namjoon strokes his chin.

“Expelled?” Hoseok gasps in disbelief, “Don’t you mean suspended?” 

“The fight’s on school grounds, and they were both deliberately violent,” Namjoon explains, “If Jungkook had only made a threat to do it, then he’d be suspended. Expulsions last much longer than suspensions, based on what the principal will think is a fit punishment for the kids.”

Leave it to Kim Namjoon to know the school’s rulebook like the back of his hand.

“What’ll happen with sports?”

“Now that, I’m also not entirely sure,” Namjoon answers, and you can see the gears turning in his head, “Let’s hope the coaches will even be willing to talk to them.”

Jungkook makes eye contact with you and although he’s tired, he seems to have sobered up. You stare at him with shocked, disappointed eyes, and he looks down at his feet, like a dog who just got scolded by his owner. He rubs his nose, taking a deep breath and choosing to just listen to what the principal has to say.

What could have possibly compelled Jungkook to beat Jimin into a pulp?

The next night you see Jungkook at your door, the bruises and cuts on his skin somewhat faint, but still apparent.

“Um, hi,” His eyes bounce around from you then to the ground, “Listen, Y/N, I-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss at him, coming out of the house and closing the door behind you.

“What?”

“Don’t you realize what you did yesterday?” You say, “Because of that you got fucking expelled!”

“That’s what I was here to talk about,” He explains.

“There was literally no reason for you to do that, Kook.”

“Y/N, if you were there, you’d understand.”

“No, Jungkook, no,” You shake your head, “I get it, Jimin’s an asshole. That doesn’t mean you need to beat him up for it!”

“Y/N,” He sighs, visibly irritated, “If you would just let me tell you why-“

“There’s no point, Jungkook!” You throw your hands up in the air while you yell at him, “You’re expelled! Do you even know if you can play football anymore?”

He bites his tongue, giving you a perfect answer.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Y/N,” He grabs your wrists, forcing you to look at him, “If you had just heard the things he said about you, you’d get it. Please, I just wanted to talk to you and apologize. Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to.”

He’s pitiful before you and you feel your anger rise.

“Y/N, he said such shitty things about you.”

“I don’t give a shit!” You retort, pulling away from him,  “I don’t need you beating up people for me, Jungkook. Do you really think I’m that weak?”

His eyes widen and he’s at a loss for words.

“No, Y/N, I never said that,” He reasons, “I just didn’t want him to talk about you like that anymore. You guys aren’t even together anymore. I was fed up.”

“Don’t you think there’s other ways you could handle that? Maybe you could, I don’t know, ignore it?”

“Y/N, please,” He pleads, exasperated, “I know this sounds stupid, but I really couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry, I just-“

“Do you really think I’m that helpless?” You scoff, “That I can’t handle when someone speaks of me badly? That you have to do everything for me?”

“No-“

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“I know,” He mumbles, “I couldn’t control my anger.”

“Yeah, that’s apparent,” You deadpan, crossing your arms, “I don’t need you to fight my fights for me, Jungkook. That’s not how it works.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” You spit, “If you had known that, then you wouldn’t have done anything.”

It’s an awkward position to be in, fighting with Jungkook at your front porch in the middle of a cold, December night, but you’re too heated to care. You ignore how you can see your breath come out in a light fog whenever you speak.

There’s a thin covering of snow everywhere, and you’re glad that you consistently wear a hoodie and sweatpants as pajamas in both summer and winter. Some snowflakes are resting on Jungkook’s head, leaving delicate white, sparkling dots in his hair. Matched with his red nose and red ears, you’d almost say he was adorable if you weren’t cussing him out right now.

“Why would you even think that was okay? Why would you do that?”

“Y/N… I…” He sputters out, “I just…”

“You just what? You think I’m so weak that I can’t handle my own problems?” You roll your eyes, “You’re unbelievable, Jungkook. You really think that I’m that weak?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“You don’t get it do you?” He scoffs.

“What do you mean?”

“I did it because I couldn’t stand to hear him talking shit about you.”

“Why couldn’t you? It’s not your issue. It’s mine, and quite frankly-“

“It’s because I’m in love with you, Y/N!” He yells out, then coughs once his confession registers in his head, “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to hear him anymore.”

HIs words make your breath catch in your throat. Your heart stops, and Jungkook stares up at you nervously. You step away from, shaking your head profusely.

“No, you’re not,” You breathe out, “You’re really not.”

“I know it’s super wrong to say this now, I just,” He scratches the nape of his neck, “I guess I felt that I needed to tell you.”

“You barely even know me,” You say, and you can’t explain why tears well up in your eyes. You wipe them away, “Go home, Jungkook. It’s late.”

You’re about to go back into the house but Jungkook’s words make you stop dead in your tracks.

“I know that you’re ass at drawing,” He prompts, “You’re also shit at singing, but you do both anyways, because you think it’s fun.”

“Kook-“

“You say that you don’t do much in your freetime, but I know that you spend all of your time hanging out with Tina whenever you can, because you care about her that much,” He states, “I also know that you secretly really like Monopoly, even though you’re fuckin’ clueless on how to play it. Most of the time you go bankrupt, but even then you’re happy playing that. You’re the only person I know who’s like that.”

You’re speechless as Jungkook begins to list off specific details about you that even you don’t know.

“You always try to twirl your pencil in class, but every single time you get embarrassed when you drop it on your desk and everyone looks at you.”

“Jungkook, don’t do this,” You turn around, “Listen, you don’t know what it’d be like to be with me. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Who says that?”

“Me,” You say, “I’m still confused about everything. It’d be bad for both you and me. And plus, what if I’m not over Jimin? You wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t like being with me.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Because I’m set, Y/N,” Jungkook declares, “From the moment I really got to know you, I figured that I wanted you for the rest of my life. And I’ll wait for you for as long as you need me to.”

“There’s no way you can be so sure.”

“I can feel it, Y/N,” His words are desperate as he tries to reason with you, “It’s different with you. I’m different when I’m with you. I’m happy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do know, Y/N!” He shouts, “I’ve spent so many nights trying to figure out why the fuck I think about you so much until I eventually realized it. I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure about my own feelings.”

“You’re wrong, Jungkook.”

“Can you stop?” He snaps, “Stop belittling my feelings. Stop acting like you know shit about love, because you don’t. Your only relationship was with an asshole who cheated on you and talks shit about you even though he’s with another girl.”

Jungkook’s right. He’s absolutely right. You’re reflected on it, too. But you can’t help but become enraged when the truth comes out of his mouth.

“I don’t know shit about love?” You laugh bitterly, “Yeah, I don’t. And Jimin was an asshole. But you don’t know anything about love either.”

“At least I know what I deserve and what you deserve,” He says, “If you could just give me a chance to show you-“

“Show me what love is?” You interrupt, “Jungkook, how can you? Your own brother doesn’t even love you!”

You struck a chord, and you see that right when the words come out of your mouth. It’s only during then that you realize that using facts in your arguments aren’t always the best thing. Jungkook gawks at you in disbelief, his mouth ajar.

“I.. Jungkook, I’m really sorry. Stuff like that isn’t your fault,” You open the door and step inside, “I think that just shows we’re not good together. You should go home. It’s late. Goodnight, Jungkook.”

After that night and once Jungkook is done with his (mercifully given) 10 day expulsion, he finds a way to avoid you at all costs at school, going as far as to even switch seats with someone in the one class you have together. Your supposed “long lasting” friend group had ultimately split up, you and Jungkook giving each other the cold shoulder while Hoseok and Namjoon tried to find a good balance of seeing each other and you guys at the same time.

Jungkook no longer drives you home, and there’s now an empty seat at the dinner table that looms heavily on your conscience. Clementine hasn’t said anything, reassuring you that she’s happy just being with you, but you know that she’s having a hard time dealing with the situation as well.

His name is omitted in your house, and no one in your family asks about him.

Well, until now.

Because when your mom sits with you on your bed, asking what really happened, you cry once more in her arms, the guilt finally pushing you past your breaking point again. You tell her everything, and she holds you close, hushing you while you cry.

“Why were you so upset with him?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” You say as you think about it.

“Do you still have feelings for Jimin?”

You reevaluate your sentiments toward Jimin, and what used to be feelings of love and pain have simply withered away into disgust.

“No…? I don’t think so.”

“So what was the real reason?”

“I guess… I guess it’s because he was expelled and that means he could be off the team. He shouldn’t be risking that for me,” The words come out of your mouth almost involuntarily, as if they’ve been waiting to reveal themselves to you, “And the fact that he says that he’s in love with me when he hardly knows me… It was such a stupid fight and I feel terrible.”

You hide your face in your hands, thinking about what you’ve said to the poor boy.

“Are you in love with him?”

Something stirs in your heart, and it scares you.

“I can’t tell anymore.”

“Well, only you know what’s best for you, and you’ll figure it out. We’ll be here every step of the way,” Your mom assures you, “Can I just say one thing, though?”

You nod.

“When two people argue over something that’s considered stupid or trivial,” She starts, “That usually means they actually care about each other the most.”

[December 19, 8:09] Clem Y/N Can you come pick me up from Charlotte’s pls? I wanna go home Y/N why? is everything ok? Clem Please just pick me up I wanna go home I don’t like birthday parties anymore

“Hey, mom,” You rush over to her, showing her your phone. In an instant, you’re driving over to Clementine’s friend’s house. Once you reach the place, you knock on the door, and upon meeting the parents, you say that you need to pick up Clementine for an “urgent reason”.

It isn’t until she closes the car door and your mom starts driving that she breaks down in tears.

“What’s wrong?” You ask immediately, and once she regains her composure she responds.

“They made me,” She gasps, “They made me tell Lucas that I like him. H-He made fun of me and rejected me in front of everyone.”

You and your mom look at each other with sad, knowing eyes.

Looks like there’d be a warm bath and a lot of tough conversations for Clementine in the near future.

While you mope around and recharge your mental battery during heartbreak, it turns out that Clementine does the exact opposite. She overworks herself in order to distract herself from the fact that she’s devastated.

You take note of this when you come downstairs and you’re hit with the smell of chocolate chip cookies for the sixth time this week. They’re your favorite, but if Clementine bakes any more, you’re bound to get sick of them.

You ignore that and grab a cookie anyway, shoving it into your mouth with delight.

“Do you like it?” Clementine asks, nervous. You nod, and she beams at you.

For something as simple as chocolate chip cookies, Clementine sure does put a lot of pressure on herself to make them perfect.

“Seok’s coming over later tonight,” You attempt to make conversation while she’s already looking through her phone for a new recipe to try.

“Ah, really? That’s great! I miss him,” She smiles, “I actually, um, I have plans today too.”

“Really? With who?”

“Mom already knows,” She says rather quickly, “I’m going out with a friend to dinner.”

Despite your curiosity gnawing away at you, urging you to ask her who this friend is, you stay quiet. This was something she needed, and if your mom was okay with it, then things should be fine.

Leaving the kitchen, you go upstairs to take a nice, long shower.

“Y/N?” You hear Clementine’s muffled voice behind your door.

“It’s open.”

She steps in, and you stare at her in awe. She’s wearing a light blue, off-the-shoulder dress and from the looks of it, your mom has done her makeup beautifully. Her hair is curled, waves gently framing her face. She fidgets with the silver clutch purse in her hands shyly, while she feels your gaze on her.

“Do I, um,” She gulps, “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

She gets even shier, sporting a soft smile on her face. While she looks amazing, she still is unsure of herself, standing awkwardly as she tries to get used to wearing such nice clothes. You feel a touch of pain that comes along with the swell of pride in your chest when you see how beautiful your sister is. It’s such a shame, seeing how fast time flies.

“Do you know which shoes would look good with this?” She asks, “I don’t think my sneakers aren’t really ideal.”

“Oh, definitely not,” You tease, getting up from your bed, “We’re almost the same shoe size, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, you can borrow my flats then,” The two of you make your way to the shoe closet, and you crouch down to sort through the piles of dress shoes, “Unless you want heels?”

“Oh, no thank you,” She spews out, and you laugh. Even under all the makeup and fancy dresses you could put Clementine in, you could never change who she really is.

You grab a pair of light beige ballet flats. They’re rounded at the tip and have a black section at the too. There’s a thin, dainty elastic bow on both of them, and when Clementine sees them, she falls in love. Of course, you knew right away that she’d like them. There was no use in having her try on other flats.

“Thank you so much, Y/N!”

“Anytime.”

There’s a bright smile on both of your faces, and your conversation is interrupted when Clementine’s phone ring.

“Oh, I’ve gotta go,” She says, leaning in to press a kiss in your cheek, “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye, Clem. Be safe.”

“I will!”

And with that, she’s out of the door and you’re left by yourself on this frigid Friday evening. You sigh, slouching down into the couch and turning on the TV. You can’t seem to remember a day in your life where you’ve been by yourself like this, both your parents and Clementine off to dinner at some fancy places you don’t know.

For the hundredth time this evening, you check the time.

 7:23. 

Hoseok would be here any minute, but right now you’re left to your own device.

It’s during then where your thoughts start to travel to the mess of your own life.

You mindlessly watch the cartoons that are playing on your screen while you reflect on your past mistakes. Jungkook continues to flash into your mind and you can’t help but wince every 2 or 3 minutes when you’re rudely reminded of your harsh words towards him. You cover your face in your hands, regretting every single moment of your life up till now. There was nothing that was going to bring back your friendship with Jungkook.

Why did you care so much? You shake your head as you try to sort out the discordant jumble of your emotions. There was no reason to care. You had only really gotten to know Jungkook this year. If someone was able to develop feelings for you that quickly, then certainly they weren’t real. Maybe Jungkook is in love with the idea of you. Or he’s incredibly bored and mistakes feelings of friendship for being in love. That’s usually how things play out.

So why were you bothered so much?

Why did you keep checking your phone to see if he would ever text you? Even now you’re tapping into your conversation with him, waiting to see if he’d type something out. Without thinking, you type a simple “I’m sorry” out. The words glare back at you, asking you why the fuck you haven’t sent them to him yet. You let out a tired sigh and delete them.

Although it’s childish, your mind’s first defense is to tarnish your version of Jungkook’s image. Jeon Jungkook was, in his core, a conceited, good-for-nothing quarterback who cared about no one else except for himself.

You groan, hitting yourself. Every single word in that statement isn’t true.

“What the fuck,” You whine to nobody in particular, curling up into a ball.

Why did Jungkook have to force his way into your life like that? Jungkook with his stupidly soft brown hair and his annoyingly pretty eyes. With his kind smile and laugh that you’d love to record and just hear on repeat for the rest of your days. Jeon Jungkook, the person you’d never expect to be your new best friend, but here he was, just popping up out of nowhere and disappearing without a trace. You curse his name over and over again. Why couldn’t you get his face out of your mind?

His infuriatingly attractive face and his built frame that always makes an appearance, no matter how loose his clothing is. It’s a whole repeat of the other night, where all your senses, all your thoughts, are nothing but him.

You hear his laughter. How it’s so sweet, so soft. You see the way his eyes crinkle up into pretty little crescent moons, how his toothy grin makes yet another appearance into your mind. How his eyes look so endearingly at you, like you could do no wrong in his sight. You think about reaching out to him. Maybe for a hug? You’re not so sure. All you can think about now, though, is how warm his embrace probably is. He’s always gentle with Clementine. There’s no doubt that he’s gentle and kind towards you now, too.

How would he look, laying next to you in bed? How would he look in the morning? Would he have even messier hair? Sleepy eyes? A lazy smile across his lips? Would he—

The doorbell rings, literally saving you from the grave you’re digging yourself. It wakes you up from your thoughts, making you realize that you shouldn’t be thinking of a friend like this.

You run over to the door, and when it’s open, you’re suddenly engulfed in Hoseok’s arms. You almost topple over, Hoseok being quite taller than you and stronger. He’s got a giddy grin on his face, and it looks like he’s just received the best news of his life. You have a confused, although happy smile on your face as well.

“Y/N, I’ve got so much to tell you!”

“Let me go make some popcorn,” You say, excited to hear the good news, “You got the movies, right?”

Hoseok takes off his backpack and pulls out three DVD cases.

“Obviously.”

They’re all cheesy rom-coms that are supposedly targeted towards teenagers, but are made by adults that apparently haven’t talked to a teenager in their life, despite having been one a few years earlier. That makes the movies all the better, though, because Hoseok and you like to take your time to nitpick all of the flaws in every single one. It’s a nice pastime with your best friend.

“Well, let’s get to it then!”

For the first time in forever, you can’t wait to torture yourself by watching shitty chick flicks with Hoseok.

“He did what?” 

“He kissed me, Y/N! He kissed me!” Hoseok squeals, and he almost drops the bowl of popcorn on his lap. 

The terrible movie is long forgotten.

“In the rain?” You ask, equally as excited, “Holy shit, Hobs, that’s like a movie!”

“I know,” He can’t wipe the grin off his face, “I was so mad at him before, ‘cause like, he just wouldn’t do anything! But then he kissed me out of nowhere!”

He‘s head over heels, dramatically leaning into the couch while pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, an over exaggerated performance of a faint.

“I feel like I’ve been struck by Cupid!”

“I think you’ve been like that a long time ago.”

“Shut up.”

“Just sayin’.”

Hoseok angrily grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth, the popcorn squeaking and crunching between his teeth.

“I hate that you’re always right.”

“Well, that’s not so true anymore…”

Your head hangs low, your vision on the screen now on your own bowl of popcorn. You grab a handful for yourself, using the action of chomping as a way to preoccupy yourself from the guilt.

“Hey, listen,” Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you rest on him, “It was in the heat of the moment.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right there,” He chuckles, “But, hey, no one’s perfect. Jungkook was out of line. So were you. Stuff like that happens.”

“Why do I care so much?” You sigh, dejected.

“Because you like him,” He hums, almost nonchalantly.

“W-What?”

“You like Jungkook, Y/N.”

You stay silent, and Hoseok lifts you off of him so he can grab you by the shoulders.

“...Do you seriously not know?” His brows furrow, and you stare at him blankly.

“I think you might be wrong there, bud,” You give him a questioning look.

“Y/N, I love you. You’re an idiot.”

He stands up, and you’re still dumbfounded at his words. Hoseok reaches over to the coffee table and takes your phone. He clicks it on, the brightness causing you to squint. You take a mental note to stop having the brightness setting so high all the time. Once your eyes adjust to the lighting, you’re met with an image of Jungkook standing next to you in the living room, his arm around you while the both of you smile at the camera.

He’s got a tiara on and you have a fairy wand and a scratchy tutu wrapped around your waist, the tight elastic causing your t-shirt to bunch up in thick wrinkles. You involuntarily giggle to yourself when you see the picture. After playing a few board games with Clementine one night, she wanted to go into the attic and dress the two of you up in her old Halloween costumes. Of course, wanting to entertain her, the both of you granted her wishes.

And as if on cue, the smile from ear to ear that you’re sporting has dawned the realization on you.

“We’re just friends…”

“Y/N. I know you. You’ve been a bitch before. Without remorse,” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head.

“Hey!”

“All I’m saying is,” He puts his hands up in surrender, “Y/N, you know how good you are in arguments when you’re angry. You almost never feel bad when you use your words.”

“Okay, I’m not that bad-“

“Y/N,” He asserts, “Remember last year when you cussed that one Freshman out ‘cause he threw a french fry at me?”

“Yeah…”

“You went out of your way to sit down next to him and then proceed to tell him that if he disappeared, no one would notice.”

“I said that?” Your voice has only now become a pathetic little squeak.

“Yes, yes, you did,” He waves his hand after he speaks, “We’re getting off topic. What I’m telling you right now is that you’re blunt. Incredibly blunt. Like, holy shit, how can you say that? type of blunt.”

“I got that, but-“

“Not done,” He shoves the phone in your face even more, as to prove a point, “As we’ve seen before, you forget half of the crap you say. You never feel bad.”

You huff, not sure if you want to hear what Hoseok’s about to say next.

“Look at yourself right now. You’ve been moping over one sentence you’ve said to one boy for how long?” He wags the phone around, further emphasizing the said point, “And now you see one picture of him and you’re giggling like a dumbass.”

You sink back into the couch, the weight of everything hitting you way too strongly, too quickly.

“Well, let’s just say I did like him-“

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Just, just hear me out, okay?” You beg, and Hoseok tosses your phone on the table before slumping down on the couch, “So let’s say I did like him. Don’t you think I would’ve known by now?”

“Holy- Jungkook was right when he said you didn’t know shit,” Hoseok’s so close to losing it and killing you, “Have you seen the way you look at him?”

“No?”

“You’re insufferable,” Hoseok groans, whipping out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. He taps on a video and he shows it to you.

On his screen, you’re sitting in the front passenger seat while Jungkook drives, both of you screaming out the songs on the radio from the top of your lungs. It was some cheesy song both of you hated but knew all of the lyrics to. You examine yourself in the video. When you look at Jungkook, there’s—yet again—another bright smile on your face, and there seems to be a twinkle in your eye. You cringe at yourself, hearing your voice and seeing just how wide your smile is, which causes your cheeks to puff up unflatteringly.

A hand reaches to your face when you notice how chubby it is.

“Where and how did you take that?”

“Remember when Joonie’s car broke down and we had to ride with you losers?”

“Oh.”

You think about that day. It was oddly suspicious as to how quiet they were in the car. Usually, Hoseok would’ve been nervously mouthing Namjoon’s ear off by then.

“Need I say more?”

You almost feel betrayed. Betrayed by how blind you’ve been, how stupid you’ve been.

“Well, it’s a lost cause,” You lament, “I fucked everything up. He probably doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“Not exactly.”

Hoseok swipes out of his camera roll and goes into Snapchat. He slides over to the Stories section and taps on one of the small circles. You’re met with yet another truth revealing image.

Took this kiddo out since some meanie broke her heart ;(

The translucent black bar almost laughs while Clementine smiles back at you—or, the camera, at least. She’s wearing the light blue dress from before and her hair has slightly gone flat, but is still quite wavy. There’s a huge plate of spaghetti before her, and she’s holding onto her fork with anticipation.

“If he didn’t care, why would he take the time to take Tina out tonight? He could’ve ignored her reaching out to him.”

While he is extremely right, you’re more focused on the situation itself.

“Why didn’t she tell me it was him taking her to dinner?”

Yet another betrayal tonight.

“I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause you probably would use those pretty little words of yours towards her.”

“Am I really that scary?”

“Not all of the time,” He says, “But that’s ‘cause Jungkook makes you less high strung.”

“Hey, I’d watch what you’re saying right now-“

Hoseok wraps his arms around you, and he lets out a shaky, forced laugh. You don’t hug him back, but instead you let his embrace cool you down.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyways, more important than you planning out my funeral in your head right now,” He continues, “This is perfect for you.”

“What? The fact that my sister is going out on a date and I’m not is perfect?”

“No, no, you really are clueless, aren’t you? You poor, poor little girl,” He sighs, “This is a perfect opportunity for you to make amends with Wonder Boy tonight!”

“He just cares about Clem, not me, Seok,” You pout, “It’d be nice to, but he probably hates me.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re also wrong!”

Once again, Jung Hoseok is pulling out receipts left and right with the sole purpose of proving you wrong. He goes into his text conversations and taps on a group chat between him, Namjoon, and Jungkook. You squint at the title.

“Therapy from Y/N’s Stubborn Ass?”

“Poor kid named it, not me!”

You roll your eyes, scrolling through the conversation. An odd clump of texts from Jungkook shine out to you the most. They’re all from the night of you messing up your friendship with him.

[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) I feel like I’m going insane I know I should be mad at her And I’m sure when I think about it properly, I will be But for some reason I don’t?

“Nice name for Namjoon.”

“Shut up and read the fucking texts before I lose it.”

[December 6, 12:55 AM] Joon Bug <3 Maybe you’re just tired, that was a lot to take in Hoseok yeah, but also try not to take it too hard. y/n’s kind of just like that. she thinks before she speaks and she gets way too angry for her own good. even more so if she cares about you.

“No need to call me out like that.”

“Trust me, Y/N, you needed to hear it eventually.”

[December 6, 12:54 AM] Jungkook (Namjoon’s Stalker) Yeah, you’re right It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?

The rest of the conversation is Jungkook praising you, adoring how “strong” you could be and how cute you were when you got upset. It’s a complete shift in mood from seconds ago, and obviously the reaction you were not expecting. The same fluttery feeling becomes stronger in your chest, so much so that it’s too obvious to ignore. You throw the phone back to Hoseok, not being able to cope with the heaping amounts of new information you’ve received.

“What time do you think they’ll get here?” You murmur.

“Soon enough,” Hoseok sighs again, this time in relief, knowing that you were finally going to listen to him.

You decide to ease some of your nerves by actually watching the movie, pinpointing the many beautiful flaws of the characters and the stories.

“Y/N?” You feel someone shake you, “Y/N? Wake up.”

You croak some incoherent grumbles, rubbing your puffy eyes. You cautiously open one of them, gauging how bright the lights are. Once you’ve adjusted, you blink to see Clementine above you. You sit up from Hoseok, who you’ve been leaning on for the past few hours and who’s still sound asleep.

Who knew criticizing three romance movies back to back would make you so tired?

“Hi, Clem,” You yawn, stretching out your arms, “How was dinner?”

“Great,” She giggles, “I actually have something for you, and you might be mad at me for it.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s more of a who, than a what.”

You nod, as Clementine helps you get up from the couch. In your sleep ridden daze, you forget about your urgency to talk to Jungkook and you also don’t recognize that she’s pulling you from your arm and walking you out the door. You only realize it when a brisk wind slaps you harshly in the face, causing your hair to become even more tangled than before.

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Jungkook on your driveway and Clementine is running back into the house to find refuge in your best friend.

He’s dressed in a simple black suit, a white dress shirt neatly tucked into his pants. The thin, breathable fabric is tight against his skin, further showing just how built he is for his age. The scars and bruises have faded away completely, but you do see a bandage or two when his sleeve rolls up to scratch his nose or fix a piece of hair that’s out of place. His hair is neatly combed into a middle part, some of the hair fanning over his eyes. His hands are now shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring down at you, waiting for you to say something.

Small is probably the best way to describe how you feel when you’re in his presence right now. Underdressed, too, maybe, as you’re only clad in an old hoodie that has the name of a college you’ve never heard of, some thick, baggy sweatpants, and a pair of bunny slippers. Not to mention how messy your hair is and how your face is still puffy from the deep sleep you were in mere minutes ago.

“Um… Hi,” You wince once you hear how scratchy your voice is. This certainly is doing wonders for your image.

“Hey,” He responds, hesitant as well.

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words to say. You plan to confess to him, right here and right now, but another harsh wind hits you, causing you to shiver and clutch your arms around yourself to try to create some warmth for yourself. Immediately, Jungkook takes off his blazer and wraps it around you. He leads you to the trunk of his car, and once it’s open, he helps you get up there so you can sit.

Bless his parents for giving him an SUV.

The car trunk blocks out the outside wind, and Jungkook’s blazer gives you immense warmth. The scent of laundry detergent mixed with faint, pleasant cologne floods your senses, calming you down right away. Jungkook watches as you snuggle yourself in his clothes. His legs hang over the edge of the trunk while you curl up in a ball, leaning on one side of the car.

“I’m sorry,” You clear your throat, “For being an asshole.”

“It’s no-“

“No, don’t say that. It’s not something you can just brush over so lightly,” You look him dead in the eye while you speak, “I was terrible and I’m really sorry for saying such mean things to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Jungkook nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line before licking them. A thin layer of saliva glosses his lips, their color a more vivid shade of pink.

“I’m really sorry, Jungkook,” You repeat, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Your voice is clear even though your heart is beating violently against your chest, and even you’re amazed. Hoseok was right when he said that you were good with your words.

Well, up until now.

“Y/N-“

When he says your name, your words ungracefully sputter out of your mouth, displaying just how afraid you are. 

“No, I’m, like, really, really sorry,” You feel tears well up in your eyes, but you brave on nonetheless, “I get it if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, and that’s okay, I just-“

“Y/N.”

In a split second, Jungkook’s hands are cupped around your face. He stares into your eyes deeply, fondly, just like he always does. You blink back at him, eyes fluttering while you try to adjust to the proximity. It’s then where you see every single little detail on his face that makes him who he is. The little scar on his cheek, the moles lightly dotted on his skin, and the way his eyes seem doe-like, almost. You take it all in, noticing how your breaths have synchronized, cold fog coming from of both of your lips.

You almost forget how much you like the way he says your name.

“Listen to me,” He whispers, “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

“Really?”

“I forgive you.”

The tears you’ve been desperately trying to hold back have somehow found their way out, and Jungkook chuckles while his thumb wipes them away. His touch is gentle on your skin, almost ticklish, and he doesn’t say anything else but just continues to dry the tears falling from your eyes.

“Jungkook,” You sniffle, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

He shrugs, letting out a breathy laugh. It’s music to your ears, just like it’s always been.

“Only to the people I love,” He tilts his head to the side, “Other than that, I’m pretty selfish.”

You giggle as well, putting your hands on his and leaning more into his touch. Your eyelids flutter downwards, as you take the time to just feel him on your skin, to savor this moment for yourself.

“Do you still think I don’t know anything about you, Y/N?”

You open your eyes and look at him, as he expectantly waits for you to answer. For some reason, though, your words catch in your throat. You never seem to be able to speak properly around Jungkook. He sighs, taking your silence as a resounding “yes”.

“Your name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and you’re a junior in high school. You’re on the Monarchs cheer team, and your best friend is named Jung Hoseok,” He says, not taking his hands away from you, “You have a little sister named Clementine, who’s 12. Your mom’s a psychiatrist and your dad is an architect. Even though they’re always busy, they’ve been trying to find ways to spend more time together.”

The routinely symphony of crickets mixed with Jungkook’s voice and the scent of Jungkook constantly wafting into your nose almost makes you faint. The state you’re in is one of complete bliss, complete relaxation as his hands are warm and welcoming against your skin. You’d go to sleep if Jungkook wasn’t professing his love for you for the second time right now.

“You like One Direction, even though a lot of people think that’s cringy. You’re still a big fan of the Power Rangers, and Trini, the Yellow Ranger, is your favorite. You can be incredibly mean and you can say things out of line, but most of the time you just don’t think before speaking,” He smiles at you while he speaks, “Deep down inside I know you’re an incredible softie. And I know that because of how you treat Tina. And, ‘cause you’re a softie ‘round me too, even if you don’t realize it.”

“Oh, Jungkook,” You breathe out, a smile forming on your lips as well.

“You used to hate me, because I called you thunder thighs during practice, and rightfully so,” He mumbles the last part, and you giggle.

“Didn’t know you’d remember that.”

“Remembered it ‘cause I can never forget how angry you were that day,” He teases, “Anyways, you used to hate me so much. And I’ll be honest, you had every reason to. I didn’t like you that much either.”

“Ouch.”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“But then I got to know you, got to see how kind and genuine you are around people, even if you don’t see that,” He says, “Sometimes you say terrible things, but under that tough exterior, all you are is just a genuine girl who does her best to make the people she loves happy.”

“You’re hardworking, smart, and extremely funny,” He continues, “In and out, you’re a beautiful person. That’s the Y/N I know, and that’s the Y/N I love and I will be in love with for a long time.”

You sniffle, and Jungkook waits, afraid that you’ll start crying again. When you don’t, he takes a deep breath before talking again.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N,” He confesses, “Can’t you see?”

You shake your head, reaching out to grab him by the collar. You pull him in and press your lips against him, your whole body being set aflame and your lips telling him everything that you’re dying to say. There’s a faint taste of Jungkook’s watermelon flavored gum on your tongue (If you thought about it hard enough, there was a hint of pasta there as well). His lips are soft and pillowy against yours, and you feel as though you’ve waited for this moment for your entire life.

Who knew it would take your mom, your sister, and Hoseok to make you realize that?

Jungkook smiles against your lips, caressing your face lovingly with his thumbs. Your hand finds a way through his soft brown locks, combing through the strands that fall in between your fingers.

The sky is painted pitch black, save for the bright stars and the moon shining for the two of you, but your world is painted in deep shades of pink. Sure, it may be extremely cold because it is still December after all, but Jungkook’s lips feel warm on yours and that’s all the heat you needed to survive. You could stay like this forever if you could, if your lungs could take it.

However, that isn’t humanly possible, and after what feels like forever, your body reminds you that you still need oxygen to function.

You pull away, hands still in their respective place while the two of you meet eyes, chests moving up and down in sync. Your lips are slightly parted, mimicking Jungkook’s, and a silence falls on the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s peaceful, as your world becomes nothing but Jungkook right at this moment.

“I love you,” both of you say at the same time, and before you know it, you’re laughing. Jungkook’s still stunned at first, but now he’s laughing just because you’re laughing and it’s contagious.

And in this moment, you feel safe.

Sure, you didn’t know a thing about love. You couldn’t even tell left from right at some times. But maybe that was okay. Maybe you didn’t have to figure everything out right now. Sitting with Jungkook in the trunk of his car, where the stars are beaming down on you and his coat is keeping you warm, is honestly all you need tonight. And maybe you still have some negative feelings you need to resolve from your past relationships. Maybe you had some issues in yourself that you needed to sort out, but that was okay, because Jungkook had his fair share of issues himself. And regardless of all of that, he was ready to risk it all for you. He was willing to learn and grow with you. Jungkook would wait for you as long as it takes. And you don’t need him to reassure you. You didn’t need to worry about it. You didn’t need to worry about anything, you realize.

Because now Jungkook’s walking you back into your house, offering to tuck you into bed and stay with you until you fall asleep, even though you’re 17 and you’re very well aware that you don’t need someone else to keep you company so you can sleep.

That doesn’t mean you’d decline his offer, though, as you lie in bed with him, snuggled up in his arms while he runs his hands through your hair. His dress shirt is scratchy against your skin, but you don’t care. Being with him is enough for you. 

“Are you still on the team?” You ask out of the blue, eyelids drooping down while your burning curiosity gets the best of you, “You didn’t get kicked off because of me, did you-“

He peppers your face in kisses.

“Coach and I are close, he gets it,” He mumbles against your skin, “Just gotta do a lot of his chores for the rest of the year and summer. I’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“Okay…”

“That’s not your fault, princess,” He chuckles, “That was mine.”

“Yeah, definitely,” You nuzzle your face in his chest, “Still upset you did that.”

“Oh, I know,” He places yet another kiss on your head, “But for you, I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

And as the two of you fall asleep soundly in each other’s arms, you’re unaware of the loving smiles from your family and Hoseok’s faces when they see you two through the slightly opened door.

Epilogue

A little more than a year has passed. You’ve kept track.

Life has thrown obstacle after obstacle your way, but you’ve overcome all of them so far, and you plan to do so until your last breath. Jungkook was right when he said that you were strong. It’s amazing how you didn’t quite exactly realize this until now. 

But this “strength” is long gone today, as you’re sitting on a fancy wooden chair, the soft cushion feeling good under you, in the middle of an Italian restaurant. The chandelier’s are dimly lit, shading your beige surroundings in elegant oranges and creams. You take a deep breath, trying to still your heart that's pounding violently in your chest. Your nerves work against every single word of the pep talk you’ve given yourself this morning, and you steady yourself, fidgeting with the silk, blue fabric of your dress that’s laying across your lap.

You look over to your right, and if you were stressed out, Jungkook was ten times worse, to say the least.

His right leg is bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and he continues to wipe away sweat from his forehead with a napkin, despite the fact that the restaurant is heavily air conditioned. His lips are formed in a tight, miniscule circle, and he’s also trying to steady his breathing, but he fails time and time again, hyperventilating right after. Every few seconds, he’ll pull out his phone and use his camera as a mirror, his fingers fixing the littlest flaw in his hair that his mind seems to create. His left arm is resting on your chair, the feeling of the thick material of his sleeve tickling your skin.

You sigh, watching how much of a nervous wreck he was, despite how amazing he looked in his tux.

“Still can’t believe you took Clem to this place before me,” You quip, and Jungkook is taken out of his trance, a smile falling on his lips once his eyes meet yours, “I think that’s a little unfair, don’t you?”

A miniscule portion of the tension in his body is gone while he’s thinking of what to say, not willing to miss any chance of responding to your jokes with something of equal (if not more) wittiness.

“First come, first serve, princess,” He chuckles, and you roll your eyes at him, punching his chest lightly. Once you’re quiet, he’s back to overthinking.

“Y’know, the fact that you’re more nervous than I am is saying something,” You hum, reaching up to poke his cheek so that he returns to Earth.

“I can’t help it…”

You smirk, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His face flashes up, and he shakes his head at you.

“You’re crazy, y’know that?” He sighs, staring at you dreamily. Even now, he becomes head over heels when you kiss him out of the blue. The sight of him having literal heart eyes for you makes you giggle.

“So are you,” You respond, “But, hey, it’ll be okay, I promise. Nothing bad could possibly happen.”

“...Really?”

“Of course, Kook,” You place your hand on his thigh, giving it an affirmative squeeze, “Everything will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Well,” You click your tongue, “We’ll get there when we get there.”

He nods, most of the stress leaving his head. You take a sigh of relief, seeing how relaxed he’s become. Now he’s cracking jokes about anything and everything, and you feel a flutter in your chest. Jungkook was back to his normal self.

Well, he was until he suddenly froze in his seat while he was in the middle of telling you a funny story during practice. Your focus is turned away from him and you follow his line of vision. You’re met with a waitress leading a middle-aged man and a boy into the seating area. She scans the room and once she sees your table, she gestures over to you two, a bright, pleasant smile on her face.

Jungkook immediately stands up to greet the two of them, thanking the waitress for her assistance. He guides them to the table, and it’s only then where you get a good look at them.

You suppress a laugh. Jungkook definitely had his father’s nose.

So did his little brother, Yeonjin, who was the spitting image of Jungkook when Jungkook was 13. He even has the infamous bowl cut that Jungkook had when he was younger. The boy takes out the earbuds in his ears, unplugs them from his phone, rolls them up in his hand, and places the coiled up earbuds into his pocket of his trousers.

He stares up at you, almost in awe, and so does his dad, who’s looking you up and down. Jungkook’s father acts as if he’s dissecting a subject, taking you apart piece by piece and rearranging you in his mind so as to get a better understanding of your character. It’s times like these where you wish that mind reading was a skill.

Jungkook takes another deep breath. He then gestures to you, and you flash a polite smile to them, reaching out your hand.

“Um, Yeonie,” He clears his throat, “Dad, this is Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” His father says, a soft smile appearing finally. He shakes your hand. Yeonjin follows his actions, shaking your hand with an obviously lesser amount of strength, but with the same eagerness all the more. You hide the uneasiness in your chest, knowing all that you know about Jungkook’s dad and his brother. And knowing that his dad doesn’t know that you know about him.

Nevertheless, though, you sit down with his other side of the family and make easy conversation with them while all of you look through the menu. Yeonjin points to one dish on the menu to his dad, and then whips out his phone and starts scrolling through social media. He doesn’t say anything, save for a soft chuckle or snicker when he sees a funny post on his phone.

You take a glance at Jungkook, who has become more composed than earlier. You take a few more glances, and Jungkook does the same. When you make eye contact, you give him a bright smile, and he mirrors you. You feel the back of his hand on your thigh, and you put your hand in his. He lets out a sigh, squeezing you and massaging your skin with his thumb. The action brings both of you at peace.

“So, Y/N,” His dad takes a sip of the ice cold water in his glass, “How did you get to know Jungkook?”

This time, Yeonjin actually looks up from his phone to stare at you with curiosity.

You smile at them sheepishly, wondering what exactly to tell them of your wild ride of a story with Jungkook. Maybe you could omit some parts here and there, especially the part about him getting expelled because of you. You’re not even sure if his dad knew that happened to him.

You gulp, and Jungkook squeezes your hand once more. Now it’s him making sure that you return to Earth. Your nerves are still set on fire, though, and you stammer out a few incoherent sounds while you try to find the right things to say.

This was definitely going to be significantly harder than having dinner with his mom.

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed!!! it had quite a bunch of cliches but i loved writing them nonetheless. i love you all :)

[its-ya-boi-autumn]

Hope your day is going well can we get a sexy aggressive chrollo punishing their s/o for acting bratty? Thank you! ❤️

I've been in such a horni boi mood it's actually concerning

also, I’m posting this for 1.3k! Thank you guys and I apologize for the thousandth time for my lousy schedule with writing, this has been in my inbox as have many more and I plan to bust them out when I get the motivation. Thank you for sticking with me and still enjoying my content despite the fact that I’m a little slow, your support and patience is appreciated a lot :’) I suck at talking about emotions but I’m trying to be genuine I know I suck at it. I hope you enjoy this~ (I was uncomfy as hell meaning it’s a good one lol)

You couldn’t help the smirk that edged at your lips as the door slammed shut behind you. The click of a lock signaled your exit being sealed before you were spun around and slammed against the nearest wall, caging you in with his strong arms. Chrollo’s face was threateningly close, his lips allowed quick gusts of air to brush up against your own.

“Aww why are you all upset with me?” your tone was whiny and by God was it annoying. His grey gaze was hard on your face, clearly he’d had enough. You wiggled beneath him, your hands making way up his chest. He wasn’t having it, immediately taking your wrists and pinning them above your head. The mere force stole a rather erotic gasp straight from your throat. It was rare for his patience to run so thin and only you could get him here. But this was exactly what you wanted, and he knew it. Chrollo inhaled deeply before speaking.

“You know damn well why I’m upset with you. I’m not playing your little games tonight. Now is not the time y/n.” the way your name spilled from his mouth sent sparks fluttering around your thighs. Your hips drifted forward before coming into contact with his own.

“It definitely feels like you do~ come on Chrollo, please~?” you weren’t one to give up very easily which was initially what he liked about you. But tonight wasn’t the night for that. He’d have to leave with the troupe in 30 minutes and that was nowhere near enough time to punish you properly.

“I said no.” his voice stayed firm but your legs felt like jelly and you let your body sink against the wall, arms still high above your head. The way your mouth parted in a subtle moan mixed with your slack figure was a sight to behold and he didn’t know how much longer he’d hold off. Especially with your front rubbing up against his hard on.

“Even if you don’t fuck me you’ll have to fix your little friend down there.” you teased, rutting yourself again him again. You were granted a growl from somewhere in his chest, goosebumps slithering all over your skin. Your arms, your thighs, your chest, tingled with the need to be touched. You looked up at him with pleading eyes. He knew you were in need and you’d act like this until you got what you wanted. In fact the more he thought about it the riskier it may have been to leave you like this. For all he knew his phone would be blown up with explicits of your nude form and that was the last thing he needed on the job. You couldn’t fix it yourself since that little sweet spot was too far back for you to reach with your own slender fingers, and he’d refused you any toys unless he specifically used them on you because of his love for your desperation for him. And you were right. He’d have to fix himself before leaving, and Chrollo didn’t finish quickly.

You watched as his thoughts unfolded and you knew he was contemplating it. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, hoping he’d give in. Before you knew it you were spun around again, chest and face pressed up against the wall. His breath laid heavy near your ear. He said nothing but he didn’t have to. The throbbing of his cock on your ass said enough. The hand not holding your wrists roughly wound itself up your shirt, tugging insistently on the sensitive bud of your breast. You noticed he couldn’t help but rut himself through his jeans onto your clothed behind. The feeling made you giggle, earning a sharp smack on the ass. Your gasp only made him harder.

Chrollo knew it was a bad idea to draw this out, but your attitude warranted no reward. He needed to see you begging and pleading for him, though currently it seemed as if he were begging for you with the way he was dry humping you. He needed to switch things up a bit.

The feeling of his body parting from yours was cold and sudden, drawing a whine from you. The bulge beneath his zipper was beyond obvious, licking your lips at the sight. You watched your lover make his way for the bed, taking off his black blazer and setting it to the side. Chrollo plopped down on the sheets, patting his thighs.

“Come here princess.” his voice was low, no room for disobedience. You simply did as told, parting your thighs to seat yourself upon his thigh. He stopped you, smirking.

“Not like that,” he started, the look in his eyes hearing your core, “bend over for me.”

It took a moment for the command to process, but he waited. You gulped, sliding off his thigh to bend yourself over them. Your breathing became quite shallow, slight fear taking over your senses. His hand gently placed itself atop your behind, causing you to jump at the contact. This made him chuckle. It showed you hadn’t been quite ready.

“Hands behind your back.” and you did just that, crossing them behind the small of your back. Chrollo gripped your forearms and held them in place. The slight pressure arched your back enough for a slight pang of pain to elicit more wetness to your panties. His hand left your ass, leaving the anticipation of his next move to roll around your head.

“I should be leaving soon, but you’ve been a little too bratty for my liking tonight.” he mumbled, more to himself than to you, but you could still hear it. You scoffed.

“I had barely done anything~” you tried to coax him more. A white hot pain stung your ass cheek, followed by a resounding smack bouncing off the walls. You arched at the feeling, digging your teeth into his thigh. He hit you again.

“Lift your head up, I’d like to hear you.” Chrollo ordered your already shaking form. You tried, but it was it good enough for him. Another stinging smack against your skin. He hadn’t even taken your leggings off just yet but you could feel the welt already rising beneath the fabric. Chrollo hit so hard sometimes you had to hold back on the safe word, you knew he’d only gotten started and it’d only piss him off more. Though he’d stop if you asked him.

But all you wanted right now was for him to fuck you, though he didn’t even have the time to do so.

Another slap but this time to the sensitive spot at the very top of your thigh. The moan you let out surprised both of you. It had been louder than expected. Chrollo laughed.

“My my, you’re even needier than I thought sweetheart.” the teasing tone made your blood boil. He was one to talk. You wriggled around in his lap, trying to also get some friction for yourself between your legs. This, of course, earned you yet another smack to your upper thighs.

“Fuck just take them off already!” you whined to Chrollo. Your leggings had become so insufferably constricting and there was almost nothing you could do about it. Chrollo of course found your discomfort amusing but obliged to your wish, tugging the waistband down just enough so it set at the tops of your thighs. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted but it would have to do. You just wanted him to touch you, that was all you needed.

The palm of his hand smoothed over your bare rear, sending sparks of fire across your swollen skin. You jolted at the touch on the welted skin, your hips jumping up slightly. Chrollo slapped your ass once more for good measure, ghosting his hand across your core. His touch made you gasp, keening backwards for more. Another sharp smack.

“Don’t move.” the command had you clenching around nothing, soaking yourself.

“Chrollo please, I need you.” and so began the begging, your voice wobbly from the eagerness of your needs. The hand on your ass spread your cheek a little to the side, exposing cold air to your wet clothed cunt. It made you whimper, willing everything in you to stay still. He parted your thighs for a peek. Chrollo was rather pleased to see that your body’s primal had taken over. Just as he wanted.

“You want me to touch you, don’t you dearest?” the question was rhetorical. It was obvious what you wanted though you nodded anyway. He spanked you again.

“Speak.”

“Yes Chrollo!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I want- want you to touch me.” your response wavered, the sudden shame flooding in your chest. Cheeks–both sets–red and burning, Chrollo gave you another harsh blow, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “Chrollo please!” you tried again, wanting nothing more than his fingers to slip between your folds and prod at that sweet spot in the very back of your pussy. He did as you asked, sliding your ruined panties to the side to reveal your glistening heat, met with chill air all over again. Again your back arched at the sensation, toes curling and mouth hanging open. His middle and ring fingers gather your slick before dipping beneath your inner folds and caressing your walls shallowly. The sigh of relief you let out sent shivers all over your body.

“That feels good doesn’t it angel?” his pet names made your clit twitch. He knew every way to make you submit to him, taking pleasure in your despair. He delved deeper, stretching your pussy with a third finger before gently poking the spongey patch on your upper wall. Your legs started to shake, hips rocking in his lap. Rather than thrusting his digits in and out he simply focused all of his attention on that one patch, poking and rubbing against it generously.

Discharge had began to collect around his fingers, signaling your closeness so early. He withdrew his hands from you, picking you up and pinning you to the bed. He reached into his side table drawer and pulled out the leather handcuffs you’d bought, the purple glitter shining from the lamplight. Chrollo cuffed you to the headboard before getting up from the bed.

“H-hey! Where are you going?” you called out as he walked across the room. He opened the closet doors, rummaging through for something. He held whatever he found behind his back, closing the closet doors back up. He waltzed back over to the bed, revealing the wand in his hand. Checking his watch, he sighed.

“I guess it’s time for me to go now,” he started, plugging the wand into the wall next to your shared bed. He stuffed it between your legs, pressing it against your aching clit roughly. Chrollo turned the setting up so medium and your body instantly reacted. Your thighs clenched around the toy, rutting against it for some friction. His hand came down upon your ass once more making you cry out.

“Don’t come until I get back, understand?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He grabbed his blazer back up and fixed himself up some, just fo be safe. He could fix his little problem in his pants when he found a bathroom, though he wouldn’t have to worry about your antics until he got home. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?” you complained, shaking and tugging at the cuffs that bound your wrists.

“I’ll come back, but I want you to learn your lesson.” he said before leaving the room, you lying in bed, your release so close but always so far.

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 2

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 2k

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

The donut shop had air conditioning. It was pure heaven. A donut shop was heaven to you 365 days a year anyways. The AC, though… yes.

Christina chewed on her third blue glazed donut and refused to answer your questions. First, she refused. Then, she tried to talk her way out of it. In the end, she mentioned the friendship code, which applied in this case to Eric, and therefore she couldn’t say anything.

The confusion was real. You didn’t understand anything when most of the time you always understood everything. Following things you knew:

A) Eric always entangled you in debates. Sometimes it was a civil exchange, most of the times he got your blood boiling until you were close to lose your temper. This happened in class and other college surroundings, where you talked about a study related topic.

B) Until last week you always thought it was because of his ego and pure strive to demonstrate his intellect why he went for, at some point, the silliest of statements you had ever heard.

C) You also thought he did it just to piss you off.

D) Then last week happened. Then this afternoon happened and left you entirely confused.

E) Christina must know another reason why Eric constantly sought for an academic dispute. His statement from a couple hours ago, that there was ‚no reason‘, was highly suspicious. But Chris also didn’t tell you the reason.

F) That only led you to one, logical guess on what that unsaid reason could be.

„Is this about him having a long planned strategy to become the number one student of our year?“ Him seeing you as a serious competition to that title was the only reason you could think of. It wasn’t too odd of an assumption since after all those debates, silly statements or not, he was one of the smartest guys you had met so far.

Chris swallowed a bit of her new donut. Donut number four. „He isn’t in our year.“

You had sipped on your milkshake and instantly looked up. „What do you mean?“ Having to ask that question again frustrated you.

„That he’s way past us. He just finished his third year of medical school.“

„Excuse me?“ You got up from your seat and started wandering around the empty donut shop. „I’m surprised my body hasn’t taken the form of a question mark yet,“ you slowly talked yourself into a frenzy. „Christina, you’re telling me that Eric, who keeps pissing me off in two of my classes, for the last two years, isn’t even in my year? That he’s studying to become a doctor?“ Please behold me from chopping off a finger or something and him helping me.

She looked a little guilty for not giving you more information. Also a little amused.

„I am studying to become a damn mathematician. Why on earth would a medical student attend those classes?“

Christina had the audacity to laugh out loud. „I’m sorry, Y/N.“ Karma came around instantly and made her choke on a piece of donut for a few seconds. You hurried over to harshly pat her back until she coughed it out. „All I know is,“ she was still gasping for air, „he sometimes takes random classes for fun. Or for one of his big assignments.“

That was all. You wouldn’t get any further information. She crossed her arms and ignored all of your remaining questions. At least she left the donut shop with a stomachache and you knowing that Eric wasn’t even a math student.

/////

Once a week all roommates had at least one dinner together. ‚To strengthen the community‘ Uriah mumbled to you while you helped him turn the groceries, he and Chris had bought today, into a prober dish. Rice with a lot of veggies was the meal for tonight.

You were the last one to sit down and were surprised, and a little nervous, to find Eric sitting in the spot across from yours. He must’ve come home while you were still concentrating on not letting the veggies burn to death.

Christina hardly ate anything after her five donuts. Being a reasonable adult, you only had one donut at the shop.

„Who chose to put mushrooms in there?“ Eric didn’t look too glad when his fork discovered a tiny mushroom.

„Me,“ you stated, not afraid to have another silly debate. This time probably about how mushrooms shouldn’t be harvested because it takes away a food supply for deers.

„Next time just roast it short. Don’t turn it into these rubber–“

„Shut up, Eric.“ Four intervened. „Be glad someone made dinner.“

Exactly. You smiled at Four for his backup and continued eating. Even though you highly concentrated on the bowl in front of you, your eyes occasionally moved to Eric, to see if he had found another thing he disliked about the meal. And every single time his eyes met with yours.

This dinner wasn’t like all the previous ones you had here since moving in. It was unusually quiet. Everyone headed pretty fast into their rooms after finishing up and collectively cleaning the dishes.

Eric lingered around and was actually the last one to help you with putting back the plates and cutlery to where they belonged. You leaned to the countertop and tried not to stare too obviously when he stretched to place some glasses on the top shelf. He wore a t-shirt where he must’ve cut off the sleeves and the way his arm muscles moved, with every glass he put on that shelf, should be forbidden.

What? Oh man. That you caught yourself thinking that way, even though Eric didn’t notice it because he was still occupied with the dishes, made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. You hid your hands in your pockets to act casual. That’s when you noticed one of the many papers that were spread in nearly every clothing pocket and backpack of yours.

One of the many habits – coping mechanisms, actually – you had, was to write down unsolved problems in mathematics and brood over them whenever your brain was close to panic itself into a breakdown. To sit down and concentrate on a problem and search for a possibility to solve it, was what got you to study the most hated subject in the first place.

You pulled the paper out and checked what it referred to. The Riemann zeta function.

You tried to recall if any of the many debates with Eric ever had been about mathematics. They had never been about math at all you realised. The classes he had gone to were the social orientated ones. Those, where you discussed scenarios and ways on how to solve problems with a mathematical solution. Or at least help out along the way. And the debates were mostly about the logical or philosophic aspects. The reason why it had always been so easy for Eric to pull you into those discussions was because you didn’t study mathematics just for the sake of it. You didn’t want to become only a professor to teach others about it. You wanted to help people with all the abilities math provided. For example the study you worked on right now: a mathematical model to predict the success of immunotherapy for patients with cancer.

This is perfect.

There was no way Eric could enter a serious debate about the zeta function and not show that he studied something completely different. With a grin on your lips you cleared your throat to get his attention. Eric crossed his arms as he turned to you.

The game is on.

„Since you know everything better than me, and us living under the same roof now, I was wondering if you would take a look at some equations. I’m kinda stuck.“

Something in his face changed but he still said: „Sure.“

That’s a mistake, my friend. You handed him the paper, which he had to unfold his arms for again to take it. Those arms were bigger than the pile of books next to your mattress. Why did you never notice his muscles before? And why did you never notice that sharp jawline?

The concentration on his face didn’t give away that he had absolutely no clue what was on that paper. Time did. A minute or two went by without him looking up or saying a word. „That seems like a serious problem. I’m passing.“

„What are you studying again?“ Your voice as innocent as you could manage it to be.

„Why would you ask?“ He played it off. The crooked smile on his lips let you know he had a feeling for where this conversation would go, though.

„Because someone studying mathematics, like I do, would recognise the famous zeta function whose solution would earn you a reward of one million dollars.“

„I never said I study mathematics, Y/N.“ Eric grinned like you were the fool here. Like you had overseen something big. Like your little trap hadn’t worked.

„But you attend four full semesters of classes that aren’t necessary? Are you having such a big problem with me that you just can’t stay away?“ His stupid grin made it worse. That rage came rushing in because those ludicrous disputes sometimes had you thinking you were a complete idiot. „I mean no normal person would take those two extra classes for four solid semesters on top of damn medical classes. What’s wrong with you?“

„I like the extra knowledge.“ He simply stated, snapped a bottle of water from the countertop and slowly made his way down the hallway to his room. „And debating with you.“

/////

For your own wellbeing, and not to flip every time you thought about Eric being the biggest prick on this earth, you decided he was just a little sadist. Who had probably his only fun by infuriating you. You were glad to know about that hobby of his now and could focus on the more important things in life until next semester.

He just didn’t make it easy at all. Living under the same roof had diverted the debates from class to the dining table. Plus it had added a lot of other intentional disturbance on his part.

For a while you tried to just ignore it because he was a sadist, as you declared. On the other hand he exactly got what he had aimed at. Your anger.

„Eric,“ you shouted at the wall, knowing very well that he could hear you because you heard perfectly fine what kind of little movie he was watching. It paused for a few seconds and you breathed out in relief. Then it started again. So you raised your voice another time. „Use damn headphones!“

The only thing that happened was Uriah peeking his head in your room, with some incredibly high raised eyebrows. „Are you okay?“

„I am not.“ You buried your face in your hands. „Eric is watching porn and I can’t concentrate,“ you stated in despair.

„I’ll handle it,“ he smiled and was fast to knock at Eric’s door and enter his room after a ‚come in‘. They discussed for a while and Uriah gave you a thumbs up as he passed your room on his way back to the kitchen. Problem solved? Sounded like it. No noise from the other side of the room anymore.

The newest data had come in for the study this morning and you didn’t get anywhere yet. You just hadn’t been able to because of… picturing Eric watching porn. Ban it from your consciousness. With another deep breath, you started working in the newest data and focus only on your task. And it worked for a couple of minutes. Until Eric decided not to use headphones anymore and his porn noises echoed through the wall again.

I will strangle him in his sleep one night.

/////

A/N • I'm enjoying this way too much so there will soon be another update. probably next weekend. ok bye

Taglist • @longlostinanotherworld

Wanna get tagged too for future updates? Lemme know 🖤

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“A Fairytale for Christmas” Chapter 5

Mary Margaret met her at the elevator in the morning, a serious but concerned look on her face. "Let me walk you to your office," she said.

"No," Regina replied, fire burning in her veins. Her blood had been boiling for almost twelve hours, ever since her friends started to send her links to her mother's video. Regina had tried to call her mother but Cora was conveniently not answering her phone. Which meant that Regina couldn't confront her mother until now.

And nobody – not even her best friend and assistant – was going to stop her.

"Regina, don't do this," Mary Margaret said, following her. "Let's go into your office and talk this out first."

"There's nothing to talk about with you," Regina said, still looking straight ahead. People darted out of her way, all understanding that they needed to avoid her and keep the path to her mother's office clear. "I need to talk with my mother."

Cora's assistant stood up as Regina approached. She looked white as a ghost as she held up her hands. "Let me announce you, Miss Mills," she said.

"No need," Regina replied, walking right past her. "My mother will make time to talk with me whether she likes it or not."

She opened the door and stalked into her mother's office. Cora was the picture of serenity as she sat at her desk, writing something. She didn't look up as Regina stopped at her desk, seething as Cora held up her hand. "You can schedule a meeting with my assistant and I'll talk to you then."

"No, Mother," Regina said, almost spitting out the words. "You're going to talk to me now."

"Mrs. Mills?" The assistant sounded scared and was no doubt hovering by the door, ready to throw Regina out on her mother's word.

Cora slowly looked up and waved her assistant off. "It's okay. I was expecting my daughter."

Regina heard the door click shut. Glaring at her mother, she asked: "How dare you?"

"Please sit, Regina," Cora said, motioning to the chair next to Regina. "My neck already hurts from having to look up at you."

"I think I'll stand," Regina replied, knowing her mother would either have to stand or continue looking up at her instead. She hoped it was the latter and that Cora would understand how she felt in that moment.

She then said: "You didn't answer my question."

"I wasn't aware it was a question," Cora said. "It felt more like an utterance."

"I'm not in the mood for your little games, Mother," Regina warned her, clenching her fists to keep from doing something she would regret. "Why did you make that video?"

Cora sighed, standing now. "I made it to help you."

"Help me?" Regina asked, trying not to yell though she wanted to scream from the tallest building in Mist Haven. Her mind felt like a jumble as she tried to collect her thoughts. "How did you even find out about the man at the party anyway?"

"I have my ways," her mother replied vaguely. "And so I'm doing something try to get your mystery suitor to reveal himself."

Regina frowned, wondering if Shakespeare would be tempted out by the offer of marriage. And if he was, did that mean he was the man for her after all? Was that her mother's ultimate plan? To humiliate her?

"I had it under control," Regina argued, not wanting her mother to think she was winning this argument. "I would've found him in good time."

"Well, I hurried the process along," Cora replied smugly.

Regina glared at her. "By offering my hand in marriage like I'm some fairytale princess. This is the twenty-first century, Mother. People just don't do that."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Cora said, waving her hand as if dismissing her.

"I'm not the one who filmed a video and put it on the internet telling everyone that my daughter is going to be married by Christmas," Regina told her. "Why Christmas?"

Cora sipped her coffee. "Gives him a deadline. We don't want your Mr. Right waiting forever to come forward. Besides, Christmas weddings are beautiful, don't you think?"

Regina did think Christmas weddings were beautiful but that was beside the point. "I don't want to get married this Christmas to a complete stranger."

"He's not a complete stranger," Cora argued. "He's the man you fell in love with."

"I don't know if I love him! I think there's the possibility but we would need to nurture it, not rush down the aisle. That's a recipe for disaster and probably make my reputation in the tabloids worse," she argued, hoping that would appeal to her mother and get her to back off this ridiculous plan.

Cora, though, shook her head. "Nonsense. Tabloids love a good wedding."

"And they love a scandalous divorce even more," Regina retorted.

"Who said anything about divorce?" her mother asked, sounding as if it was obvious Regina would just live happily ever after with Shakespeare once he showed up to marry her after only sharing one night together.

Regina shrugged. "Marrying someone I barely know seems to promise that we could end up hating each other and getting a divorce."

"Oh, nonsense," Cora said. "There will be no divorce."

"Because you think I'll be happy?"

Her mother sighed. "I wish you would give up this fantasy of what marriage is. It's so…childish."

And suddenly Regina understood.

"You don't think there will a divorce because you expect me to stay in a miserable marriage because that's what you did," Regina countered. "You expect me to just suffer in silence."

"No, I expect you to be an adult and do the mature thing," Cora said. "I want you to put aside these immature thoughts and actions. I want you to finally gain access to your inheritance and be the woman your father wanted you to be."

Regina's heart hurt at the thought of her father, the loving and affectionate man driven to an early death as he tried to cope with being married to her mother. Venom filled her as she spat out: "Don't bring him into this."

"Don't sound like I'm spitting on his memory," Cora snapped at her. "You're the one doing that."

"I still can't believe that Daddy wanted me to get married just to be married," Regina told her mother. "That doesn't make any sense."

Cora sniffed. "Your father wanted what was best for you."

"I can't see how marrying a virtual stranger is what's best for me," Regina argued, feeling her anger rise again as she thought of the essentially arranged marriage her mother was trying to force her into. Hopefully everyone realized how fucked up this was and no one rose to take the bait.

"He's not a virtual stranger," Cora argued. "You said you both felt a connection, right?"

Regina shifted from foot to foot. "I thought so. I'm not sure. Maybe I was just imagining it because I wanted it be true?"

Cora rolled her eyes. "I did not raise you to be so wishy-washy, Regina. I raised you to be confident and assertive."

"I know," Regina replied, not willing to get into an argument with her mother about that. "I'm not a mind reader, though. I can't guarantee he felt the same connection I did. Besides, actions speak louder than words. He ran off after realizing we would have to take off our masks. For whatever reason, he didn't want me to know his identity. He may not want to come forward."

Even after that wonderful kiss that haunted her dreams and confused her. Had it been a kiss to wrap up their entire interaction and allow him to move on? Or was it a promise that there could be more?

She wished she knew.

"Of course he'll want to come forward," Cora insisted. She motioned to Regina. "Who wouldn't want to be married to a successful businesswoman like you?"

That was oddly complimentary for her mother and Regina raised her eyebrow. "You're hoping the money will lure him out."

Cora shrugged. "Not entirely but I'm sure it couldn't hurt."

"I keep telling you I don't want someone who just wants me for my money," Regina told her. "You never listen to me."

"You need to stop pretending the money will never play a role in any of your future relationships," Cora told her. "It's always about money in the end.'

Regina resisted the urge to throttle her mother and switched to a different tact. "Well, what happens when you go through all of this, somehow find Shakespeare, throw this amazing Christmas wedding in three weeks and there's no bride?"

That finally caught her mother's attention and Cora frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Last I checked, we live in a country where you can't force someone into an unwanted marriage," Regina said. "What if I just don't show up and refuse to get married? What then?"

Cora studied her before asking: "Do you like your lifestyle, Regina?"

"What?" Regina asked, surprised.

"Your job? Your house? Your car?" Cora asked. "All those parties you attend or throw? All your designer clothes? And all those trips you take?"

Regina didn't like where this was going as she asked: "What does any of that have to do with this?"

"I think you'll find it has everything to do with this," Cora said, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. It sent a child down Regina's spine.

Holding her chin higher, Regina said: "I'm not in the mood for your riddles today, Mother. Just spit it out."

"How crass," Cora said, shaking her head. "Fine. I'm still the executor of your father's estate and the CEO of this company."

"I know that," Regina replied, her stomach twisting into knots.

Cora nodded. "So I could fire you."

"You wouldn't dare," Regina said, though she knew that her mother never made a threat she wasn't ready to execute.

"Wouldn't I?" Cora countered. "With you gone, there's no need to keep Mary Margaret around either as I'm sure our new COO would want their own assistant so she would have to go as well."

Regina tried not shake as her anger consumed her. "Don't use my friends as collateral damage."

Her mother continued as if she hadn't heard Regina. "And then there's the house. It's still technically mine so I could kick you and Granny out and sell it. I could also sell your horse as well."

"I own Rocinante," Regina reminded her, fire in her veins and voice. "You can't touch him."

"But I own the stables," she replied. "So you would definitely have to move him. With no job or house, how are you going to afford him?"

Regina held her chin high. "I have savings. And I'm sure I could get another job soon enough."

Cora looked smug. "Do you think so? Your only job has been at your family company. Are you sure other companies will think you had talent or was it just nepotism?"

"I'll work my way up," Regina said. "I'll prove my worth."

"But what about Mary Margaret and Granny? What are they going to do?" Cora asked. "I doubt you'll be able to hire Mary Margaret. And Granny will probably have to go to a home."

Rage filled Regina. "You would really hurt innocent people just to see me married to anybody with a penis?"

"If that's what it will take, then yes," Cora snapped. "It's time to grow up, Regina. I trust you will do the right and mature thing."

"Fine," Regina said, feeling as if her back was against the wall. But hopefully if she went along with Mother's harebrained scheme, she would have time to find a way to at least protect Mary Margaret and Granny before bailing on the wedding. "If Shakespeare shows up, I will marry him."

Smug, Cora smiled. "There. Already a fast improvement. I can't wait to see what happens once you and your mystery man are officially husband and wife."

"Neither can I," Regina replied, hoping that Shakespeare was some place he couldn't return until from after the New Year. Then she could avoid the marriage and have more time to fortify plans against her mother.

"I hired the same party planners you used for your masquerade," Cora said, moving back to her desk. "They clearly planned the event of the year so only they could top themselves."

Regina's stomach tightened at the thought of seeing Keith again. "Oh."

"They'll be here this afternoon to start discussing the wedding," her mother continued. "Four PM sharp. You will be here."

"Yes, Mother," Regina replied, knowing there was no point in fighting her. She would put up with being treated like a child as long as she could keep Mary Margaret and Granny safe for now.

But once they were safe for good, Cora would regret this behavior.

Regina would see to that.

"Is there anything else?" Cora asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Regina said, gritting her teeth as she played the role of dutiful daughter. "I'll see you at four."

Her mother nodded. "Good. You may go now."

Dismissed, Regina left her mother's office. She walked the hallway toward her office, frowning when she saw several employees pressed against the windows lining the corridor. Regina stopped, tilting her head. "What's so fascinating?"

"Oh, Ms. Mills, we didn't see you there," one woman said. "We were just looking at the line of men outside."

A man nodded, grinning. "Looks like you have a good amount of suitors."

"What?" she asked, turning to the windows and looking outside. She saw a line of men on the sidewalk outside the building, all clearly there to answer her mother's video. Regina let out a soft groan. "Oh no."

"I think this is romantic," another woman said with a dreamy sigh.

Her companion nodded. "It's like something out of fairytale."

"Only because it's not your life," Regina snapped at her, causing both women to shrink back. They tried to stammer out their apologies but she was not in the mood for them. Glancing at the men ready to throw themselves at her and her family's money, disgust filled her and she walked away.

"She's acting like more of a bitch than usual," the second woman said, either not realizing that Regina was still within earshot of her or not caring. "Why propose marriage if she didn't want a line of men waiting to woo her?"

Regina paused, feeling her eyes twitch as she resisted the urge to turn around and tell that woman off. Thankfully, Mary Margaret swooped in to answer them instead. "Mrs. Mills proposed marriage without Regina's consent. How would you feel if you arrived home to a bunch of strange men and your parents telling you that you needed to marry one in three weeks? Would you consider that romantic?"

"No," the woman replied, sounding hesitant. "I guess I wouldn't."

"When you put it that way, it sounds like a nightmare," the first woman said, now sounding disgusted.

Regina couldn't agree more.

She continued to hope that Shakespeare didn't show up. And if he did, she was prepared to find a way to at least delay the wedding until she was ready without her mother destroying the lives of those she loved the most.

If it was a fight Mother wanted, it was a fight she was going to get.

And Regina was determined to win it.

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[sweetestlamb]

Wake Me Up Inside(Chapter 2)

Summary: Hope is a flickering light, coming and going as it sees fit. 

Author's note: Y'all like this? Color me surprised I thought everyone had cast Sujin aside based on tumblr post honestly, expected maybe 3 people to read this. I'm happy so many are enjoying, thanks for coming along for the ride. If any talented individuals want to make me a header that would be great, anyway enjoy the teen angst. More awful parenting, beware. it hurts me to write this but random immediate romance doesn’t make sense to me so here we goooo. 

The world seems larger, everyone towers over her as they squeeze by jostling her tiny body, she twists and turns desperately searching for a familiar face and faltering when there is none. Just blurred faces with stretched out smiles that are horrifying grotesque, almost as if they were painted on by a deranged circus clown. She begins to run frantically racing away from the figures, who are now reaching out for her grabbing her arm and tugging at her pigtails. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, bringing a trembling hand to her lips she finds them sewn shut, silencing her petrified screams.

Then a hand clutches at her elbow and she's spun around, suddenly staring into the face of evil.

"Where have you been you brat? Everyone was waiting for you."

She tries to tug free of his punishing grip but his fingers tighten on her tender flesh, marking the delicate skin. Ignoring her evident trepidation he forcefully pushes her towards a table, with a large looming birthday cake.

"Hurry up and blow out these candles, you're almost old enough to be useful to me."

Screaming no in her mind, she breaks free of his hold running as fast as her compact legs will take her but she miscalculates and trips over a stray toy, tumbling over the edge of a pool she hadn't noticed there earlier. The cold splash of the chlorine scented water on her skin shocks her in a panicked daze and when she pries her eyes open the menacing face of her father greets her looking nonplussed by her hectic drowning.

"Good riddance." He smirks sipping from his cup as he stalks away, no longer bothered with her. 

Water constructs her airway and she continues to sink to the bottom. Forgotten and discarded.

With a flash she bursts from her nightmare silent scream on her tongue, it's his presence that silences her cry. Wide feline eyes regard her from his crouched position, it takes a moment to realize that the rapid puffs of air filling the room are coming from her lips. She grips at the mattress beneath her, hopelessly pleading with her heart and lungs as her body quivers from the intensity of her dream.

"Are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream, I called your name a few times."

She's decidedly not any semblance of okay and has no concept of what that would entail for her but she finds herself nodding, lying as easily as she always does.

"I'm fine." Clipped and brisk despite the cold sweat on her skin, she's probably soaked through his shirt the collar almost plastered to red collar bones.

He doesn't reply further than pursing his lips and walking over to a dresser she'd hadn't noticed earlier.

"That lie would probably be more believable if you didn't look as if you were going to pass out at any second." She can hear his eyes rolling at her and it raises her heckles, she doesn't need anyone looking after her, she is fine on her own.

"I should go." She says curtly, forcing herself out of the dangerously warm bed to walk across the room and test her previously soaked pajamas. Damp, but they'll do.

"I thought you had nowhere to go." He challenges finally standing to his full height, subconsciously she flinches at the sudden movement and immediately he takes a step back pressing himself almost flush with the wall. Lowering his head until they are almost eye level. Shame washes over her do strongly she has to turn away, so pathetic.

Speaking to his bedpost she answers, "That was last night. I can go home now."

Her father will be at work until late into the evening, she just needs to lock herself in her room and she should be safe until school tomorrow.

He hums at her sounding closer than he did earlier, "You don't have to go. I'll find an excuse to give my mom, you can stay here."

No she can't. She knows what's going through his mind, probably the same thing that went through Suho's when he saw the blood on her lip for the first time, you poor little thing. Pity was always the first reaction but it never lasted, eventually pity shifted to annoyance nobody wanted to be friends with someone getting beaten. It was depressing, and uncomfortable to discuss and there was nothing anyone could do to help her. It was her penance for being born a girl and not being the best at least to make up for that disappointment.

"I'm not a stray puppy, you can't just pick me up off the street and expect me to stay. I told you, I'm fine." This time she says it harder, sharper with a bite that screams don't push me.

Unsurprisingly enough Han Seojun doesn't seem intimidated by her.

This time she gets to witness the eye roll as he approaches her but still keeps his head lowered as if deferring to her. "I already told you that I don't pity you, you need help stop pretending you don't."

But she's not pretending, that would imply that she wants others to help secretly. That just isn't accurate, she wants nothing- expects nothing. Her father pound any inkling of hope she had out a long time ago.

Stepping into his space, her eyes narrow as she bites out, "I don't need anything certainly not help from you. You're not a nice person, what am I your one good deed? Just mind your business."

She pointedly glances away at the flash of hurt that scatters across his expressive face.

She expects him to lash out, stretch to his full form and berate her, reprimand her ungrateful behavior and an even darker side of her almost expects him to slap her. I see why your father does that, you deserve it.

"Suit yourself."

That's all he says solemnly with a shrug before tossing more dry clothes at the bed and silently exiting the room.

She feels worse than she did before. Guilt gnawing at her, she ignores the offered clothes she doesn't deserve his hospitality or warmth. She disrobes and puts back on the damp chilled pajamas, that matches her better.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That's what he gets for trying to help someone, his act of kindness thrown back in his face. Angrily he pours the boiling water into the waiting cup, starting his mother's mandatory morning tea. He's so lost in the routine that he doesn't notice her presence until she clears her throat. His pride stops him from turning around, her words were as painful as a dagger.

"Your clothes are on the bed. I called a cab."

He nods without looking back, "Get home saf--" He cuts himself off, maybe he's overstepping again. So he just hums and stirs the now perfect cup of tea with a splash of milk. His sister's will get three sugars, she has such a sweet tooth.

The soft snap of the front door closing is loud in the silence of the morning, the sun has barely risen. His mother will be out in an hour, he was worried for nothing. Nobody will even know she was here. He can pretend this was all a fever dream and listen to her advice, he's never minded anyone else's business why did he decide to start now?

Lesson learned.

He spends the remainder of his weekend not thinking about the bruises on her face and instead plays video games, bullying Suho into playing Call of Duty with him online until the stupid genius starts to win too often and it's no longer stress reducing.

"Sore loser." He scoffs at the staticky insult through his headphones, draining the can of soda he took from the fridge. He should start dinner soon, his mom and sister will be back from shopping any minute.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He can't help but roll his eyes at the lame response but he pushes on ignoring his brain shouting at him that this is the opposite of minding his business. He hardly listens to his brain, his gut is much stronger.

"Does Sujin have any siblings? Or does she like to box or anything like that? " He tries to make sense of the night, maybe it wasn't what he thought initially. From his memory Sujin comes from a very affluent respectable family, there's no way right?

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me." He quips impatiently, ready to let go of this unwarranted worry that's been weighing on his heart.

After a long pause where he checks if his Wi-Fi disconnected he finally hears a response, "No. She lives with her mother and father, she's an only child. And I’ve never known her to do anything physical like that."

His chest tightens, not what he wanted to hear. Her flinch this morning flashes brightly in his memory. He wasn't mistaken. He's sure of it, she'd been scared. 

"Why?"

He can barely hear through the ringing in his ear, "Nothing. I have to go."

He signs off before the other boy can reply, walking autopilot to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Chopping vegetables does nothing to stop the nausea bubbling in his stomach.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Taking the bus the next day is out of the question, he has spent the entire weekend wishing he had the nerve to get the girl's number but anyone he asked would misunderstand why and he didn't need anymore rumors circulating, he would just have to get it from her himself. If she wanted him to mind his business she shouldn't have collapsed where he could see.

The engine rumbles between his legs as he brings his motorcycle to a stop, swinging off effortlessly before tugging the helmet off and shaking his hair free. He doesn't notice the various lecherous female and male eyes watching his very moment, too focused on walking into the school and finding her.

Turning a corner he sees her instantly, sandwiched between her two best friends, they look like a high school brochure giggling as they walk down the hallway garnering the attention of most of the male population. The purple bruise on her cheek is missing, nothing but smooth blemish free skin. He almost does a double take. As all three of them pass him, he locks eyes with Sujin for a moment, the mask slides off for a second but the moment he blinks the façade snaps back into place, nothing left but a pretty empty smile.

He follows them into class, sliding into his seat and promptly going to sleep. He has to catch her alone.

Doing so proves to be a near impossible feat, she's always surrounded by her two bestie shadows and Chorong and the gang are never far from him either. He sighs forlornly even time he sees her only for someone to interrupt before he can approach her. All too frustrated.

He's sitting dejected on the staircase when he hears the bustle of students in the hallway, their voices carrying down the long space and he rolls his eyes imagining what ridiculous situation they've deemed as drama now. Last time it was Ju-Kyung having pimples, a topic that was completely groundbreaking and worthy of weeks of discussion. So it's with the smallest shred of curiosity that he stands up wandering over to the commotion.

"What's going on?" He directs to the closest person, some mousy looking girl who stutters out an indecipherable answer. He looks at her confused before stalking away to find someone who has a better grasp of communication. He poses the question again, to a boy this time.

"I heard one of the girls started freaking out in the bathroom. Screaming not to be touched."

He stands frozen before the words register in his brain and his feet are moving without his brain's permission. Shoving past gossiping bystanders, he easily gets to the front only to see Ju-Kyung covering someone with her sweater as they walk down the hallway. Immediately the crowd comes alive and they surge forward like a wave all calling questions out at once, "What's wrong with you?", "Why did you freak out?", "Who do you think you are? Are you too rich to be touched or something?"

He twists his head around ferociously at the last question, everyone in front of him gulps while taking a step back. The hallway is a cacophony of voices and shouts and he can feel his anger boiling, slamming his fist into the nearest surface-a wall- he gets everyone's attention.

"Go back to your classes. Now."

Some of the male students look as if they are going to challenge his authority but another step forward is all it takes to get the student body scampering to their classrooms.

Inhaling deeply he stomps off to find the source of his unease.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been hard to disregard, how lacking of warmth her house was. Seojun's apartment had been brimming with warmth and love, the fridge bursting with papers and drawings documenting that someone cared enough to show them off. Her home was a large empty prison in comparison.

But she'd been right, it was dark and quiet proof that her parents were not home. With her heart in her throat she ran to her room, locking the door behind her. Sleep captured her before she knew she was in its grasps, waking up groggy hours later and forgetting where she was. Fierce pounds on her door reminded her instantly.

"Open this door now."

His voice is a low growl, even more terrifying than when he's screaming his lungs out. She grabs her vanity chair pressing it under the door knob for more protection.

She jumps when the door bulges, the loud crashing making it clear that he's slamming bodily into the door now determined to get to her.

"Please....stop." She pleads, tears already cascading down her bruised cheeks.

"Open this fucking door!!"

She's sobbing now, body folded as she cries her eyes out shaking viciously as her father continues to ran into the door, dread filling her stomach as he's never fought this hard before.

Then everything is quiet.

The pounding is gone as suddenly as it arrived. She doesn't let go her panic just yet, still too raw. Butt seconds crawl to minutes and she hears nothing so she finally exhales, sliding to the floor in relief.

She weakly crawls to her bathroom, turning the dial to the hottest temperature possible wanting to burn off his brand on her skin. After her shower she brushes her wet hair, staring at the bruise, it's turning yellow now with tinges of purple. Good thing she let Su-ah and Ju-Kyung convince her to buy foundation the last time they were in the beauty store. She will have to layer it on tomorrow.

She's starving but the thought of leaving her room with him in the house is enough to eliminate her appetite. Instead she puts on a warm sweater and sweat pants and wraps herself in a thick blanket, still too cold ice running through her veins.

She had never felt as warm as she did at his house.

A quiet knock thankfully pulls her away from such unnecessary thoughts. She simply listens.

"Su-jin, it's mom. I brought you food."

She sits up, crawling out of bed to stand in front of the bed. Her mother has never brought her food, even when she was nine and hadn't gotten a perfect score on her spelling test and her father locked her in the closet for two days with only a dictionary. She'd contemplated eating the pages before she was finally set free. Her mother had simply looked away, avoiding eye contact until she was safely back in her room.

But her stomach grumbles at the mention of sustenance and despite her best judgement she opens the door.

It's a mistake.

Immediately she notes that her mother has nothing in her hands, trembling herself and before she can slam the door shut a foot blocks her escape.

He uses the belt that time whipping her in places that others will never see, her back, thighs, and shoulders. Her mother's weakly calls out, "Don't hit her face she has to meet that boy you wanted this week."

It goes on for what seems like hours, he leaves her crumpled on the ground her body stinging as she refused to cry, blinking her tears away not wanting to give him what he wants. When her mother meekly walks over and extends a hand to her, she looks at her with listless eyes. Her mother has a fresh bruise on her cheek, her father hardly hits her anymore using Sujin has his punching bag instead but at times of high frustration he would regress.

She wonders if her mother knew that one day this would be her faith. If this was the purpose of her birth.

She doesn't take the hand. It seems there was still some hope left, it is extinguished now.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The school day had been easy she's been hiding her abuse for years, no teacher had ever suspected a thing and she didn't even blame them. It would just be bothersome, her father was a powerful man there wouldn't be much they could do.

She slaps on a smile, allowing herself to be dragged around by Su-ah and Ju-Kyung, listening as they giggle about their boyfriends chiming in the appropriate moments to not seem disinterested or jealous. She is jealous though, of their freedom and innocent problems, she'd lost her innocence a long time ago.

She knows Seojun is trying to talk to her but she can't handle seeing him right now, having to face someone who knows what she's going through sounds worst than being beat right now. So she jolts at every sight of the tall lanky figure, thankful for his fan club who seems to announce his every arrival. She's on her way to having a successful day when everything goes to hell.

She's in the bathroom drying her hands when a classmate comes in, responding to the small talk she answers the girl's question before nodding her head in goodbye.

"Oh your tag is sticking out."

That's all she hears before a hand is brushing across her sore beaten neck and her reaction is instantaneous, she turns around catching the offending hand and twisting it.

Her throat wheezes out, "Don't touch me."

The girl stares at her wide-eyed before tugging her hand away, then other girls begin to come of the stalls to see what's happening and before she knows it she's hyperventilating on the ground, nonsensical words dripping off her tongue. Everything is too loud and her head is splitting in half just when her vision is graying out, she smells a familiar perfume.

"Su-jin ah, you're going to be okay. Just breathe with me, follow me."

Ju-Kyung's voice is calming and sure, not touching her but covering them both in her sweater as she models how to breathe, she follows until her lungs are no longer burning.

"Good. You're doing so good, is it okay if I touch you? I'm going to help you up."

She grabs at the bathroom wall yanking herself until she's upright, trying to show her friend that she's not that weak but a look of hurt is displayed on her face and Sujin doesn't comprehend why.

The other girl shakes it off though, now covering her fully with her cornflower yellow sweater.

She's suddenly reminded of her nightmare this morning as she has to pass all the students in the hallway, all pointing and laughing as she falls apart some of them even have their phone out recording her and she sways uneasily before catching herself, trembling the whole way she walks down the hallway until a loud bang and a voice she recognizes all too well silences the uproar.

Resisting the desire to look back she allows Ju-Kyung to pull her up the stairs until they're on the roof. Air pumps into her lungs as she's finally free of all the judgmental eyes.

She expects the other girl to start interrogating her the moment the door closes but it never comes, instead Ju-Kyung places her sweater around her trembling body.

"You're okay. Just keep breathing."

She does her best to follow the uncomplicated directions.

After a few minutes, Ju-Kyung's phone suddenly rings disturbing the quietude. She barely hears blood rushing in her ears like the waves at the beach.

"Okay we're on the roof."

She stills at that utterance, turning in alarm.

"Who was that? Who did you tell where we are?"

Ju-Kyung looks guilty, as if she wasn't meant to hear that conversation. She doesn't want to see anyone right now, can barely stand to be with herself.

"Call them back and tell them not to come. I want to be alone."

Ju-Kyung holds her phone in her hands gingerly staring at the screen, clearly contemplating what is the right decision. She almost lunges for the phone to see who is the most recent call, but it's not needed as the roof door slams open.

"Why are you here?" She shouts, walking away now furious that tears are already filling her eyes now just at the sight of him.

"Nice to see you too princess." He drawls back, following her further onto to roof.

"Will you two be okay? I have to go back to class."

She spins to glare at her friend, why would she leave her alone with Seojun? They have had any interaction at school that hasn't been antagonistic.

"Yes, we need to talk." He answers for them and that's enough to make Ju-Kyung nod before walking off with a smile in her direction. The door shuts loudly behind her retreating back, Sujin wants to chase after her. Instead she turns back to him spitting fire and poison. 

"I told you to mind your business."

"Are you okay?" He counters, eying her like a wild animal who can bolt at any minute, he isn’t wrong.

"That's none of your business!"

His expression remains the same, those beguiling feline eyes that scream at her.

"How hurt are you?"

Her emotions come crashing down again. He just keeps pushing and picking at her, no matter how much she shouts and shoves him away he just won’t go away like everyone else did. What is wrong with him? Couldn’t he see that she was more trouble than she was worth?

"What do you want to hear, huh? That everything hurts, that he used a belt this time! Do you want to hear about how he beat me until I bleed! Why do you care what happens me, why won't you leave me the fuck alone!"

Sobs ravage her body, she keeps brushing the fiery tears away fighting with her emotions but they won't stop and her palms are wet from covering her face, her breath is hitching until she starts hiccupping uncontrollably and she starts to feel light-headed.

"Hey! Su-jin! Breathe!"

But she can't, she doesn't remember how. Her body only knows how to hurt.

"Breathe, damnit!" Despite his shout, she hears the slight quiver in his voice but she can't discern why it's there but it desperately makes her want to obey.

When he cups her head, staring her head on she feels the vine wrapped around her lungs shrivel up and air starts gushing in until she feels dizzy, she sways back and forth gravity now also working against her and then she's being reeled in, her head placed on his chest. The thumping of his heart lulls her into a meditative state, she starts to count the beats and before she knows it the cobwebs in her head subside. Embarrassed by their sudden closeness, his arms are still by his side now almost immediately retracting from her head but she can feel his warmth radiating onto the skin of her thighs, she begins to draw back.

"Just stay. It's helping."

She blisters at his words, preparing to push him away.

"It's helping me, seeing you like that....it scared me. I helped you the other night, you should return the favor."

She puffs up before deflating, she'll never admit it but this is helping having something else to focus on, his scent, his heartbeat, the way his chest expands and constricts with every breath. The buzz of their skin nearly touching, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and into her ears, all placating and soothing her worries away. 

"Fine."

She's never known Seojun to stay still for this long after years of attending the same school, always bursting with kinetic energy so she's pleasantly surprised by how long he simply stands and lets her rest on his chest, neither of them saying a word.

She stiffens when he suddenly starts moving disturbing their stillness, she sees his hands balled into tight fists by his side and wonders what's going through his mind.

"You can't go back there."

This again, she starts to remind him that she has nowhere to g--

"Stay with me."

[pedros-mustache-main]

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year...

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent​ for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.

the end-of-tour party in montreal.

god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.

brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”

jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”

roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.

john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.

the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.

roger removes his sunglasses.

“it was just a party, jim.”

there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”

roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”

“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”

jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.

he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”

jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”

“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”

jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”

roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”

jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”

roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”

it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.

roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”

“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”

“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”

“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.

“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”

jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.

still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.

he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.

“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”

“you look beautiful, [y/n].”

with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”

ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”

you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”

ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”

sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.

you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”

“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”

“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”

ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.

“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”

you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”

before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.

he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.

when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”

“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”

“right.” he nods once.

from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.

“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.

his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”

“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”

he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.

“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”

“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”

ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”

the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.

then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.

the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.

“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”

lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.

“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.

“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”

roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”

you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”

roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”

he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.

“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”

“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.

you nod. “mhmm.”

“she doesn’t look like you.”

you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”

“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”

“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.

the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.

the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”

the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.

oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.

one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts. 

you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.

this is a job for you. nothing more.

the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.

“hello?”

“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”

“yes. who is this?”

“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”

he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”

“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”

“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”

“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”

“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”

“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”

“afraid so.”

“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”

“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you’re not shouting at me like rog does.”

after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.

he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.

you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”

roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.

“are you an angel?”

you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”

“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”

“that’s kind of you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”

“i think you’re still drunk.”

as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.

“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”

roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.

“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”

“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”

with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say. 

you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.

“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”

to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.

inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”

from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.

the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall. 

your nails tap against the counter. 

you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?

it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts. 

you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.

the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.

but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you. 

his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested. 

you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.

it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?

“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”

he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”

you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”

“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”

“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”

roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”

your shoulders slump. “oh.”

“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”

“but where will i—”

“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”

you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.

maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.

you come to when a car horn blares outside. 

roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.

“roger!”

he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.

“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.

his brow pinches. “what is it?”

“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”

for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.

“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”

you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.   

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.

“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”

“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”

the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.

god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.

so, why is it so hard for you to let go?

you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.

sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.

“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”

roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.

some blissfully wed husband he makes.

biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.

there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.

but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.

still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.

maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.

jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.

so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.

you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.

a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.

you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.

conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.

yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.

without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.

there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.

two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.

“[y/n], please!”

“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”

tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.

you’re nervous.

your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.

impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.

the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.

your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.

“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”

nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.

but then the phone rings.

roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”

“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”

“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”

lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”

at first, you hear nothing on the other end.

but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”

the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.

your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”

a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.

only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.

for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.

but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.

still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.

“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”

“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”

roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”

“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”

“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”

“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.

the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.

you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.

only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“so, you’re done with modeling?”

you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.

“that’s why i married you,” you say.

roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.

“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.

“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”

“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”

“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”

roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”

“why not?”

“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.

“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.

he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”

you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.

he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.

a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.

roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?

near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.

“is this your wife, roger?”

the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.

roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.

“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”

the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.

the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”

you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.

“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.

“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”

the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”

“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”

“that’s not really—”

“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”

grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.

thank god it’s not a difficult role.

with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.

he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.

“there! that could enough for you?”

roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.

as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”

“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”

he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.

“roger! [y/n]! over here!”

three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.

the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.

come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.

your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.

chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.

you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.

meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.

“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”

“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”

you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.

“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.

you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”

“have you told rog?”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”

another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.

you’d forgotten about that too.

veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”

“i guess but—”

“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”

“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”

john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.

like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”

veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.

“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”

you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.

the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.

all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.

laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.

brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.

but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.

“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”

your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.

the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.

you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”

he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.

you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.

for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.

this is not a battle you can win yourself.

kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.

“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.

his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”

clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.

beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.

the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.

roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.

you could get used to this.

at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.

“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.

you know he’s right.

“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.

he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.

roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”

“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”

“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”

you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.

“you look like a marshmallow.”

lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”

“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”

you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”

he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.

“we should go home,” you say.

“yeah.”

roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.

the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.

“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.

“mhm. did you?”

you nod, but don’t look up.

from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.

twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.

“roger–”

“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.

“there’s something i should—”

his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?

“what?”

“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”

“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”

his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”

hard exhale.

his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.

roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.

when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.

when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.

when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.

halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.

you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.

“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.

someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.

“oh, sorry. hello?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice. 

your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”

a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.

you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.

you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.

roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.

your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.

“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.

you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”

he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”

you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”

he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”

“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”

with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.

but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.

he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.

roger is gone before you wake the next morning.

he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”

the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

it’s heaven, but the price is hell.

you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.

eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.

after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.

he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.

but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.

you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.

still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.

there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

did he buy you those earrings?

will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?

you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.

the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.

you should tell roger too; you know you should.

but he’s happy.

when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.

it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—

it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.

besides, you’ll be gone in six months.

one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.

when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.

“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.

for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.

there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.

you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.

rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.

“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”

you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”

“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”

gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.

deep inhale.

“about a month or two ago, i started—”

the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.

your stomach plummets to your feet.

your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.

he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”

some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—

“yes, fred, i know.”

hard exhale.

you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.

roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.

“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”

“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”

tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.

pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”

he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”

“mhm.”

“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”

he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.

someone could be watching.

roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”

“i remember.”

“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.

you oblige him without hesitation.

“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”

you nod, and he leaves.

the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.

you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.

you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.

by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.

roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”

you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.

“you okay?”

“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.

he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.

as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.

“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.

he frowns. “what do you mean?”

“it’s just that i’ve been—”

he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.

“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.

this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—

“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.

purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”

roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.

roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”

you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”

“is it something i’ve—”

“no, roger. it’s not you.”

he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.

near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.

but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.

it happens before you have time to react.

your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.

you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.

it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.

her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.

your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.

roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.

“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”

only my pride, you think.

“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”

“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”

the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.

once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.

“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”

his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.

“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.

it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.

“what is it you weren’t telling me?”

“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.

he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.

“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”

“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”

“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”

he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.

“i wish you would have trusted me.”

“i’m—”

“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”

you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”

he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.

“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.

“what?”

“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”

tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.

you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.

roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”

“yes.”

he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”

“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”

he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”

you nod, stunned by his firm tone.

“say it.”

“i promise.”

he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.

you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.

in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.

your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.

but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.

you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.

he grins back. “good morning, wife.”

now this—this you could get used to.

taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish​ @bluewillowmom​ @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof​ @six-bloodyminutes​

[ongjaewonx]

Basorexia

Sudden urge to kiss someone.

NSFW

Atsumu x Fem!reader

Warnings: Degradation, Angry & Locker room sex, dom! Atsumu.

1st set.

Atsumu scanned the audience. No signs of you there. What is he expecting anyways? It's not like your coming to his game right now to see him play. You fought last night so why bother?

2nd set.

The opponent took the first set. They didn't mind, they know they would win in the end afterall.

Time out.

Atsumu checked his phone. No new messages. He took a deep breath. It's not like you would text him. You're at work right now. You're busy. He needs to understand that.

His teammates patted his back to make him come back to his senses. Right, Focus. He needs to focus on the game, not on you, who isn't even supporting his match right now.

3rd set.

Inarizaki took the last set. If they could take this set, they would win this match. While the whole team was talking about the strategy, Atsumu still searched for you in the crowd.

Where were you? Oh right. Your at your stupid work. Working with your stupid ex. Who happens to get on his nerves all the time. Who happens to be the reason why he was mad at you last night. You even defended the guy and it was annoying as hell, it makes his blood boil everytime.

Atsumu gripped his water bottle tighter to the thought of the fight last night. Now he was getting frustrated and pissed. All he wants is for you to support him just this once and take a break from work is that too much to ask for?

His teammates told him it was time to go back to the game, breaking his trance to the thought of you and so he did.

The game was intense and it was a deuce now, 31-32, one wrong move from Inarizaki. They could lose the match and they wouldn't want that.

Atsumu was just waiting to receive the ball but then you crossed his mind. Your beautiful eyes, your kissable lips and your perfect body. God, he keeps getting distracted by you, all his focus will fade away everytime he thinks of you. He was so mad at you but he badly wants you there right now. To cheer for him at his passion so why were you like this? Why were you doing this to him? Why-

It all happened so fast and the ball went straight to his side and he didn't manage to receive it quick enough. The moment he heard the last whistle blow and the cheers from the other team. He fucking knew he blew it. He was angry and speechless. 'This is all your fault, y/n.' he thought.

-

You were running so fast to get to the gymnasium in time. You were hoping you would be there from the first set to the last set but you weren't expecting to have a shit ton of customers today in the café, if it wasn't for Rin; your ex and co-worker your boss wouldn't let you go off the hook easily. He knew how badly you wanted to surprise Atsumu today and make up with him because last night was a pure misunderstanding and you were both tired thus you two didn't get to talk it out, all you did was argue.

You definitely felt guilty for making Rin handle all the customers today but not as guilty and sad you feel for Atsumu. Your heart couldn't take it whenever you guys fought, sure you were bratty and stubborn at times but you definitely love Atsumu to even be mad at him for a day.

When you got to the gym, other teams were already playing. 'Oh shoot, I missed it.' you thought. You were about to search for the locker rooms when you got a text message.

'We lost but If you still decide to come. I'm here alone in the locker room.' That's odd, weren't his teammates supposed to be there too? You didn't reply, wanting to surprise him and make him feel better as soon as possible. As you were walking to where he is, you spotted the Inarizaki team leaving the building but atsumu wasn't there so you just shrugged it off and went off to find him.

You were almost at the door when you heard a loud crash inside the locker room. You got worried and opened the door quickly only to find Atsumu standing with his right fist punched on a locker. You hurriedly come up to him and exclaimed.

"Tsum, babe! What's wrong?" Your hands held his right hand to see if he scratched or scraped his hand. Good thing it was just red so you grabbed an ice pack from the cooler and gently aided his hand.

"What if your hand got injured or worse? Babe you know how I get so worried about you." You glanced at him and he was only staring at you with blank eyes although he was still letting you take care of him so you just sighed and initiated a conversation.

"Atsumu, look I wanted to apologize for last night and I'm sorry I missed the match. I actually wanted to surprise you today to make up with you but customers flooded, it's a good thing Rin-" You stood there shocked as he suddenly grabbed your neck and kissed you harshly. You can tell he was very frustrated and angry with you but instead of pushing him off, you just wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him back with so much passion.

His other hand held the your waist and before you know it, you were pushed against the wall with him still kissing you. He then pressed rough kisses on your neck, sucking, licking and biting aggressively onto it. You moaned his name as he finally gets to your sensitive spot.

"Rin this, Rin that. I'll fucking show you who you belong to, you brat." You moaned his name again as he bit you harshly and he loves it; Hearing you moan his name with so much pleasure. He wanted you so much after the game had ended. He was continuously thinking of you and what he would do to you because he had blamed you for losing the game; And now that you are here, his desires will finally be fulfilled.

"Strip. Now." Without hesitation you unzipped your dress and removed your undergarments. You stood there naked before him and saw how his eyes glistened with lust and want. You heard him groaned as he scanned you from head to toe.

Your body was a sight to behold and Atsumu felt his cock hardened just looking at you like this. He immediately took off his top and shorts leaving the boxers on. He held your shoulders and pushed you down to kneel infront of him. "Take my boxers off and suck."

You obliged looking up at him with sexy hooded eyes, you bit the garter and pulled his underwear down with your teeth. His cock sprung up, red, hard and swollen. You internally cussed because of how wet you are right now just looking at his cock. You slowly held the base with your hands and lick the tip with pre-cum on it.

You heard him moan so you continue to move your hands gripping the base tighter as you slid your mouth to his throbbing cock. You sucked him off up and down also humming to give him vibrations however you couldn't take him all since he was just so big so you had to use your hands for support.

He loves the scene before his eyes and how you expertly do this to him everytime. All his stress and frustrations are slowly fading away but it is still not enough. So he grabbed your hair and pushed his cock deep in your throat abruptly making you gag and teary-eyed.

He fucked your mouth relentlessly as you choked on his cock multiple times. "You like that, huh? This big cock fucking your little filthy mouth." He growled as he shoved your head again even deeper. You only whined wanting him to release quickly.

Much to your surprise he stopped and pulled you up to your feet. "Up against the wall. Bend. Ass up. Now." You did what he said and waited for him to put his cock inside you considering you badly wanted to feel him filling you up but instead you were met with a stinging pain on your ass. He had spanked you hard and you are sure it would leave a mark.

"Now what do you want naughty girl?" You gasped as he slapped your ass again. "You, Atsumu. Please. I want you inside of me." He roughly pulled your hair and made you look at him. "But now, tell me y/n, Who do you belong to?" You looked at him with begging eyes and pleaded "You, Atsumu. I belong to y-"

Without warning he pounded into you and you could only scream his name out loud. He was so big you could not adjust in time while he just groans at how tight you are. Your knees are getting weak every thrust and you don't know where to hold anymore since your hands are slipping from the wall. Atsumu noticed this and he held your neck and waist with his hands keeping you still.

"You fucking like this don't you? Like the fucking slut you are." You can only moan louder as a response and you felt the hand on your waist leaving to squeeze and play with your breasts.

"Yes, Y/n you take me in so fucking well. This cunt is mine. You. Are. Mine." He growled in your ear, pinching your nipples as he thrusts in you. You just nodded because he feels so good inside of you that you couldn't even think straight.

"No one could make you feel like this. I could only make you feel like this. Now, cum for me you whore. Cum for me, doll." He felt your pussy get even tighter indicating that you were about to cum and without a doubt you did.

He soon thrusted into you again a few times to meet his release and pulled out shooting his seeds onto your back. You felt so tired though you could not move so Atsumu carried you to the benches and cleaned you up with a wet towel.

"Tsum, I'm really sorry about last night and sorry I couldn't cheer you on." You pouted but he shut you up by placing soft kisses on your lips, cheeks and forehead.

"It's okay babe, I forgive you." He smiled up at you and tenderly caressed you face.

"Hmm, now let me take you out on a date." He laughed and you just rolled your eyes but still agreed as you both dress up. After that you both left the locker room;

Happy and satisfied.

Note: Hi! This was all for funsies, so Idk if it's great but I had fun writing this. Let me know what you all think and maybe I'll start posting more soon hmm👀

Tagging horknee bbys: @bokukiyoom @xanaxdeity @kozumebabie @paripedia @akakeiiji @boomboomjaz @doggonudez

[racebox-of-higgars]

Worth It - Les Mis SPFC

Here’s my entry for the Les Mis Single Prompt fic challenge! This was my first time writing for Les Mis so it was a lot of fun! 

Prompt: Person a gently tilts person b’s head up

Pairing: Enjolras x Grantaire 

Word Count: 2576

Summary: Grantaire takes care of Enjolras after a fight

Warnings: Mild injury description

Grantaire glanced over at his clock, the harsh red letters slowly blinking at him in the black, almost as if they were mocking him. 2:46am. He rolled over, desperately trying to fall asleep, but something kept it from him, it’s elusive arms just out of his reach. A sense of unease had settled in his stomach hours ago, and it kept him tossing and turning, feeling sick to his core. He couldn’t tell what it was, and chose to ignore it, yet it incessantly crawled its way back into the corners of his mind, demanding his attention. It was an unwelcome presence, tugging constantly at his thoughts, and he couldn’t ignore it. 

Finally, he gave up. Sleep was going to elude him for the rest of the night, there was no point in fighting that. Instead, he turned his attention to the unsettled feeling that sunk deep within him, right down into his bones. Something was deeply wrong, he knew that much, but the question was what was wrong? What was wrong and how could he make this stupid feeling go away? It wasn’t like him to be so set in a feeling like this, usually he could just shrug it off and ignore it, but this one couldn’t be shaken, no matter how hard he tried. 

The ceiling swirled above him, slowly coming back into focus through the darkness as he stared up at it, lying starfished on his back. He started up at it for what seemed like hours, puzzling over the unease that shook him from the gentle embrace of sleep every time it was within reach. It only felt like hours though, when in reality it only lasted a few minutes. Again, glanced at the clock, frowning when it only read 2:57am. He groaned, flopping back against his pillow, throwing his forearm over his eyes. He was in for a long night. 

Each flash of the clock out of the corner of his eyes saw the feeling of unease settling deeper and deeper into his stomach, until it was almost unbearable. It ate away at the edges of his mind, until it consumed his every thought, completely taking over. Eventually, it became so powerful that he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He hauled himself out, slowly shuffling to the kitchen, bleary-eyed as he felt around in the darkness for a mug, and he poured himself a coffee. Coffee at nearly 3am probably wasn’t the best idea, but he wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon anyway, so what did it matter? 

A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. Right. Who the fuck was at his door at 3am? Whoever it was, could kindly fuck off thank you very mu- oh. 

“‘M’sorry,” Enjolras murmured, swaying where he stood. “Didn’t know where else to go.” Carefully, Grantaire ushered him inside, glancing down the hallway outside his apartment before shutting the door behind them. He flicked on the lights, blinking against the sudden brightness. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as he took in Enjolras’ appearance. 

Blood slowly dripped from his nose and his lip was cut open and bleeding. An array of purples, yellows, greens, blacks and blues mottled his porcelain skin and one of his eyes was swollen shut.  A deep cut across his temple spilled blood into his hair, the crimson a stark contrast against the shining gold, that now sparkled with what appeared to be fragments of glass. He swayed steadily from side to side and his eyes were hazy and unfocused. He looked nothing like Enjolras, usually so put together and calm. This was what was wrong. 

Grantaire made his way over to Enjolras, gently taking his chin in one hand and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. 

“Who did this to you?” He whispered. To an outsider, he would appear calm, collected, but there was an underlying anger underneath, indescribably discreet but also fundamentally out of character for Grantaire. He wasn’t an angry person. Blaisé and flippant, sure. Confrontational and hungry for an argument, but there was never any malice to it. It had always been a game, but not now. Now, he almost trembled with the white hot rage that coursed through his veins. He wanted to find out who did this to Enjolras and find them, hurt them, but that wasn’t what Enjolras needed from him right now. Enjolras needed him there. 

“Some guy at a bar,” Enjolras said, voice hoarse. Grantaire pulled out a chair and helped Enjolras to sit. He looked dead on his feet, like he might have collapsed if Grantaire had left him any longer. Grantaire nodded, more to himself than Enjolras. A bar fight? That wasn’t like Enjolras at all. Enjolras would debate until he was red in the face and his throat completely closed up and he couldn’t speak anymore, but things never got physical with him. He would always de-escalate the situation before it reached that point. So what had been different about this time? 

“So, what happened?” Grantaire asked, carefully wiping the blood from the side of Enjolras’ face with a damp washcloth. Enjolras hissed at the contact and instinctively flinched away, but relaxed into it after a moment. 

“Some guy was being an ass in a bar, I called him out, he threw the first hit.” Grantaire frowned. 

“What was he saying?” “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Grantaire fell quiet at that. Enjolras rarely kept things concealed, so if he was avoiding this, he must really not want to speak about it. 

“Alright.” 

Grantaire worked in silence, gently wiping the blood from Enjolras’ face. His hand trembled slightly with the anger that rushed just beneath his skin, but that was to be released another time. He forced it down, he didn’t need it. Not now. When he was done removing the worst of the blood, he held ice over the bruises, hoping to at least ease the pain of them. Enjolras stared up at him, much more focused now than when he had arrived, and Grantaire had a hard time avoiding his steely gaze. 

“Why did you come here?” He eventually asked as he dressed the wound in Enjolras' temple. “Why not ‘Ferre? He’s a doctor, surely he would be better than me.” Enjolras’ eyes flitted around the room, almost as if he was searching for the answer somewhere there. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I guess I just- would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?” Grantaire’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Probably not,” he said with a laugh, and even Enjolras smiled at that. 

“It’s true though, R. I just wanted to see you.” Grantaire nodded, almost afraid that if he tried to speak it would just come out as some wildly unattractive squeak. He couldn’t help but think that there was something else, another reason why Enjolras had chosen him of all people to come to for help, but he wouldn’t press for that now, not while Enjolras was in this state. That could wait until later. 

“I’m done,” Grantaire said finally, when all of Enjolras’ injuries were clean and dressed to the best of his ability. “You’ll have to shower to get the last of the blood out of your hair, but it’s not as much anymore.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said quietly. “I’ll call a cab-” “No,” Grantaire immediately cut him off. “Stay here, I’ll sleep on the couch.” “Are you sure?” 

“Of course, I don’t want you going home alone like this. It’s okay.” 

“I don’t have any clothes.” 

“Borrow mine, one second.” Grantaire stood and left Enjolras sitting at the dining table, only slightly bewildered. Grantaire flitted around the apartment like a whirlwind until he found a hoodie and sweatpants that would fit Enjolras. 

“Here,” Grantaire said, handing Enjolras the clothes. They smelled like Grantaire. That was the first thing Enjolras registered. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly that was, but it was distinctly and unmistakably him. It was comforting. “You can change in the bathroom.” Enjolras nodded, and made his way down the hall, significantly less unsteady then he had been before. 

While Enjolras was gone, Grantaire made himself busy, tidying away his first aid kit, running a glass of water, and putting the kettle on. Enjolras didn’t have sugar in his tea - milk and honey, instead. He also threw a blanket in the dryer. Anything to keep himself busy. That way he didn’t have to face his anger. Someone had hurt Enjolras, and it made his blood boil. 

Enjolras had always been a peaceful person, quick-witted and silver-tongued, able to talk himself out of any situation. His words always slipped from his lips, able to pacify any situation. His words were one of the most beautiful things about him. They had so much power and intent behind them, and they could build you up, place you on a pedestal at the top of the world, or tear you down until you’re nothing more than a rat in the gutter. They were honey-coated or sharp as a knife, and whichever he chose could impact you for hours, days after they had been spoken. Ever the diplomat, Enjolras hated violence. He always talked his way out of situations, using those beautiful words to avoid any fight. So what had changed this time? That’s what Grantaire kept coming back to. Why couldn’t Enjolras talk his way out of this one?

Grantaire’s clothes were too big on Enjolras. They hung off his body, almost like a blanket, but they were warm and comfy and they smelled like home. He wrapped the hoodie tightly around himself, closing his eyes for a moment as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, head in his hands. His head pounded, a dull, throbbing ache just behind his eyes that would not go away. It had been worth it though. 

Okay, so maybe he had lied to Grantaire when he had said the other guy had thrown the first punch. And about why. How bad was a little white lie, really? Right, it was probably very stupid, but how was he supposed to tell Grantaire that he had punched someone in the jaw because they had been talking shit about R? That wasn’t something he was just going to admit, because that would open up the floodgates to a million other discussions that he didn’t want to have. There would be hundreds of questions with answers that he just couldn’t articulate. Enjolras was way out of his depth when it came to Grantaire, and the way he felt about him. He could talk his way through any situation, except this one, because there were no right words for it. So instead, he stayed silent for what might be the first time in his life, because he and Grantaire were a million worlds apart, really. Sure, he had shown him kindness on this one occasion, but it wasn’t like Enjolras had given him much of a choice. Within a week they would be back at each other’s throats, surely. That’s just how they worked. But for now, wrapped up in Grantaire’s hoodie, he could pretend that maybe things were different. 

Grantaire looked up from the mug of tea as he heard Enjolras padding back down the hallway. 

“I made tea,” he said, holding up the mug. “Also I have water and painkillers if you want them too.” Enjolras nodded with a grateful smile as he took the painkillers, then took the mug of tea from Grantaire. 

“You remembered how I have it?” He asked. 

“Of course I do,” Grantaire answered with a warm smile. He had memorised everything that Enjolras liked, from how he had his tea to his favourite clothing brand. All of it was stored away in some corner of his mind, until he needed it in times like these. 

They drank their tea in silence. After a while, Enjolras’ eyelids began to droop. Grantaire took the blankets out of the dryer, folding them neatly in his arms. 

“Come on, it’s late,” he said. Enjolras just nodded vaguely as Grantaire helped him to his feet and led him down the hallway to his room. “I’m sorry it’s a mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” “It’s okay,” Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire helped him into bed, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. 

“Get some sleep, you’ll need it.” Enjolras hummed, nestling further into the blankets. “Goodnight Enjolras.” Grantaire turned to try to get some sleep on the couch, when Enjolras’ voice made him turn. 

“R?” 

“Yeah?” “Stay, please?” Grantaire faltered for a moment, glancing between Enjolras, then down the hallway, then back at Enjolras. Carefully, he clambered into the bed beside Enjolras, and immediately Enjolras wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Do you mind?” Enjolras asked, looking up at him. 

“No, it’s fine.” Enjolras nodded again, resting his head on Grantaire’s chest. 

Silence stretched for a million miles between them, and Grantaire was just beginning to think Enjolras had fallen asleep, when he spoke. 

“I lied,” he said simply, barely above a whisper. 

“About what?” 

“The fight. How it started. Who started it?” Grantaire looked down at Enjolras, brow furrowed in concern. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I started the fight. I threw the first punch.” Enjolras didn’t look at Grantaire, but Grantaire felt his grip on him tighten just slightly. Grantaire was perplexed. That was so out of character for Enjolras. It felt wrong.

“Why?” He asked simply. 

“He was- he said some really homophobic and downright cruel things about you. I couldn’t let that slide.” Enjolras’ heart rate quickened. This was verging on dangerous territory. 

“But now you’re hurt.” 

“I wasn’t just going to let him say that about you!” Enjolras cried, suddenly sitting up, despite the way it made his head reel. 

“Why not? People say it all the time, it’s nothing new.” Enjolras’ face fell. He hadn’t known that. 

“I’m sorry. I hate that you, and other people have to deal with that.” 

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologise for other people being shitty.” 

“I wish things were easier for us.” Enjolras’ voice had lowered to only slightly louder than a whisper again. 

“Me too.” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire, meeting his eyes. Then, he did what was quite possibly one of the most stupid things of his life. 

He kissed Grantaire. 

It was brief, he pulled away before it could get heated, but it was soft and magical all the same. Grantaire looked at him for a moment, utterly shellshocked, before wrapping him in his arms tightly and pulling him against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to Enjolras’ hair, running a hand through it. 

“Are we-” Enjolras started, but Grantaire cut him off. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning. But now it’s-” he paused to check the clock, “-4:28am, and I want to get some sleep, and you’re gonna need it too.” Enjolras nodded. Grantaire hadn’t run, and that meant things were okay, surely. Grantaire titled Enjolras’ head up, pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his lips. It was barely there, but enough for Enjolras to know that everything would be alright. 

As he laid in Grantaire’s arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, Enjolras’ regret dissipated. If he got to have this, it had all been worth it.

Thanks for reading!

@lesmissamepromptficchallenge 

[aceofspadegrass]

Imagine Dori going out to play a game,and after he plays the game..he wouldn't just go straight back to the beach,No!. He would steal the car from Niragi and just drives back to his house,going inside his house grabbing fanta and drives back to the beach with fanta,introducing fanta to hatter and we all know that hatter would accept him.

And then bring fanta back to his and Niragis room,breaking the door at the process to just go inside the room. Noragi utterly goes up to him,yelling at him..but when he sees fanta right next to Dori's leg..he's like" Aight,I'mma steal your dog" And just grabs fanta,and the next Niragi would force hatter to let fanta become a militant dog so that he could give fanta a rifle and a Fedora hat..which fanta will not like if the Fedora hat is given by Niragi-

How about dori giving fanta a Fedora hat?,fanta will love it and sleep with for the rest of his life. Niragi giving fanta a squeaky toy that is basically shaped like a rifle

Fanta is a Good Doggo

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Last Boss, Hatter, Dori Sakurada, Aguni, Cabot

Genre: Niragi get’s to meet Fanta! And maybe shoot a dude dead, but shush.

3k words

This was fun to write. Also, I only have a very vague idea of Fanta’s gender (Trust me, I still don’t know if I’m correct) so if I’m wrong, sorry about that. All I have figured out of Fanta’s gender is based on the underside of this very nice Fanta picture.

When games meant people were going to die in front of everyone lucky enough to stay, within the vicinity of where others shared the same space, not everyone dealt with them well. Some broke a little more each time, some powered through, some even enjoyed it. Either way, everyone earned their right to live in some aspect or another. They fought to keep breathing for another day or two, and came back to their base to eventually do it all over again.

And some, by the sheer power of something refusing to let them hit the dirt and breathe their final breath, just meanders through the games as if it were nothing more than a very realistic fiction.

That’s what was happening, at least in front of Niragi’s eyes. He readjusts the thick black bomber jacket that Sakurada gave him, stained with thick blood, hidden within the darkness. Said man that gave him the jacket was talking to another, who seemed oddly excited to see the man, even though his near carbon copy version was right there within view. Perhaps there was something less wanted in him that Sakurada had. A prettier smile, maybe. Or a nicer demeanour that people preferred to stick closer to. Too afraid to come closer to him.

They were correct to be afraid. Being afraid meant Niragi didn’t have to be seen as weak. But the few that weren’t, respected him. They held themselves at the same level, and Niragi at least gave them the respect if they deserved it.

Begrudgingly, it somewhat extended to his doppelgänger as well. Sakurada never exhibited a single hint of fear towards him, and even willingly attacked him with that darn water sprayer that he kept with him the entire time.

“ Oi! Are we leaving yet or not?” Niragi calls out to the man as he finally bids the other person adieu, Sakurada coming over to him with a kind smile.

“ Hey, can I ask you for a favour?” Sakurada asks, Niragi scowling a little. “ Hah? What for? Can’t you ask me later?” Sakurada smiles at him, and offers zero explanation, other than a simple request to head back himself, as he needed the car to do something. Which, granted, the Beach wasn’t that far from where the game arena was, maybe an extra fifteen minute walk on foot added on to the time it would’ve taken if they took the car, but Niragi still didn’t like how Sakurada thought he’d be okay with it.

But Sakurada was already in the car and driving away by the time Niragi noticed the bastard even left his side with that request, Niragi yelling after the retreating vehicle.

“ Hey!  Hey! You asshole, get back here!” Niragi chases the car for a couple more meters, but the car is much too quick for him to chase by foot, disappearing into the night. Niragi lets out a yell, eyes burning with fury and foot stomping against the ground. “ Fuck!” A presence next to him makes itself known, clearing their throat. “ Hey uh…. Did our ride just up and leave us?” 

Niragi whips around, blood still boiling, staring at a nobody Beach member, who looked far too innocent and naive to realize that Niragi was simply not in the mood for small talk. Next to them was a blank-faced Last Boss, who Niragi briefly forgot was even with them, the rest having perished within the game. That didn’t matter anyways, Niragi needed something to let his feelings out, and he whips his beloved gun from his shoulder and jabs it in the direction of the nobody, who yelps and backs up in fear. Delicious, raw fear, the person staring at Niragi with pleading in their eyes, even if it too dark to properly make out what they held. The wide eyes, the trembling bones, the bobbing Adam’s apple, that was enough.

“Oh, so you can see. Whoop de fucking do.” Niragi snarks, the person holding their hands up in the air, eyes flickering between the cold barrel against their chest and the burning eyes of Niragi. “ Yes our ride fucking up and left. I don’t know what he was thinking, but we’re gonna have to walk back.” “ H-How far is the Beach?” Came their shaky voice, and Niragi stares in the general direction of where they came from, muttering to himself as he forced his brain to work outside the blaze within his bone. 

“ Longer than what I should have to deal with.” Niragi answers, and takes the gun back as he starts walking back to where the Beach should be. The sound of feet against the ground follow him, and the idiot asked way too many questions for Niragi to care about comes too close to his side, staring at him nervously.

“ You seem mad. Was it because of the guy that took the car? I’m sure there was a perfectly good reason for that guy to take the car! Even if it was a little weird he forgot us. It’s a good night for a walk anyways! Lucky it wasn’t a Spades game, otherwise-“ “ Oh my goodness, do you never shut up!?” Niragi looks at them, and in a fit of impulsive irritation he swings his gun against their skull, a crack resounding in the cold empty night, their body hitting the ground with a thud. “ Asking question after question, do you not see I don’t wanna deal with another gosh darn annoyance?! You know what, I’m already pissed, I need to do something. Lucky you.” His lip pulled up into a sarcastic sneer, full of disgust. “ I need a good stress reliever.” He aims the rifle at the fallen body, the person screaming and scrambling backwards.

“ W-Wait!? No, wait, I’m sorry, please don’t-“ Their words were cut off as Niragi pulls the trigger, shots ringing in the air and blood painting the ground. Niragi doesn’t stop until he feels his tense energy get pulled into each and every bullet, when he finally becomes satisfied as the body is nothing more than bloody cheese.

Niragi scoffs, and spits on the body to rub it in, the final piece of the puzzle. He holds his rifle down by his side and stumbles into the night, the sound of footsteps decreased by two.

Three minutes later, and Niragi needed to rant, his mouth opening and spilling his slight  against Sakurada to his only audience. Last Boss says nothing in return, but Niragi didn’t need any words spoken back. He appreciated that, not needing any more of a reason to get annoyed. They return to the Beach within a fair amount of time, nobody truly questioning where the others were or where their car even was, other than a few talking amongst each other. One less  drinking buddy here, one less of a good time there. Niragi ignores it all and heads straight to Hatter’s, Last Boss behind him the entire time.

He opens the door, Hatter greeting them, Cabot sitting on his lap and wearing Hatter’s sunglasses, the cat comfortable. Niragi walks in and slaps the card on the table, huffing. “ There. Your stupid card.” “ Thank you Niragi!” Hatter chirps, and he looks over Niragi’s shoulder, likely at Last Boss. “ And you as well for letting me watch over your cat! She is such a wonderful buddy for a rousing conversation over the legalities of dolphins!” Niragi never hears a response, nor does he even stay long enough, already leaving the moment he was able to. He heads back to his room to sleep the rest of the night off, too mentally exhausted to really want to deal with anyone else at the moment.

Least of all Sakurada, when he would inevitably come back.

—————————————————————————————————

The sun had not risen yet when the door slams open, hitting the wall rather violently. Niragi is startled awake, and he rubs his eyes and turns to the source of the noise, Sakurada standing there with the hallway lights still on and illuminating him. Niragi’s mood sours the moment he lays eyes on him, and he gets out of bed and storms over to him, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt.” You little bitch! You left me there at the game and made us walk! What fucking gives!?” Sakurada holds his hands up, one gently tapping the grip that had his shirt. He smiles back, opening his mouth to explain. Niragi at least gave him that, one step away from going to grab his gun and give Sakurada a new hole to breathe out of.

“ It was super important that I took the car, since it was a little far and I needed to carry things! Besides, I didn’t want to disturb you guys and cause too much of a scene-“ “ Leaving us there caused enough of a scene, asswipe-“ Niragi shakes the man, Dori wiggling but maintaining his stance. “ Yes, but-“ Sakurada starts up again, and Niragi was near about to punch the pretty asshole when he felt something step on his foot, and the soft sound of sniffing made him look down, thinking it was Cabot for a second. Instead, a small fluffy dog stood there, brown in colour and very cute. Niragi lets go, the dog looking up at Niragi and barking at him. 

“ Is that a dog.” Niragi lets the sentence tumble from his lips, Sakurada eagerly nodding. He  kneels down, petting the pooch. The dog’s tail wags happily.

“ Yes! Niragi, meet Fanta! He’s my dog!” He announces, continuing to stroke the dog. Niragi nods as he too kneeled down, and he holds a hand out to Fanta, who sniffs at his fingers before giving them a greeting lick.

“… I love your dog. Fanta, you said?” Sakurada nods, smiling. “ Cool. I’m going to steal your dog now. Night bitch.” He scoops the dog up and carries Fanta to bed, crawling back underneath the covers and setting the dog on top, Fanta barking and investigating the sheets. Niragi’s gun was still tucked in bed with him, but Niragi wasn’t dumb enough to leave the safety off. He even made sure to put a little cap over the trigger to even prevent it being moved.

He wasn’t a Diamonds for nothing.

Sakurada say nothing, but Niragi does hear him laugh a little, and bid him a goodnight as well. Fanta barks in his ear, Niragi gently shutting the dog’s mouth shut.

“ Goodnight, dog. Go to sleep.” Niragi mutters, Fanta whining a little and wiggling out his touch. At the very least he settles down, Niragi huffing inaudibly and falling back asleep, a warm weight remaining nearby him.

Morning comes too soon, and Niragi wakes up to Fanta still besides him, sleeping peacefully. He smiles to himself, already getting an idea, and he picks up the dog, Fanta waking up with a confused yelp from being picked up so suddenly, Niragi carrying the dog right out of the room. He makes sure not to wake up Sakurada as he heads down to Hatter’s room, throwing open the door and slamming on the lights. “ Hey! You! Wake up you slutty flamingo!” Niragi shouts, waking up the leader of the entire Beach. His hair was a bit of a mess, Hatter grumbling and combing his hair with his fingers. “ Ah? Niragi?” Hatter blinks a few times, and comes over the moment he saw Fanta in Niragi’s arms. “ Oh my goodness you brought me a new friend! Hello you glorious being!” Hatter pets Fanta with the enthusiasm of an old man greeting a grandchild, Fanta barking and wagging his tail happily.

“ This is Fanta. Can I make him a militant dog.” “ Hm? Why?” Hatter asks offhandedly, attention fully on Fanta.

“ Because I want to make him a militant dog, and I want to give Fanta a miniature rifle. And a fedora, obviously. Because he deserves one. So do I.” Niragi tells him. Hatter waves him off, still petting Fanta like he was the greatest thing since rubber ducks.

“ I can get that arranged!” Niragi grins to himself, pleased, and Hatter finally looks up at Niragi. “ I’ll get Aguni to get that all arranged for you!” “ Aw fuck yeah.” Niragi mutters, and Hatter continues to pet Fanta for a couple more minutes before he finally had his fill. With a wave from Hatter, Niragi finally leaves. He sets Fanta down, done with carrying the rather large dog, and heads back to his room, Fanta marching alongside him. Niragi smiles down at the dog, internally vibrating with joy.

“ Oh, this’ll be great.”

—————————————————————————————————

Later that day, Aguni comes over to Niragi’s room, looking at the still opened door, which had a rather decent sized crack running through it. He doesn’t mention a word as he comes over to Niragi, setting a small dog sized rifle and two hats on the bed, one much smaller than the other.

“ There.” That was all he said, and after a brief petting of the fluffy dog, he leaves them alone, Niragi grinning excitedly and putting his new fedora back on. Fanta barks at him, tail wagging. Niragi picks up the smaller hat, and he attempts to lower it onto Fanta’s head.

This doesn’t go well, Fanta barking again and running off. Niragi gasps, offended, and gets up to chase him around the room. Fanta was a crafty little dog though, managing to evade Niragi in every turn. 

“ Get back here you ungrateful little-“ Niragi begins to shout at the dog, but he’s stopped when he feels cold, familiar mist on his face, Niragi stopping in his tracks. “ Ah! Sakurada, what the hell!”

“ Don’t be mean to Fanta! Also, where did you get that?” Sakurada plucks the fedora off of Niragi’s head, Niragi becoming offended again in the past ten minutes as Sakurada opens the window and yeets it out the window as well. Sakurada spots the tiny dog rifle on the bed, and he gasps as well, picking it up and turning around to look at Niragi like a disappointed mother.

“ Are you trying to turn my child into a murderer! Shame on you, Niragi, you should know better!”  Sakurada reprimands, crossing his arms. “ You’re not my mom!” Niragi retorts. “ And come on, Fanta deserves a gun! And a hat!” Sakurada sighs, and simply sets the rifle down on the bed and kneels down, calling his dog over, Fanta happily padding over to him. Sakurada pets Fanta with a smile, then looks to Niragi, the latter still clutching the smaller doggy hat. “ May I see that, please?” Sakurada holds his hand out, Niragi continuing to stare at him. He finally concedes, and he comes over, handing over the hat. “ Fanta didn’t want it though.” Niragi dejectedly mutters with a bit of irritation, but Sakurada only chuckles a little and looks down at Fanta, holding the hat up to the dog’s nose. Fanta sniffs at it a few times, tail wagging. Sakurada looks up at Niragi one more time, Niragi looking down at him in pure confusion, then sheer indignation as Sakurada easily slides the fedora on Fanta’s head. “ There! Easy as that!” “ But- Hey, that’s cheating, how’d you do that!” Sakurada merely shrugs, petting Fanta a little more and standing up. “ I guess Fanta didn’t want you putting it on? Fanta is a very smart dog after all!” Niragi only huffs, crossing his arms and shaking his head at Fanta, who happily lays down on the floor. “ You little prick…..”

Still, that doesn’t stop Niragi from bringing Fanta with him later on patrol, the dog eager for a walk. People cooed at the cute dog, Niragi glaring at a few too dared get too close for comfort. He had to keep up his persona after all, even with the addition of a rather cute dog by his side.

He meets up with Last Boss again by the end of it, Cabot meowing at Niragi the moment he arrives. Fanta barks upon seeing the feline, Cabot tucking herself away into Last Boss’ hood. Last Boss stares down at Fanta in silence, Niragi snorting. “ Your cat is a pussy.”

Last Boss looks at Niragi at that comment, slowly blinking. “ …. Yes? She’s a cat.”

“ Ugh, you made it boring. Never mind. But still! Say hello to Fanta! This is a new member to the militants!” Last Boss nods, and he looks down at Fanta, just staring at the dog. Fanta didn’t seem to mind, merely wagging that little tail.

“ Anyways, I’ll see you later! I need to go get something! If Aguni asks, I went to pamper the fuck out of Fanta. If Sakurada asks, tell him to fuck off. Okay bye!” He waves and walks away, Fanta obediently trailing along with him.

He hops into a car, Fanta in the passenger seat, and drives away, having only the vaguest of ideas where he was going.

Three hours later, he returns, Fanta happily squeaking a squeaky toy that very oddly resembles a small rifle. He opens the door, Fanta running over his lap and into the open area with the little gift in his little doggy mouth, Niragi following after. Once back into the building, it doesn’t take long before Niragi sees Sakurada coming towards him, a worried expression on his face. “ Oh, there you two are! I was worried when you suddenly disappeared, you know! Where did you go?” “ To get Fanta a gift, obviously! Look, isn’t he so happy!” He gestures down at Fanta, the dog squeaking the toy once more. Sakurada smiles, a certain concerned tightness at the edges.

“ Niragi, why did you give my dog a gun again.” “ Hey! A squeaky gun! Huge difference! Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Sakurada sighs, and he lightly shakes his head. “ Alright, but that’s it, okay?” 

“ Ugh, fiiiiiine. Fanta still goes on patrols with me though.” “ Yes, of course. Fanta deserves to go on walks.” Niragi fist pumps the air. “ Aw yeah. You’re the fucking best, you Dior mannequin. Come on Fanta, let’s go throw eggs at the bleached trash bin.” He runs off, Fanta barking and climbing Sakurada’s legs for a few pets from his owner before running off to join Niragi in his crime time.

Sakurada simply watches them go, with the slight hint of worry for his poor Fanta. The dog was a smart doggo though, so Sakurada trusted Fanta to hold his own against Niragi. Hopefully there wouldn’t be….. too much damage control he’d have to do later.