#apparently signing it under the chin means a fuck you rather than a thank you ( ON the chin )

[its-paperd]

[ error intended to point that at ink, not knowing Canopy was there LFHWHCJS ]

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

i think you will like this prompt 👀❤️ geralt going to a professional cuddler (jaskier) because he's been deprived of touch for so long that it started to make him sick.

yes i'm asking you to make geralt cry again bc i love the way you do it 🤭

Did I want to make him cry? Yes. Did Jask let me? No. The bard wanted the witcher to have a nap and I had to comply. Apparently I don't make the rules even in my own writing??? I’ll make him cry soon though lol

Warnings: lmao our boy is unprofessional af, touch starvation, som big awkward, but nothing intense. 

___________________

Geralt bounced his knee as he contemplated bolting out of the waiting room. Well it wasn’t so much a waiting room as it was a seating-heavy foyer into a historic-district flat, but it served its purpose. 

He took a deep breath and tried to still his leg. He was doing this for Ciri, because she was worried, and he could at least admit to himself he hoped to be able to sleep better. 

A man about his height with wispy brown hair and a soft smile under twinkling blue eyes emerged from one of the doors, calling out his name and waving him forward. 

“Geralt? Hi, I’m Jaskier Pankratz. Pleased to meet you.” 

Geralt found it odd that he didn’t offer to shake his hand but was rather relieved. If this started off like a business transaction he might not be able to take it seriously. Jaskier quickly went over his paperwork and had him sign one last release form before he directed him to a long plush looking couch. 

Jaskier sat at one end and Geralt planted himself at the other, picking at his nails and scrambling for something to say. Anything. Even a dumb question would do at this point. 

“It’s okay to be nervous. Perfectly normal, actually.” Jaskier’s reassurance was nice, but not entirely helpful.

“Hm… okay.” 

“What are you nervous about? Or can you put a finger on it?”

Geralt took a breath and shifted a bit to face Jaskier, “I’m out of my depth.” 

Jaskier smiled, draping his arm over the back of the couch and extending one leg so his foot was hanging off the edge, “That’s alright. You don’t have to do anything you want to. We can just start by touching hands or knees. If that’s uncomfortable that’s okay. Hell we could sit back to back and pretend the other isn’t actually there.”

Geralt huffed, “My daughter would say that’s cheating.”

“She may,” Jaskier tilted his head with a soft expression, “but I have a feeling you show her a very different side of yourself.” 

“I do,” Geralt nodded, “but I’m not paying you for therapy.”

“Nor am I qualified,” Jaskier laughed. Something about the sound melted a bit of the iceberg in Geralt’s chest and he cracked a small grin. He rested his arm over the back of the couch and laid his hand next to Jaskier’s. His fingertips could brush his wrist if Geralt had the stones, which he didn’t. Jaskier just rolled his arm over, resting the back of his hand directly in Geralt’s palm. 

He was painfully aware of every cell in his arm. It felt like jello and electricity but it was nice. Really nice. 

Geralt just stared at their hands for a bit before he smiled.

Jaskier scooted closer, sliding his hand up Geralt’s arm and giving him goosebumps as he laid his hand on his shoulder, “How you doing?” 

Geralt snorted, to which Jaskier looked confused, “My daughter had a Friend’s phase. It just- Joey always hits on people with that line,” he explained. 

Jaskier blushed bright red, “Oh! No! I didn’t- I mean, you’re certainly nice to look- bollocks. I’m sorry. Not what I meant.”

It was Geralt’s turn to reassure, laughing as he did and resting his own hand over Jaskier’s shoulder, “I got what you meant. And- uh. Thank you.”

“That was extremely unprofessional. I’m sorry.” Jaskier shook his head, closing his eyes in embarrassment. 

“Better than thinking your client’s gross. Do you have that sometimes?”

“Not for a long time.” Jaskier confessed. 

They chatted like that for a while, chatted almost like they were on a date. They talked movies and old sports injuries and Geralt spent a while gushing about Ciri getting into a top Kinesiology school. As the conversation flowed Geralt shifted closer, only in increments, before Jaskier gave his hand a light tug, pulling him so Geralt was tucked under his arm. 

Jaskier continued talking like nothing had changed, like he couldn’t hear Geralt’s heart beating out of his chest. Geralt slowly tilted his head till it was resting on Jaskier’s collar bone, testing the waters. After a minute or two, when he’d relaxed into the position, Jaskier brought his arm off the back of the couch to trace lines up and down Geralt’s arm. 

It was intoxicating after so long without any kind of touch. 

Geralt’s eyes started to flutter closed and he wasn’t keeping up with the conversation as well as before. 

Jaskier brushed a hair out of his face and whispered, “Do you want to lie down?”

Because he was so tired or because he didn’t want Jaskier to let go of him until the day he died, he nodded and let himself be pulled so he was laying on top of Jaskier, using his chest as a pillow. He drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a minute or two, part of his mind absolutely baffled and outraged by his circumstances, but it had been so long since he’d felt so peacefully sleepy. 

When he woke it was to Jaskier carding his hands through his hair, “There you are. Any fun dreams?”

“Oh, shit…” he mumbled, “I have to go, don’t I?”

Jaskier rested his other hand on his shoulder, “Not yet. I wanted to wake you up slowly. I see that’s not really an option with you,” he chuckled. 

Geralt hummed and laid his head back down, “Toddlers do that to you.” 

Jaskier sat them up, not missing the opportunity to keep Geralt cradled close to him as he gently coaxed him back to the land of the living.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Geralt sighed, “My time’s up.”

“Doesn’t have to be. I’m not booked for another hour,” Jaskier hummed, placing a kiss to Geralt’s hair.

Both of them froze.

Jaskier breathed, “Oh fuck.” before launching into what was probably going to be a lengthy apology about professionalism and conduct before Geralt cut him off. 

He tilted Jaskier’s chin toward him and kissed him, not for too long, just long enough to get the frantic man to shut up, “There. Now we’re even.” 

“I- I can’t see you anymore,” Jaskier stammered. 

Geralt nodded and sat back, untangling himself from Jaskier, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m-uh- not awake yet.”

“No,” Jaskier reached for his hand, “Not like that. Do you… Would you like to go for a drink later?” 

[snackhobi]

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

--

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work. 

You slap at your vibrating phone, fingers sliding uselessly across the screen as you fumble to cut off the chirping alarm, and then you groan. “Ugh." You bury your head into your crumpled pillow. And then, once more, with feeling: “Uggggggh.”

You roll around in your bed, thrashing a little like a child having a tantrum, before you flop on your back and stare at your ceiling with your limbs akimbo, a starfish.

“Why?” You whine out to no one in particular. “Why me?”

Fortunately you live alone, so there’s no one to witness your sulky behaviour.  You would put off getting all your errands done, but you’ve already been doing this for so long that you’re practically out of clean clothes to wear. That’s one part about living alone that’s a double-edged sword- you have your own space where you can act however you please, which is Great, but also you’re the only one responsible for keeping on top of things, which is Less Great. You can’t rely on other people to get things done for you.

You’ve never been a morning person, and the fact it’s so nice outside already does nothing to brighten your mood; it’s the perfect kind of day, the chilled bite to the air mellowed by the sun in the cloudless, pale sky, and you’re going to have to spend it indoors. Ugh. You eventually grit your teeth and pull yourself out of bed, waking yourself up with a cold shower. Once you force a cup of overly sweet coffee into your system and the caffeine hits you so that you’re fully awake and ready to go, the world suddenly feels a lot more bearable. So you’re unperturbed when your underwear drawer comes up practically empty.

“Oops,” you say. “Oh well.”

It’s practically empty, but not entirely; there, at the back, there’s that pretty lingerie set you’d bought on a whim in a sale and then promptly never worn. Honestly you’d be happy to go without, seeing as no one else is here and you have no one to look pretty for, but you find that you never get anything done if you’re not in a bra. It’s like a Pavlovian response that you've ingrained into yourself: when you get home, your bra comes straight off, no ifs, buts, or maybes. Bra off means it’s Relaxation Time. Bra on? That means it's time to get things done.

But, yeah, if you’re going to wear the bra, you may as well wear the matching thong, right? It came as a set so you’d basically be committing a crime if you didn’t wear them together. You take one moment to admire yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that to appreciate how it makes you look, before promptly ruining the illusion of sexiness by covering it up with a pair of old sweatpants and a too-large tank top. They're the only bits of clothing not in your laundry basket that you don't mind getting dirty while you clean, so, you have to make do.

The worst part about doing chores is getting the whole process started, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you have a routine. Bra on, hair up, mental checklist ready. You toddle through to the kitchen with your laundry basket, picking through for the colours and whites, feeling entirely too accomplished once you get the first load sorted. This kickstarts the whole chore procedure and once you get stuck in, you actually start to have fun; you’ve got your noise cancelling headphones on and your cleaning playlist is full of songs that get you pumped up, and you sing along to the music as you get started on your next job.

You wiggle your butt to the rhythm of the beat while you hoover, pushing your vacuum into the corners of your flat and ruthlessly sucking up the dust bunnies that have gathered there. You're in the middle of belting out one particularly long note when a spider scuttles out from under your sofa and the note rises into a little scream; you act on pure instinct and suck the spider up into the hoover, watching as all the long hairy legs fold together and get schlorped into the vacuum’s nozzle before disappearing forever. You feel immediately relieved but also immensely guilty when this happens- spiders are awful and you hate them but usually you’d try your best to catch them under a cup before flinging it outside, so the fact you’ve maybe just killed it? You really are just awful. (But thank God it’s gone.)

Maybe that's enough hoovering for now.

You empty the dust bag into the bin, mindful of the fact that the spider might still be alive and come crawling out onto your hands. Thankfully it doesn’t, but you’re not going to take any chances; you draw the bin liner shut and tie it tight, before deciding that the best course of action is to put it into your outside bin, in case the spider decides to come back with a vengeance. 

You hoist the bag up and pause for a second to glance down at how the straps of your too-loose top have slipped down your shoulders to reveal the top of bra, the intricate lace trim of the cups and extra straps that criss cross your chest- definitely an, uh, interesting outfit choice for a quick trip out of your flat. You make the executive decision to shrug on a hoodie and zip it all the way to your neck to preserve your modesty and save you from the chill outside. Once that’s done it takes two seconds to slip your feet into your (fake) Converse shoes, another few seconds to fiddle with the lock on your door, struggling with the latch- it’s been a bit janky for a while and you keep forgetting to sort it out- before you hop your way downstairs and  to the outside shed where everyone's bins are stored.

Ewch. It doesn’t smell that great in here. You make quick work of dumping your rubbish and escaping from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind you to try and keep the stench locked inside, before almost falling over when you feel the telltale sensation of a cat curling around your ankles. He’s meowing up at you but your headphones have been drowning him out, so you slide them off your ears and hook them around your neck so you can actually hear him.

"Oh, hi, baby!" The ginger stray likes to hang nearby the building, always friendly and happy to see you, even if he seems to like sneaking up when you least expect it. He meows at you again as you squat down to stroke him, butting his head into your palm as his tail curls in delight. "Aren't you just the most gorgeous boy? Yes, you are, aren't you?"

The cat ends up putting his paws onto your knee to butt his face against yours, and the next thing you know, you have an armful of cat. You laugh and continue to pet him, cooing at how cute he is as he purrs back. "Awh, baby, you're so sweet," you say. "I wish I could take you home, but my meanie landlord says we can't have pets."

“I was thinking of starting a petition, actually, so the landlord gets rid of the No Pets clause in the tenancy agreement. You’re welcome to sign it if you like.”

You glance up from where you’ve been allowing the cat to shove his nose against your chin, standing up straight to address the man who’s talking to you, cat still clutched in your arms. “Oh! Hi, Namjoon-ssi. That’s such a good idea, I love that. Stick it to the man. I’d definitely sign it. How are you today?”

Kim Namjoon, aka your neighbour from across the hall, is smiling at the cat in your arms. Namjoon’s the perfect neighbour and ideal tenant- quiet, tidy, considerate, although he does have a tendency to lose his keys and gets locked out of his flat on a pretty regular basis. 

It’s actually how you’d started to talk in the first place. When you first moved in you’d given him a small box of chocolates to endear yourself to your same-floor-friend, only exchanging small nods and pleasant greetings for a while after that, but after you’d found Namjoon waiting sheepishly on his own doorstep- “My friend has a key but it’s going to take him a little while to get here,” he’d explained- you’d invited him into your own flat to wait, rather than just in the hall. 

Since then you’ve started to have chats whenever you see each other, and occasionally knock on each other’s doors whenever you ask to borrow things like sugar or a screwdriver or whatever, and you always invite Namjoon in for a cup of tea when he’s waiting for one of his friends to rescue him from his own forgetful nature. You’re still toeing the line between Friendly Neighbours and Kind Of Friends, but one thing you already know and admire about Namjoon is his ability to actually be a mature and put together adult. Sure, you drink a decent amount of water, you have a skincare routine with multiple steps, and you usually manage to eat your 5-a-day, but a lot of that feels like you do it because you’re expected to, sort of like a child playing make-believe. 

Namjoon, meanwhile, manages to just ooze the sort of gravitas that comes with being a fully realised human being, someone who actively participates in the world around them because they’re entirely engaged with things and basically just Super Mature Adult (even if he apparently loses/breaks things on a fairly regular basis). Hence why you’re not at all surprised at the petition thing, or when Namjoon proceeds to tell you that he’s going to spend the afternoon at his friend’s uncle’s strawberry farm, picking fruit, because of course Namjoon is the kind of guy who supports local, organic, free range produce. (Wait. Can strawberries be free range? Or is that just eggs?)

“Ahh, I love strawberries! That’s so cool,” you say. “It must be fun.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you like,” Namjoon says. He’s always gracious so you know he’s just saying this to be polite, but you can’t help but think it would probably be really nice to spend time picking fruit and talking with him.

“Ah, I’d love to, but unfortunately I have prior commitments. I’m catching up on chores,” you admit ruefully. You’re still absently scritching the ginger cat’s chin as you speak, the animal purring up a storm in your arms and shedding all over your clothes, although you don’t notice or care. Namjoon is incredibly endeared- not that you notice that, either. “Hence the runway-ready outfit.”

Your hair is so messy it looks like some sort of wild possum has been nesting in it, your hoodie sleeves are so long they threaten to swallow your hands, and you’re not even wearing your cheap knock-off shoes properly- you’re stepping on the back collar of them in your bare feet so they’re basically glorified flip-flops at this point. Total fashionista. (Not.)

Namjoon, however, seems surprised at your dismissive tone. “You look cute and cozy,” he says.

You snort in an unladylike way, lifting the cat in your arms a little- you can’t gesture properly with an armful of fur, especially when the stray takes this as an invitation to crane upwards and shove his little face into the crook of your neck, knocking against your headphones. “Cute baby,” you coo at the cat, before turning your attention back to Namjoon. “You look cute and cozy,” you echo. It’s a little chilly today and Namjoon’s wrapped up, long scarf curled around his neck, beanie on his head, hem of his coat fluttering around his thighs. Super cozy, and again, a well-put-together adult. 

You muffle a sigh. He’s a well-put-together and hot adult, tall and built, so handsome in his casual outfit, effortlessly masculine. You’ve been lowkey crushing on Namjoon for a while now, as futile as that effort is- you haven’t seen any evidence of a special someone in Namjoon’s life, but there’s no way that man is single. Even if he somehow is, he’s like, a bajillion light years out of your league, hyper intelligent and kind and gorgeous, in comparison to your… um… your… well. Yeah. In comparison to that. 

He’s nice to you and he smiles whenever he sees you, though, and your weak little heart can’t help but flip flop in your chest whenever you see that dimpled little smile, even if you know you don’t have a chance in hell that he really thinks that you’re cute. He’s just being polite. 

The cat in your arms gives a little wriggle, apparently sated for the day, and you carefully squat down to deposit him onto the ground. He gives you both one last little mewl before scampering off and you fondly watch him go. “Let me know when you have that petition written up,” you say, brushing the cat hairs off your sleeves. “I better get back to my flat, I need to finish the rest of my laundry so I can continue the facade of being a functional adult. Have a great day, Namjoon-ssi, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries! You’ll have to tell me how they are.”

“I will,” he says, eyes warm as he smiles, those little dimples appearing in his cheeks. Ugh, you want to touch them so much. “Good luck with your laundry.”

Namjoon’s beautiful smile fuels you for the rest of the day, buoying you up as you scrub the walls of your shower and bleach your toilet, bright yellow gloves a size too large for your hands as you spritz your bathroom counter. You might not be a legitimate adult in the same way that your neighbour is but you can give it a damn good go; even if the rest of your life is maybe a bit more chaotic than you’d like, you can at least get your surroundings in order.

And you do. By the time you’re finished with hoovering and mopping your floors and reorganising your clutter, your flat feels brand-spanking new again, fresh and clean and airy. You’d even lit a few scented candles earlier and you give yourself a pat on the back for your forward thinking as you snuff them out, the delicate smell of vanilla lightly filling the apartment. All that’s left is to go to the kitchen and put the final load of laundry in the tumble dryer and once that’s been emptied and sorted, you’re all finished. Mission accomplished. Chores done.

Once the tumble dryer has started its cycle you reward yourself with a cup of tea, a blackcurrant and blueberry fruit infusion that you’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at work and hadn’t used yet, saving it for a special occasion. You hum to yourself and continue to wiggle your hips to the music trickling out of your headphones as the kettle boils, watching the purple that bleeds from the tea bag once the hot water cascades over it. It looks rich and vibrant and it smells so good- but then you make a little face when you take a sip. Fruit teas never taste as good as they smell. It’s not bad but it’s a little disappointing, really, a subpar reward after a hard day of work. 

You stand in the middle of your kitchen with your mug still in your hand, eyes unfocused as you stare into space, trying to think of things in your flat that you could use to reward yourself. You’ve already used up those fancy gel eye masks that Jimin had given you for your birthday, and you’d let Jungkook have your sheet masks when he’d said his favourite brand was out of stock; Taehyung had pilfered all of your bath bombs as part of an experiment (the experiment being that he wanted to know what colour his bath water would turn if he used all your different bath bombs in it- the answer was ‘an incredibly underwhelming, if glittery, sludge brown’), and he still hasn’t gotten around to replacing them.

Pay day isn’t until next week and you’re tight enough on money at the moment that you don’t want to order out for dinner- living alone means you have to pay more rent so you have to be more careful with money- so you’re out of ideas. 

That is until motion out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You glance over at it, pulled out of your reverie; the old tumble dryer has been in this flat longer than you and it’s showing signs of wear and tear, base warped a little from age, noisy and wobbly as your clothes are being spun inside. You pause, mug dropping a little in your hand as the thought briefly flickers through your mind, before you bite your lip and throw caution to the wind. Fuck it. You live alone and you’ve had a long day and you deserve some kind of reward. 

You abandon your unfinished mug of tea in the sink before eyeing the shaking tumble dryer. You hoist yourself up, straddling the corner of the machine, a little shiver running through you when you feel the vibrations through your legs and thighs as you settle into place; it takes time to situate yourself, thighs spreading as you tilt your hips forward and press your heat against the rumbling dryer. You shift on your hands, palms braced against the top of the machine as you wriggle into the best position- the second you get just the right angle you let out a little gasp, eyes squeezing shut when you feel how the shaking machine is sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

You keep your eyes shut as you continue to find the right rhythm. You rock your hips forward each time the machine rocks back, rolling the weight of your body down towards your clenching cunt; the vibrations are so strong that you can feel them through your sweatpants, lace of your thong rubbing against your clit in a deliciously rough way, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

As you continue to work yourself up, your skin starts to feel overheated under your clothes, even with the chill spring air seeping into the flat- you fumble with the zip of hoodie, letting the material sag open before you brace yourself with your palms again. You feel how the hoodie slips down your arms, baring your shoulders, and you tilt your head back, revealing the line of your neck as you arch your spine. Each rumble of the machine rolls through you, wetness starting to slicken your folds as you grind down a little harder. It’s a steady, slow climb towards your peak- you shut your eyes to focus fully on the pleasure building between your legs, the way your clit feels swollen and almost over-sensitive from the strong vibrations from the dryer, the way your pussy clenches whenever you get the angle just right.

You start to gasp, biting back moans when you feel how your orgasm is getting closer. You lift one hand from the top of the dryer to run your hands over your skin- your neck, your throat, tracing over the straps of the bra that are digging into the swell of your breasts. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough; every time you feel like the peak of your orgasm is about to crest, it ebbs away again, and you let out a little whine from the back of your throat. 

With your eyes still shut, you try to conjure up images that’ll arouse you and send you tumbling over the edge. Hands on your body, lips against your skin, your mouth. Normally when you masturbate you try to keep away from thinking about anyone in particular, because you feel like if you see that person in the future they’ll just telepathically know about it and you end up feeling awkward and guilty (even if you know it's illogical)- but today you can’t help it. Your mind slips to the thought of Namjoon this morning and the way he’d smiled at you, and once you start thinking about Namjoon, you can’t stop. 

Namjoon’s smile. His mouth. His tongue. His hands, his fingers. His tall, beautiful body, pressing you down against a mattress, trapping you against him. You take the hand that’s been trailing over your collarbones and lift it to your mouth and press two fingers past your lips, trying to imagine that it’s Namjoon. Imagine that it’s the weight of his cock on your tongue, hard and heavy. You bet it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. You bet he tastes so good, hot and salt and maybe a little bitter, heady and masculine; you let out a low moan around your lips as you run the pads of your fingertips over your tongue, saliva pooling in your mouth.

All the while, your music has been playing on, heavy beat thrumming through you as you forget the outside world and focus on the reality you’re conjuring in your mind. Namjoon’s cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s mouth on your cunt. Namjoon’s skin against yours. Namjoon fucking into you, hard and deep. Your blood rises in your veins, toes curling as you can feel how your orgasm is getting ever closer now that you’re this turned on, your cunt leaking with arousal; the thought of Namjoon wanting you as much as you want him is dizzying, as unlikely as it is. The Namjoon in your mind fucks into you with a particularly rough thrust and in the real world you respond with a moan, garbled around the fingers between your lips. Fuck, you’re so close. 

Just as you're nearly there, your playlist ends and everything lapses into silence, your reverie shattered. The moment is gone. Your orgasm slips away from you again and you whimper, unintentionally edging yourself yet again. 

Your eyes flutter open briefly when your haze is broken, although you squeeze them back shut so that you can get back to picturing Namjoon and finally bring yourself to completion- but then your eyes fly open again, fingers stuttering in your mouth and hips going still as your entire body stiffens, blood turning to ice in your veins.

The very real Kim Namjoon is standing in the doorway of your kitchen. There’s a look of utter shock on his face, his lips parted, eyes so wide it looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull, frozen in place. You don’t know how long he’s been there. You don’t know if he’s just walked in on you. Really, though, it doesn’t matter if he’s been there for five seconds or five hours- he’s seen everything, the way there’s saliva dripping from your mouth around your fingers, tank top barely hiding your lingerie, the way you’ve been bucking your hips against the dryer. Utterly desperate and debauched and depraved. 

There’s a small, white plastic bag in Namjoon’s hands with a pretty strawberry logo on it, drooping further and further towards the floor as his arms go slack. You don’t notice it until it’s slipping loose from his fingers and landing on the floor. 

Berries go rolling out of the sagged plastic and across the tiles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. That single point of motion in the room seems to kickstart your brain into gear, your flight or fight response screaming flight, and you practically throw yourself off the tumble dryer. Your brain is entirely empty of logical thought right now and the only thing you can think of is that you need to get away and hide forever. 

You rush past a still frozen Namjoon, stumbling down your hallway towards your open front door- you notice that the latch is stuck, not clicking into place when you’d come back inside earlier and leaving the door unlocked, you idiot. Namjoon always knocks and it must have swung open as soon as he rapped his knuckles against it, and you wouldn’t have heard it over your goddamn music. You absolute, utter idiot.

You’re not thinking about how illogical it is to flee from your own home to get away from someone. You’re just thinking about your escape. Taehyung’s flat is the nearest and it won’t take long to run there and you can survive without shoes; you’re still barefoot but you don’t have time to grab anything. You have to run. 

You’re just stretching out for the door when you feel large hands grab you from behind. You flail, door swinging shut as your fingers brush against it before you’re being pulled backwards by the arms that have slid around your waist. You start to struggle, squirming in the hold, pushing at the hands trapping you as you instinctively still try to get away from the shame and embarrassment; Namjoon’s body is warm and solid against your back, his muscles effectively trapping you in place, and you can feel how his voice rumbles through him as he speaks, audible through the silence of your headphones.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never heard Kim Namjoon sound like this. His voice is authoritative, commanding. The part of your brain that acts on pure instinct- the part that just told you to go hurtling out onto the street without shoes- responds instantly, and you immediately go lax in his hold even though you’re still internally panicking.

“I was planning on going to the moon,” you say, unable to cover up how your voice is shaking, even if you’re trying to hide behind sarcasm. It’s your only defence right now. Your skin prickles with embarrassment. “Where else do you think?”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle, and your toes curl at how deep the sound is. “The mouth on you.” He sounds amused. You can’t look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get away from me?”

“‘Trying’ is the operative word.” You’re still staring resolutely at the door- it’s swung shut and the latch has actually clicked upwards this time. Traitor.  “As you can tell, I’m not doing a very good job. The sooner I go, the sooner I get the paperwork started for my move to Fiji.”

“I thought you were planning on going to the moon.” Namjoon’s hold on you is still firm. You’re utterly helpless. “Changed your mind?”

“Going to open a diner in Fiji to raise funds for my moon mission. It’s a long plan.” The spike of adrenaline that had burst through you is already dissolving in your system, leaving you feeling limp and strung out. You can’t see Namjoon’s face with how your back is crushed against his chest; when you glance down all you can see is how big his hands are against your stomach. Despite yourself, you shiver. As panicked and embarrassed as you are, arousal is still trickling through you, and you hate yourself for the effect that Namjoon is having on you right now. You try to sound calm and unaffected as you continue to speak, but you feel breathless from the lingering pleasure tingling between your legs. “Can you let me go now, please?”

“Is that really what you want?” You’ve had your hands on his wrists from how you’d been trying to push them away, so you feel how one of Namjoon’s hands starts to slide downwards, slow as treacle, and your breath hitches as his fingers slide under the waistband of your sweatpants. They don’t go any further than that, palm splayed over your hipbone, but you feel your pussy clench at the warmth of his hands on your skin and a whimper slips out of you. “Or do you actually want something else?”

Your fingers dig into his wrists. When you open your mouth to reply, your words fail you and instead you just let out a little breath.  You’re in utter disbelief at what’s happening right now, unsure of what’s going on- you’re not an idiot but there is no way that Namjoon is implying what you think he’s implying. Absolutely no way. Not a chance in hell. What?

As you continue to stay silent, brain trying to catch up with the situation, Namjoon doesn’t move.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs. “I need to know that you want this.”

Oh, fuck. When Namjoon calls you baby it feels like a switch has been flipped inside you; like he’s slipped a missing fuse into place and your entire body has lit up, full of energy and electricity from his touch. It’s overwhelming. “Of course I want this,” you confirm, trembling, and then: “I want you.”

Namjoon responds by finally moving his hand downwards. You watch as it goes, how he pauses when he makes contact with the fabric of your underwear, the unmistakable texture of embroidered lace under his touch. He drags his fingertips across the straps that cross over themselves, an arrow guiding him to his mark; your entire body goes tense when his fingers glance over your swollen folds, slick through the fabric.

You gasp. You’re still trapped against him by the strong arm curled around you, but your hands are free- you pull your headphones off and let them fall to the floor, twisting your head around so you can finally look at Namjoon’s face. His eyes are hooded and dark. He looks nothing like the cute and clumsy man who waves you good morning every day; he looks like some hungry animal, a predator who’s been waiting for the right time to swallow his prey whole.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. He gives you a small smile that’s more of a smirk, utterly at odds to his usual dimpled beams.

“You don’t have to settle for an old tumble dryer, gorgeous.” He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder, right next to where your bra strap is resting, eyes locked on yours. His lips are so soft and you shiver. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll have you know that tumble dryer was very close to getting me off, actually.” You’re so turned on right now but you can’t help the words slipping out; a lifetime of snark doesn’t leave you the second you start feeling horny. “So it’s less you helping me, and more you giving me something you owe me, seeing as you took it away in the first place.”

Namjoon’s silent for a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far- if you’ve run your mouth too much- when he hums. “Ah,” he says. “That’s true. You’re right.”

“Huh?” You say eloquently, surprised, but then he takes the hand out of your sweatpants and you whine. “Hey, put that back, you’re not done yet.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But I want to see this pretty lingerie properly. You’re all covered up and that just won’t do.”  

He punctuates this statement by taking both of his hands to your hoodie, where it’s been caught at your elbows, and sliding it off you. He drags his large palms down your arms as he does this, cool against your overheated skin; goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch and you shiver again. You have no idea what's going on right now. Everything feels like some sort of fever dream but you're not about to start complaining.

“If you’re about to see me in my unmentionables I’d least like a kiss first,” you say, pout audible in your voice. The truth is you’ve thought about Namjoon’s plush lips more often than you’d like to admit, how beautiful his mouth is, and it’s got to be illegal for Namjoon to have been touching you for as long as he has without letting you have at least one taste of his kisses. “Please?”

“Turn around, baby.” You instantly comply, all but throwing your arms around his neck as you look at him with an innocent, bambi gaze; he still has that half-lidded set to his eyes but you can see how that ravenous hunger is softened by his smile. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say. You might sound like the protagonist to some cheesy romance film right now but the truth is that you’re still aware of the heat between your legs, the ebbed arousal that’s still coiling low in your stomach, and as much as you want to kiss Namjoon, you want to cum, too. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss m-”

Namjoon kisses you. He cuts you off mid sentence by slotting his mouth against yours, open around the word he swallows, and he immediately presses his tongue past your lips; you yield to him, letting him press his lips to your cupid’s bow as you lick his lower lip, soft and full. Just as good as you thought. No- better. His hands stay steady around your waist, but yours keep moving as you keep kissing- his shoulders, his nape, his hair, his jaw. Every part of him is so warm and solid against you and you just can’t get enough.

You slant your head to get deeper, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths in a way that borders on lewd, rubbing against each other as you trade saliva, your mouth full of the taste of Namjoon. You swear there’s a lingering taste of strawberries. You feel better, a little more in control now that you know Namjoon will indulge you even if you’re being a brat, and you can finally chase the thing that got this whole sequence of events started.

“I wanna cum, Namjoon,” you murmur against his lips once you finally part, breathless from his kisses. “Will you help me cum? Please? Pretty please?”

Namjoon’s lip curls back from his teeth in a silent growl, and a shudder runs through you at the sight; seeing your usually composed neighbour act like this because of you is a heady sensation. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he says, and your pussy throbs with need at his words.

“Jesus Christ, Namjoon.” Your eyes are wild. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

You get no warning before Namjoon is literally sweeping you off your feet and you squeal in surprise when you feel them leave the ground, but Namjoon’s grip on you is steady as he lifts you in a bridal hold. You feel breathless at this physical representation of his strength- you’ve only seen his bare arms once (that had been a nice morning) before but you definitely hadn’t forgotten about how thick they are, as evidenced by the way he’s carrying you. 

Normally you’d probably be chewing him out for lifting you without warning, but right now there’s a very base, animalistic part of you that goes belly up at the very obvious reminder of Namjoon’s superior power. The instinctual part of you that had initially told you to run away from him now seems entirely content with the fact you’ve been caught, and so you stay quiet in his arms. You cling tight to him as he walks to your bedroom without the need for directions, your flat the mirrored twin to his; you keep kissing his neck as he nudges the door open with his foot, running a hand down his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. 

He’s so fucking hot, what the fuck.

He’s hot, and strong, but gentle, too. When Namjoon sets you down he’s so careful even though he could easily manhandle you in any way he wanted, and you give him a kiss as a thank you. It’s a brief moment of quiet, that little kiss, but then Namjoon is pulling you back towards him and his hands are all over as he helps you strip; Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on your body as he drinks you in, finally wearing nothing but the lingerie he’s been so desperate to look at.

He sees the way the interweaving straps rest against your skin with the perfect amount of pressure, little swells letting him know that he’ll be able to trace the touch of lace on your body even after he’s ripped it off you. The lace cups of your bra do nothing to hide how your nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. But the most eye-catching thing, the thing that Namjoon can’t stop looking at, is how sodden the lace between your legs is; your inner thighs are slick with your arousal, shining, and you haven’t even cum yet. 

“Look at you. So gorgeous,” Namjoon says. “Gonna make you cum over and over, baby.”

His hands feel so good against your skin as he skims his fingers over your panties, but he doesn’t take them off, and you let out a needy little noise. “Please,” you whine. “I need to cum, Joonie, been waiting so long.”

Namjoon watches as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra and reaches for your hands, stopping your motions. You blink up at him, confused, but then he’s turning you towards the bed and bending you over it, motions firm and undeniable; not that you would try to defy him, anyway. You brace your palms against the mattress and instantly arch your spine so that your ass is pushed out, enticing as possible.

You’re wondering if you’re going to have to beg for Namjoon to touch you but it seems what little patience he had has run out; his warm palms are immediately against your ass, touch reverent as he slides his hands over your skin, and you press back into that touch, wanting more of it. His hands skim up your sides and his fingers dance along the edge of your bra before reaching for the hooks, unfastening it so that it slips down your arms and onto the bed before you shove it aside. 

He bends over you, chest broad and warm against your naked shoulderblades, arms coming around your body so that he can cup your breasts in his large hands; his palms cover so much of your skin, your sensitive nipples, and you gasp at the shock of sensation that shoots through you as he drags his hands over them before using his fingers to pinch the hardened nubs. You twist your head and make a little noise, and Namjoon obliges you with a kiss, grinning against your mouth with each desperate sound he muffles with his plush lips.

Eventually, though, he pulls away from you. You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s gotten to his knees, still staring at your soaking core, before he hooks one of his thumbs into the fabric covering your aching pussy and pulls it aside before pressing his mouth against you.

“Oh, fuck!” Your body goes weak and you slump forwards onto your elbows and shove your face into the bed, and Namjoon follows when this moves you away from him, tongue buried in your cunt as he eats you out with no mercy. He’s utterly shameless, noises slick and lewd as he drags his wet tongue over your entrance and clit, swallowing down all the arousal that’s leaking out of you, ravenous. You reach behind you with one of your hands to grip his hair, and when you grind back against his face he lets out a satisfied hum; you gasp at the vibrations against your lower lips, oversensitive from all your edging.

“Gonna cum,” you say, twisting your head so that your cheek is pressed to your rumpled blanket. “I’m so close, oh, God, Namjoon-”

He’s been rubbing his tongue up and down your clit in a particularly sinful way, and after one more particularly hard stroke, you finally, finally reach that precipice you’ve been reaching for all day. You shove your face back into the blanket as you cum, all your gasps and moans coming together in one long cry as your toes curl and you tighten your fingers so hard into your sheets you almost pull them off the mattress. Your entire body trembles as your cunt pulsates with pleasure, each ripple of your pussy feeling like it’s passing through your whole body, and Namjoon doesn’t let up for a second, lapping down each wave of cum that flushes out of you. You feel utterly weak as you flop forwards against the mattress, boneless and shaky, but Namjoon’s mouth is still on you and you let out a whimper, oversensitive.

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Namjoon-”

He takes his mouth off you immediately. “Sorry, baby,” he apologises, pressing a kiss against the swell of your ass. You want to sag your lower body against the bed but his hands are keeping you up, fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass and hips. “You just taste so good. Can you lie down for me?”

“Yes,” you say into the blanket, your voice a muffled slur. You’re so eager to please him even though you feel so weak from your post orgasm haze, and your muscles feel like jelly as you try to lift yourself onto the bed. Namjoon obviously notices how fucked out you are because he helps flip you over so that you’re on your back, staring up at him.

You continue to stare at him as he sheds his clothes. You let your gaze shamelessly rove over his body as it’s revealed- the honeyed tone of his skin, the muscles that shift underneath it, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, the long legs, the thick thighs, the trail of hair that dips down to his-

“Holy fuck.” Your voice is reedy with desperation, and Namjoon laughs.

His cock has to be the biggest you’ve seen in real life, long and thick, fully erect even though you haven’t touched it yet- the fact that you’re apparently arousing enough to bring him to full hardness is flattering, honestly. Even as you stare at it, it twitches, a dribble of precum oozing from the flushed head, almost an angry red from neglect. You watch, enraptured, as he circles his fingers around it; it doesn’t look any smaller in his large hands. He pulls on his cock, long and slow, before he spits onto it and fucks into his fist as you watch him, spreading the wetness over himself.

“Gonna fill that hungry little pussy with this cock,” he says. “Gonna give you a reward for being such a good girl. Is that what you want?” Namjoon watches you as he thumbs at his slit, precum weeping from his tip. “Does my good girl want this cock?”

“I want it,” you beg. You do, you want it so bad. His mouth and lips and tongue felt so good but it must be nothing in comparison to how good it’ll feel to be filled up  by Namjoon’s heavy, long cock. “Fuck, Namjoon, please, I want it.”

You lift your hips so that Namjoon can slide your panties off you. He stares at the strings of wetness that cling to them as he peels them away from your core, finally bare to the cool air of the room, and you suck in a breath. He wastes no time, climbing onto the bed and settling above you, cock swaying between his legs before he grasps it and tilts it towards your entrance. 

You lift your hips again, tilting them towards him for an easier angle- and immediately cry out when he broaches you, head pressing past your entrance. You’re so turned on and flushed wet that the initial slide in is easy, but as he gets deeper and deeper you can feel the stretch, your pussy forced open for him, feeling like you’re being split open with how big he is- you’ll feel the burn tomorrow, but right now your body is ripe and ready for him to take you, cunt clenching as he bottoms out in you. You experimentally tense your muscles and the two of you gasp in a breath, shocked pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans. “You feel so good.”

He holds still for a moment to let you adjust, leaning down to kiss you. It’s deep and slow, tongue swiping into your mouth as you part your lips for him and let him take what he wants. When he leans back, all that softness is gone- your legs fall apart as he starts to fuck you, hips snapping forward as he ruthlessly presses his cock into you. He’s so big and he’s striking so deep it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and you arch your back into him and cry out each time he strikes home.

The pace he sets is rough and aggressive, the slap of skin against skin and wet noises from his cock driving into your pussy filling the silence of the room, every part of you hypersensitive to every sensation- Namjoon’s weight pressing you into the mattress, the shaking bed, the rising smell of sweat and sex, the firmness of his hands on you. He leans back and you catch a glimpse of his hungry eyes before he puts his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up so that you’re practically bent in half when he fucks into you again- you cry out at the change of angle, how this lets him splay his large hand over the line of your hipbone as he starts to rub his thumb across your clit, continuing to fuck into the whole time.

“Gonna c-cum again,” you hiccup between thrusts, the air punched out of you each time that hot cock spears into you. “Joonie, gonna- gonna cum aga- oh!”

Your spine arches as your orgasm rips through you, coil of pleasure exploding like a firework as you cum for the second time that day, walls tensing around Namjoon’s cock; he continues to thrust into you, even when your cunt clenches so tight it feels like there’s no space inside you for his length. He keeps forcing your body open for him even as you keep falling apart around him, and you keep taking it, loving it. The only thing you can register is the delirious, mind-numbing satisfaction, sobbing out as Namjoon’s cock continues to fill you- you feel like he’s fucked you dumb, like your body was only made to be fucked by him, sloppy and open and wet. Each time he fills you up again it forces a noise from your throat, sounds of almost animalistic pleasure spilling from your lips, all semblance of coherent words gone.

When Namjoon pulls out of you, even though your body feels weak and limp and entirely fucked out, you whine at the loss. The next second, though, he flips you over, nudging your ankles apart before sliding back into you. The change of angle has him dragging against your sweet spot, balls slapping against your clit, overwhelming off the heels of just cumming, but you just take it, drooling into the pillow as your brain gives over to the all-consuming pleasure.

“So pretty when you cum around my cock.” Namjoon’s bent over you, murmuring praises that you barely register as he litters kisses over your shoulders and the side of your throat. “Greedy little pussy takes my cock so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you.” Your words are a slur, your brain foggy but eager to please, answering the question. “Joonie.”

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he says, lips pressed against your ear as he whispers filth to you, still mercilessly fucking into you. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with my cum. Do you want my cum, baby?”

“Wan’ it,” you moan. There’s heat curling in your abdomen again, pussy tightening as another orgasm creeps up on you, the promise of Namjoon’s hot cum filling you pulling you closer to the edge. “Want your cum, Joonie.”

His fingers tighten around your waist as he starts to jackhammer into you. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open even as his rhythm starts to falter, and after one particularly hard thrust your eyes roll back in your head as you tumble over the edge again, cumming so hard it’s a wonder you don’t pass out. You let out a strangled moan and Namjoon curses as you tighten around him, your entire body trembling under his hands as you give yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

His rhythm falters before he lets out a shout and his cock jerks inside you as your tightening cunt pulls him into climax. Hot cum fills your pussy as he empties himself inside you, aftershocks of your orgasm drawing his seed deeper, painting your insides. You lie there and take it, face turned into the pillow as you focus on the sensation of his twitching cock, the way your body is milking him even in your exhaustion, like it’s desperate to satisfy him even when you can barely speak.

You shiver when you feel him slowly pull out. He’s stroking his hands over your skin, kissing your shoulder blades and nape as he turns you over, gentle as he touches you. “You did so well,” Namjoon praises, smiling at you. “So good for me.”

You still feel fuzzy but you latch onto Namjoon’s words as he kisses you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Words seem so hard to string together right now but you try your best, voice small and weak. “Did good?”

“Absolutely perfect, baby,” Namjoon says, and you let out a happy sigh. You stay quiet while Namjoon slips out of your bed before returning with a damp cloth. You let your muscles go entirely lax as Namjoon rolls you onto your back and gently spreads your legs; he watches as his own cum drips out of you before he gently swipes the mix of cum that’s smeared across your pussy, mindful of your sensitive clit. You bask in his touch, feeling like a cat bathing in sunlight as he cleans you up, stroking his hands across your skin.

He gathers you in his arms and continues to murmur praises between kisses and touches. You slowly come back to yourself as he keeps lavishing attention on you, skin warm against his, turning into his touch as your brain starts to flicker back on. 

Namjoon brushes his lips against your forehead as your higher thought processes continue to fall back into place, although you’re still a little hazy. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah.” You feel thoroughly fucked out after three back-to-back orgasms and your pussy feels raw and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to walk in a straight line, but none of those things detract from how fabulous you feel right now. “More than okay. Wow. When I said I wanted you to wreck me, I didn’t realise you’d do such a good job.”

Namjoon smiles at you, and you finally get to indulge yourself, lifting a hand to stroke a finger across his dimples that deepen as you touch them. “I’m always happy to oblige,” he says, and you grin as you brush your nose across his neck, nuzzling into him.

“You really are the best neighbour,” you say. “Did you seriously come over to give me a bunch of hand picked strawberries? That’s what that bag was, right?”

“Of course.” Namjoon’s fingers continue to rub circles into your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a nice treat after a day of chores.”

“Oh, I feel very thoroughly rewarded,” you giggle, before pulling your head back to look Namjoon in the eye. “God. I was so mortified at the beginning, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to pack my bags and move away.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t be enough to persuade you to stay?” Namjoon strokes his knuckles down your cheek before resting his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip, pushing up a little so it looks like you’re pouting at him. “After I spent all afternoon picking them and thinking about you, and how lovely you’d look while you ate them with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You relax into his touch, letting him rub the pad of his thumb over your lip, all but kissing his finger each time your mouth shapes itself around another word. “You think about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Namjoon says, stroking over your lip one last time before cupping your chin in his palm.  “I don’t genuinely lose my keys as often as you think I do. Though I do still lose them a lot,” he adds, a little sheepish, and you laugh.

“So you’re saying that if I give you a spare key to my flat, I should have back-ups on hand just in case?” You tease, leaning into the hand that’s cradling your chin. “Good to know.”

“A spare key?” Namjoon looks a little taken aback, and you blink at him.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Y’know, unless you want me to go back to using the tumble dryer.”

The hand that’s been on your shoulder tightens a little as Namjoon digs his fingers into your skin, possessive. That part of you that’s gone belly up for him preens at the attention, still eager to please him and make him happy, loving the sensation of being so desired by someone who you thought was out of your reach. “No.” Namjoon’s voice is a rumble in his chest. “I’ll make you cum whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You hum quietly before kissing his cheek, and then Namjoon uses the hand under your chin to turn you towards him and presses his mouth softly to yours. “You might regret saying that. I’m very demanding. Starting with this- do you want to go get those strawberries so I can have a taste?” You flutter your lashes at him, and Namjoon chuckles as he indulges you. 

You watch the flex of muscles in his thighs and ass as he walks from the room, still in a bit of disbelief that you’ve touched him and kissed him and been so thoroughly fucked by him. Kim Namjoon is a ten course meal (not including drinks or dessert) but here he is, naked on your bed as he feeds you the sweet, ripe strawberries that he picked with his own hands, kissing the taste off your lips between each bite.

You feel utterly pampered and taken care of, reclining against the pillows as Namjoon feeds you another strawberry. You reach out for the largest you can see and return the favour, letting him lick the sweetness off your stained fingers and giggling at the sensation. 

“The dryer’s finished its cycle, by the way,” Namjoon says after he’s finished kissing your fingertips.

“That’s nice,” you say as you carefully pick out another strawberry and rest it against the dark red flush of Namjoon’s lips. “But I’m busy feeding the world’s most beautiful man right now, so it can wait.”

Namjoon smiles at you, eyes lovely and warm as he parts his lips to accept the fruit, before leaning down to press his berry stained mouth against your own.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 3][18+]

<- Part 2 [male reader]  <- Part 2 [female reader] | Part 4 [female reader] -> Part 4 [male reader] ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

No plot, just fluff. For @thatesqcrush​’s summer bingo: aftercare square.

Warnings: NSFW, immediate aftermath of threesome, cuddling, insecurity, feelings

1,800 words

Bryan Kneef was the type of ruthless lawyer who stood up for the man and stuck it to the little guy. Vulgar, shameless, and tenacious, his name made opposing counsel tremble, and for good reason. He would do anything to win, and would just as soon bribe you, throw you under a bus, or fuck you.

And this man, having just fucked you and Dr. Frederick Chilton raw, was casually humming as he brought clean towels from the bathroom.

“Eyes closed,” he said—a tone that did not allow for argument, but soft, wearing a look of tender concentration on his brow.

Chilton closed his eyes, and he dabbed the warm, wet terrycloth to his cum-spattered face, clearing the stinging release from the area of danger before handing the towel to you to finish the job.

“This one’s dry.” Bryan pointed to a second towel he placed down beside you, then busied himself filling glasses of water from the sink.

As the partner doling out the most punishment, he took responsibility for taking care of everyone.

You guided Chilton to the couch, laying down a towel to catch the slick coating your thighs. He let out a stiff groan as he sank down, his bruised knees protesting, and you continued wiping down his face, stained with your, Bryan’s, and his own release. Some was stuck in his thick brown hair that would need an extra shampooing, some flecked his bare stomach, and swipes transferred from his hands painted his arms and chest. You let him wipe up his own stomach. He was sensitive about the long, raised scar there, which, while it had long ago healed physically, produced a different pain than the kind he got off on. The place he had been brutally violated was the one place treated with dignity.

Bryan returned with the water insisting everyone hydrate. Then he joined you on the couch, sitting beside Chilton, and pulling him down onto his broad, soft chest. Chilton curled his legs over your lap, and you tipped over his back, partially spooning him as he rested on Bryan. You trailed your hand over his back, stroking down the outside of his thigh, and he sighed as Bryan ran his fingers through his sweat-matted hair.

“You did very well,” Bryan cooed. “Our good little fuck toy.”

Chilton’s muscles went rigid. He turned his face down into Bryan’s greying chest hair to hide the color rising on his cheeks, though there was no hiding the blotchy red on a pale, naked doctor. Degradation was one thing, but praise? Praise was another entirely. He relished the safe feeling of being nestled between your two warm bodies as he came down from the adrenaline, but being told he was good triggered a squirmy, hot feeling in his stomach.

He was relieved when Bryan moved on and asked, “How do you feel? Anything hurt?”

Business. Professional. Checking on him physically, he could handle. Chilton shook his head and murmured something meant to be more intelligible than what came out, but managed to convey that he was fine—fucked brainless and boneless, but fine.

Bryan didn’t stay long. 

That was the deal. While you were playing at Chilton being a toy for the two of you to use, in reality, Bryan was the one you brought in to have fun with. He had no intention of overstaying his welcome. After a quick shower, his clothes were back on—a sharp navy suit hiding any hint of the unprofessional purpose for which he had visited your hotel room—and he was making a quick goodbye.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay? There’s plenty of room.”

Bryan’s pink lips curved up slightly, the corners lost in his neatly trimmed beard. “Nah, I have a deposition in the morning. Boring shit, but—” He shrugged.

Chilton had managed to change into a loose-fitting t-shirt, though his eyes were heavy-lidded, and his chatty nature was subdued. His hair was tousled and wet from the shower, making it appear almost black. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” Bryan said to him jovially, with a pat on the shoulder. “This was fun. Next time you’re in Chicago, let’s meet at my place. I have a lot more toys.”

He ran two fingers under your chin with the promise of pleasure to come, stepping into your space. Your nostrils quivered as you involuntarily sniffed him.

Then he turned to Chilton, whose hand was glued to your waist. Bryan narrowed his eyes slightly in consideration, and kissed him on the mouth. Lips colliding with a hungry snarl, their teeth clashed, and his beard battled Chilton’s coat of stubble to see who would leave a burn on the other’s chin. When he pulled back, Chilton’s green eyes gaped unblinking at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a swingers’ cruise.

Bryan smirked, and was gone.

* * *

The VIP hotel suite had a separate bedroom—a sweeping space decorated with modern black and white marble in crisp lines, a king-sized bed dressed in white linens and a fluffy black throw blanket. It opened into a master bathroom with a standing spa tub which you would certainly enjoy later when the soreness set in. For now, you and Frederick stumbled in to the privacy of the room and fell onto the vast bed together.

He let out a long, grateful moan as he stretched out on the clean sheets. It was rare to see him look so comfortable, with towel-dried hair curling into messy ringlets in every direction. Your heart fluttered at this perfectly unwound Chilton. There was the faintest hint of a bruise where Bryan’s fingers had dug in below his jaw, but it would be easy enough to hide with makeup if it wasn’t faded by the next day.

You kissed him gently on the bruise, and then curled an arm over his chest and settled against his side. His thumb found the back of your hand and traced small, wandering circles.

“So… did you like it?”

He nodded speechlessly.

“That’s good. I was worried it went too far.”

“That was the idea,” he replied.

A frown tugged at the affectionate smile your lips wanted to make, wrestled with it for control, and finally overpowered it in its sullen grip. You weren’t good enough on your own, in other words. You weren’t strong enough, not harsh enough to satisfy Dr. Chilton’s masochistic lust to be dominated.

Still, you wouldn’t ruin a lovely night by letting on that it bothered you.

“Yes, it was. And you took it so well,” you purred, savoring the feeling of his chest hair between your splayed fingers as you thoughtfully stroked his chest. “I think you really enjoyed yourself.”

He smiled dreamily, closing his eyes and reliving the memories. Your gentle palm was so warm, lulling him to sleep with its slow, meandering journey. His hand rested over yours, accompanying it like a passenger.

“Did you?” he asked.

Your hand stopped.

One of his deep green eyes cracked open.

“I did,” you said. “I wasn’t sure at first, but Bryan was so easy to work with. So magnetic. It was empowering having him there. Making you our willing slave that I had total control over.” A shiver ran straight to your over-worked sex remembering Chilton on his knees between you. How hard he worked to get you off. The way he looked at you with worship, even as tears burned down his face. No need to mention how it made you feel inadequate.

Frederick was quiet for a time, lost somewhere, too. Then a tiny voice came from his pillow. “Did you… like Bryan’s cock more than mine?”

“What?”

“Am I unsatisfactory by comparison? Do I not make you feel as good?”

“Frederick… this is why I didn’t want to do this.” Apparently Bryan made everyone feel inadequate.

“Oh.” His chin bobbed with a stiff inhale, and he looked away as if that was your answer.

“That stuff about him fucking me better… Those were just mean things we said to emasculate you—because you wanted us to!”

“It does not make it less true.”

“Well, it’s not,” you retorted stubbornly. “I love you.”

His cheeks flamed again. All of your emphasis on you, as in not Bryan. Not anyone else. The squirming, uncomfortable feeling in his belly returned, and he had to look away before you noticed how emotional he was getting. God. Why was being told he was a dickless fuckdoll so much easier than hearing that he was loved, when he desperately wanted to be loved? Thank god the psychiatric analyses he published were about someone else’s issues.

“We could do this more often,” he said in a light tone to put you at ease, skimming past his rather pathetic outburst of insecurity. “I liked him, too.”

“That is a monster cock he’s packing. I’m going to need a week to recover!” you laughed.

“As will I.”

“Oh! Should I bring you a cold pack? Or the vitamin E oil?”

“Worry about it tomorrow?” He held your wrist to prevent you from springing into action-mode. “I just want you to hold me.”

You lay back on the impressive modern bedspread and enjoyed the feeling of closeness. Frederick’s hand on your back, the quiet rhythm of his breath. You thought about sinking into a bath tomorrow, letting it ease your muscles and tender entrance. Frederick would want to wash his hair again before the Chicago Psychiatric Convention tomorrow to make sure all of the cum was gone, and to fix the results of letting it dry naturally. You anticipated waking up next to the cutest little cowlick. Maybe sending him off with a blowjob if there was time. 

But a dark thought kept nipping at the soft corners of the moment, tugging it out of focus with sharp needle teeth. Replaying the titillating scene from earlier, the pest only grew, preventing you from enjoying what should have been an arousing memory. The longer you ignored it, the harder it bit. 

Finally, you sighed, “Did you like him more than me?”

Startled, Frederick raised a brow and laughed. “He was quite impressive.”

When your face failed to show any sign of mirth, he realized you might have needed as much reassurance as he did. (Though he could not account for why. You were perfect.) He dropped his teasing, narrow-eyed, carefully-considering-it look.

“But I am rather fond of you.”

His lips met yours softly, with just the faintest brush of thin skin, melding slowly as you let out a contented noise that vibrated against him. Your fingers brushed through his messy hair, soothing over the scalp where you’d yanked before. The contrast made his skin tingle with goosebumps.

“Nothing could ever replace you,” he whispered reverently against your lips. “Nothing.”

A soft sob you hadn’t realized was threatening to break free broke, and you quelled it with another kiss, deeper this time. Not urgent, but needy, your tongue delving into his mouth, capturing the lingering taste of Bryan Kneef. Two gorgeous men to fuck. How did you get so lucky? You felt even luckier knowing that whatever happened with Bryan, you and Frederick had each other. 

Always.

“So,” you spoke in a low voice as your lips parted, “are you nice and relaxed for your panel tomorrow?”

“Am I ready to stand up in front of a room filled with hundreds of bitter academic rivals and defend my results, while they all wait to pick them apart, hoping to humiliate me with a question I had not accounted for? Is that what you mean?”

“...Yes?”

“My nerves are much calmer now.” He melted into the pillow with a sated smile. “Thank you.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: 

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada​

[elmidol]

Following Orders [Adam/Reader/Tyki] NSFW

originally written October 27, 2013

A/N: As stated, I am going to be posting a few of my older one-shots on here from DGM. I do plan on writing some new ones rather soon here, beginning with Tyki/RC. I am scheduling a batch of them now, which will all include this A/N.

These ones are unedited and include (y/n), which I no longer use in my current writing. Nothing wrong with it; just a personal preference. I do also want to state that there may be instances of mentions of face reddening and such, which I now know is not inclusive.

Fic Warnings: threesome; double penetration; handjob; blowjob; vaginal sex

You were standing in the rain with an open umbrella above your head. The fact that one of your hated enemies was the individual ensuring that you weren't getting wet? That stung. Big time. You glowered at the forming puddles as you thought of what had led you into this situation. Following a recon mission, you, a fellow exorcist, and the three Finders that were with you had managed to secure a set of rooms in a hotel. Go figure that some of the Noah were staying in that very building. The kicker? The Noah apparently had some family members who weren't privvy to the fine details. Thus the Millennium Earl had called a temporary truce; the Noah would not attack you or your team so long as none of you revealed any information to their family members. The fact that Central had approved? Well, that didn't surprise you; even if they didn't care about your life, they wanted your Innocence safe.

So here you were, standing under the umbrella that was being held by Tyki Mikk. You were just thankful it was not the Millennium Earl standing beside you, sheltering you from the rain with his horrid golem, Lero. You eyed the man to your right. He had brown hair, almond eyes, and some facial hair. Your gaze wandered about his monocle then down his body. He was attractive, to be certain. However, he apparently had some sort of affiliation with the Noah famly, thus you instantly hated him.

"I can go into town myself, you know," you said in a snappish tone. Tyki only snorted while the brunette coughed into his fist. "Oh, I see. You don't trust that I won't blow your secrets."

"Something like that," Tyki muttered as the carriage the three of you were awaiting pulled up.

You climbed into the carriage, a bit perturbed when Tyki slid in next to you and the other gentleman across from you. Running a hand through your hair, you stared out the window at the rain. It was pouring down heavily, yet there was no thunder or lightning yet. You wondered if there would be any at all. For a time the Noah of Pleasure and his companion were silent. Then, realizing that you were not going to speak to them any time soon, they instead entertained one another. By speaking in Portuguese. You scowled at this; you did not speak the language and had no idea what they were gabbing on about.

A mile later, Tyki at last turned to you, saying, "Is it true you propositioned Leverrier?"

"I was drunk, it doesn't count, get off it," you muttered out, your chin resting on your hand as you glared at the window.

"But...of all people, Leverrier?" He was obviously intrigued. You tensed when you felt him set his hand on his knee. As he began to rub the joint, you jerked your leg away from his grasp. "...wait...you're the one who propositioned the Earl when you were drunk... Before you became an Exorcist, that is."

"I'm done with this conversation," you said, feeling your cheeks reddening. Boy, how you wanted to forget that memory. You had practically taken off the man's pants. Never had you seen the man so flustered; you doubted the Earl remembered you--at least, you hoped he didn't. Whenever you had battled with him, he had never brought it up or hinted towards the event in the least.

"Maybe it's a sign you're just lonely," Tyki commented, his hands gripping at either of your shoulders, massaging the flesh. He scooted closer to you.

You shrugged out of his hands, ducking and moving to the seat across from you, the one beside the brunette male. "Look, just because you flirt with every exorcist doesn't mean they're interested."

"I don't flirt with every--" Tyki started, cut off by your snort and you rolling your eyes. The Noah smiled at you, a sort of sultry look that complimented his features. You pressed your legs together, turning to face away from him. "I guess I shouldn't be so friendly when I taunt people, eh? You, though... I never get the chance to flirt with you. You're always so quick to fight. But now? We have a truce, you know~"

"I'm well aware. Think I'd be sharing a carriage with you otherwise?" Irritated by the Portuguese male, you found yourself turning your attention to the man's companion. "And what's your story? You his gay lover?"

Tyki and the other man spluttered out nonsensical words, both obviously stunned at your words.

"Wait, nevermind. That's the Earl I'm thinking of. You're his little 'Tyki-pon', after all."

Again did the two blush deeply, both arguing that they were heterosexual. You rolled your eyes. In all honesty, you didn't care about their sexual orientation. Getting under their skin, though? Yeah, that was fun.

"At least I'm not Leverrier's fucklette," Tyki said, nudging the tip of your shoe with his. "Such a rigid man...you like being bossed around, (y/n)?"

"And if I do?" you said, shooting him a dirty look while giving him a once-over.

Tyki nodded towards his companion. "Adam here likes to give commands. I wouldn't mind ordering you around a bit either."

You bit the inside of your cheek, tugging at it a bit as you considered his words. Obviously you were growing desperate if your drunken ass was trying to get into Leverrier's pants. Tyki, despite being a Noah and thus your enemy, wasn't bad looking. His friend here was quite the looker as well. Shrugging in a noncommital way, you again turned your attention to the window. An expression of confusion enveloped your face when a set of hands reached past you closing the curtains. You turned in time to see Tyki doing likewise to the other window.

"Get on the floor," a gruff voice said by your ear. Holy fuck did this man have a voice that made you wet. Your stomach doing a flip while your mind was in a flurry of mixed feelings, you shifted so that you were on your knees on the floor. Immediately you felt Adam's hand entangle itself in your hair, yanking your head back so that your neck was exposed. Tyki's finger trailed along your throat momentarily. You shuddered, feeling absolutely defenseless at the hands of your enemy. "Take off your clothes--slowly."

You pressed your lips tightly together. All the same, you started to undo the buttons on your uniform shirt. Soon your bra was exposed, and still you shrugged out of the material. You set your shirt off to the side, next tackling the task of removing your bottoms. You could feel two sets of eyes hungrily roaming over your body, which was clad in nothing more than your shoes and undergarments. Just as you were getting ready to strip yourself of those, Adam commanded you to stop.

"Sit on my lap and place both of your legs on either side of me--but make sure you're facing Tyki," he said, his voice husky. Biting your bottom lip, you slid your rear onto his lap. Your lips formed an 'o' when you felt the rather large bulge in his pants. You were kneeling on the seat, your cunt against his clothed erection. "Keep your pussy there, and I want you to stretch out and undo the front of Tyki's pants--with your teeth."

Your eyebrows shot up towards your hairline. You could feel yourself growing wet. Man, were all the people associated with the Noah family kinky? Not that you could complain. You leaned forward, carefully ensuring that your cunt stayed in contact with the man's erection as you stretched out. Tyki shifted to edge of the seat, allowing you an easier time of the task. You bit at the button on the front of his pants, working your tongue against it and pushing it through the hole. Tyki was petting your head as you completed this task. Your face was red. Adam's hand was rubbing your rear affectionately. Just as you were tugging down Tyki's zipper with your teeth, you hissed, feeling your tongue jabbed by the zipper when you jerked forward; Adam had slapped your ass with his hand none-too-gently. At the same time, you found yourself moaning. The action had resulted in your clit rubbing deliciously against his dick.

You had your hands on either of Tyki's legs. Pressing upwards, you backed away as the Noah of Pleasure withdrew his erection from the confines of his trousers. You closed your eyes, holding back a moan when you felt Adam's knuckles brushing against you. He undid the front of his own pants, tugging at you when only his boxers remained. Upon Adam's command, you leaned forward, engulfing Tyki's length in your mouth. You held yourself up with your elbows, using both hands to pleasure the Noah. One stroked the inches that were not in your mouth while the other played with his sac.

All the while, you started to roll your hips against Adam's. He bucked up against you. The way the head of his erection brushed up against your clit had you moaning around your mouthful. Adam used one hand to slap your rear again. The other was occupied with shoving down his boxers and tugging your panties so that they were off to the side. Feeling his flesh against yours made you all the more wet. You could feel your juices dripping against him. Tyki had one hand in your hair, urging you to take in more of his length. The other was stroking along your spine.

Adam positioned himself at your entrance, thrusting inside. You jerked your hips against him, relishing in the delightful feeling of the created friction. Pulling your mouth from Tyki's length, you cocked your head to the side, licking up and down the man's erection. Tyki moaned, purring out words in his mother tongue while pinching at one of your nipples. He rolled the bud between finger and thumb, causing your toes to curl.

"You're going to let him cum all over your face, you hear?" Adam said as he fucked you. You knit your brow at the command. "Hmm?" His hips stilled. Groaning, you rocked yours back and forth, only to whimper when his nails dug into you as he used his fingers to stop your movements. "Did I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, Adam."

"Good. Now, what is it you're going to do?"

"I'm going to...let him...cum on my face."

"Good girl~" His purr had you shuddering in ecstasy. He released your hips, his hands dropping to your thighs, which he tugged at. Spreading your legs further, the man quickly found the right angle at which to stroke your g-spot. You gasped, your eyelids fluttering as you resumed placing kisses along Tyki's cock. Adam placed one hand between your body and his, pressing four fingers against your clit firmly. The stimulation had a pleasant pressure building within you. Eager for your coming release, you jerked Tyki off harder and faster. Your tongue licked along his length, then your head bobbed up and down as you took him into your mouth. When Tyki moaned out to you that he was close, you again pulled your mouth off of him. You pumped his dick, closing your eyes in time to avoid getting his semen in them.

"Oh!" You bit your bottom lip, whimpering. Adam had increased the pressure against your clit, rubbing faster and faster while his hips beat noisily against yours. You bounched up and down on his length, screaming loudly in pleasure as you were brought to orgasm.

Adam chuckled, thrusting into you a few more times before he withdrew. He came all over your stomach, some of his seed getting on the undersides of your breasts. "You're such a good girl, (y/n)," he purred, pushing you so that you fell onto the ground. You sighed. "Lay one your back and fuck yourself for me, hun."

"Oh, fuck, yes!" you heard Tyki moan out.

Your stomach swirled at that. Hearing the heavy breathing coming from both men was already getting you back in the mood. The fact that they were eager to watch you masturbate? Yeah, you were pretty wet at that. Lying down, you spread your legs while you began to knead your breasts with both hands. One hand left your chest, trailing up and down along your side. You pinched your nipple, tugging it, and then rubbed your breast tenderly. At the same time, you slipped three fingers between your folds. You brought the juices leaking from your vagina towards your clit, rubbing circles on it. Bucking your hips in time with the movements of your fingers, you found yourself starting to pant.

Tyki knelt by your head, his hand moving to reach inside you. Your eyes flew open and were filled with fear. You watched the man in horror. He had the umistakable Noah grin, the one you and your comrades had once dubbed his 'rape face'. It was as though you had a bubble of air traveling through your body. He was not gripping anything, just--oh!

"Ooooh...fffffuckkkkk!" You threw your head back. His had was stroking something inside of you that nearly had you screaming in pleasure. Tyki chuckled, his fingers quickening their pace just as yours did the same.

The man removed his hand, much to your disappointment. He flipped you onto your stomach, causing you to release an 'oomph'. You removed your fingers from yourself. Tyki scooped you up by slipping his arms under your knees. He brought you onto his lap in that manner. You threw your head back, mouth agape as he lowered you onto his cock. The Noah of Pleasure lifted you then lowered you again. You moaned, feeling his dick thrusting in and out of you.

Adam sank down onto his knees in front of you. The man nuzzled your neck, nipping, as he pinched both of your nipples and started tugging. You placed your hands on his shoulders. Tyki quickened his pace just as Adam shifted his hips forward. You trembled, knowing Tyki was using his ability to choose when you felt Adam's cock slip inside of you as well. You whimpered at the strange sensation. The tip of Tyki's cock pressed towards one side of your walls while Adam's pressed against the opposite. They stroked you from the inside. Tyki kept his grip under your legs, forcing your hips up and down, while Adam paid special attention to your chest.

"Uh! Oh. Fuck yes. Mmm." They both rolled their hips into yours, rocking back and forth as you screamed out in orgasm.

"Fuck, (y/n)," Tyki groaned as he came inside of you. Adam grunted out his release, his mouth slamming atop yours, his tongue thrusting within. You moaned, resting your head against Tyki's shoulder as both men withdrew from you. Tyki chuckled while he retrieved a handkerchief and began to wipe off your face. He cleaned the semen off of your entire body quickly, no doubt using his ability to do so. "That was fun, huh?"

"Just shut up," you said, grabbing your clothes and quickly dressing. Adam adjusted himself while Tyki muttered out slight grievances over your cruel treatment of him. He then fixed his clothing as well. The two men were seated just as you were buttoning up your uniform top. "This doesn't leave the carriage."

"That an order, babe?" Tyki asked, rubbing your thigh. You cocked your head to the side, staring at him for a moment. "Because I was totally thinking...we have this truce for three more days, right?"

"No one gets to know about it."

"That's fine," both men said in unison. "We can take turn giving orders to one another, eh?" Tyki waggled his eyebrows as he spoke. You found yourself smiling despite yourself.

[puckmeupfam]

The Right to Be Jealous | Jake Virtanen

Word Count: 3177 Note: Friends with benefits to lovers with the one and only. I feel like everything I write is same ice cream different cone, but I like to give the people what I want.

Sitting in the shadowed booth, your nails dug into the faux leather upholstery. Everyone else was out dancing and laughing loudly on the sticky floor. They were relaxed, blowing off steam, singing along to the ‘00s pop throwback that was blasting. You just stayed glaring daggers at your vodka cran that had slowly become watered down by the ice, shedding a puddle of condensation. There was one other member of the Canucks posse who was not on the dance floor: Jake was standing with his elbow on the bar while his eyes were on the woman perched on the barstool. In your desperation, you had even tried that body language deciphering trick of looking at his feet just to find them pointed towards her as well. 

Jake was free to do whatever he wants, you told yourself, you have no hold over him. The two of you met shortly after you moved to Vancouver for school. At first, you were friends but nothing more. Yes, you found each other attractive, that was clear. But you were much more compatible at making sarcastic jokes and counseling each other through life’s daily mindfucks than anything else. Then, Jake started inviting you as his plus one to events and parties, he had found that everyone had a tendency to pair off at those events and he wasn’t a fan of not having anyone’s attention. That’s how it started, him shushing you because you were incapable of keeping your voice down and you saving him whenever he got caught in a boring, bureaucratic conversation. 

And that’s how it went until last year’s Halloween party.

You both drank more than usual. And maybe the catalyst was him placing his hand on your bare thigh where the costume had ridden up. Or maybe it was you lamenting about how long it had been since you had gotten laid. But probably it was him tying a knot in that damn cherry stem. No matter how it happened, you found yourself being pulled by the wrist down the hallway of his building. Both of you drunk and giggly. When you stepped into his apartment, he spun you around so your back was flush against the cold door. He spent a minute staring down at you, not laughing anymore. You let yourself get lost in his bright eyes that kept flickering to your lips. Without even realizing it you brought your hand up to his face and stroked your thumb along the apple of his cheek. Suddenly he leaned down and kissed you, hard. The hand on his face went to wrap around his neck while the one previously at your side ended up tangled in his hair. You tasted booze and hints of sweet grape from jello shots as he licked your lip. When you opened your mouth there was something else on his tongue which you classified as “fuck-why-have-we-been-doing-anything-but-this.” No matter what the catalyst was you were gone.

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache and messy hair. On your right, Jake was sprawled on his stomach with one tattooed arm thrown over your hip. As you started to shift he groaned and tightened his hold on you. Reaching over to scratch your nails against his scalp, you spoke in a scratchy voice, “I’m just getting coffee, you big baby.” When you came back with the mugs full of steaming liquid, Jake’s with an extra splash of cream, you both sat against the headboards quietly. Minutes passed but it was Jake who broke the silence, “(Y/N), you know, I’m so sorry,” he said in a nervous jumble. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say but it wasn’t that. 

“I just really, really don’t want to fuck us up. You’re so important to me and I just can’t not talk to you every day. It’s not something I can live with,” he continued. When you peered over at him he wasn’t looking back at you but rather locking his eyes on a chip on his mug that he worried with his thumb. Your chest felt tight and your chin wobbled a bit. If Jake was trying not to ruin your friendship then you would have to try too. So you steeled your emotions and forced your hands not to shake as you brought the mug to your lips.

And that was that. 

Until the holiday party. Where the same thing happened, except the next morning he didn’t say anything. Instead, when you moved to get coffee he held your wrist back and insisted he take you out to a diner. While you would really rather him not tell you that last night was a mistake in front of witnesses, you still threw on a hoodie and did your best to tame your hair though you didn’t bother attempting anything for the dark circles under your eyes. The surprising part was that when you got to the diner he didn’t say anything about the night prior. He even went so far as to order for you before you could even open your mouth. Caramel french toast with strawberries and powdered sugar. And when the food came to your table, he even went so far as to nudge the syrup in your direction. 

He never brought it up. And he didn’t the next day. Or the next. But then he pulled you into a corner at Bo’s New Year’s Eve party, planting his lips on yours until you found yourself slipping out the door with him with over thirty minutes remaining until midnight. Whether you liked it or not once was an accident, twice was a coincidence, three was a pattern, and after that… Well, you had simply stopped counting once you got to eleven. Stopped trying to make sense of it. Just went with it.

You’re broken from your memories by Troy and Emma coming back to the table to get their things. With the night winding down and your group dispersing, some realities occurred to you. Jake had picked you up at your apartment earlier in the evening and both of you had planned that he would take you home at the end of the night. Apparently, he had forgotten. Or maybe he just didn’t care. You weren’t sure which was worse: being thrown to the side for a blonde at the bar or being such a blip on your best friend’s radar that he would totally forget about your existence.

“Hey, would you guys be able to give me a ride home by any chance?” you asked, drawing their attention to you. The couple shared a look before nodding along. You grabbed your bag and jacket before scurrying out of the booth and following behind them, not sparing Jake a glance. Slipping into the backseat of Troy’s car, you reminded him of your address. They had the radio turned up lowly so you could vaguely hear the tune but not quite catch the lyrics. You looked at your phone for a few moments before Emma spoke. 

“Didn’t Jake drive you?” You held in a sigh at her loaded question. While you had never spoken about your situation with Jake to anyone, not even Jake himself, you knew other people noticed that there was something going on between the two of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly cautious, nothing you and Jake did was well thought out, the two of you had surely drunkenly made out in too bright of a corner or stumbled out the door a bit too loudly. And everyone had likely discussed whatever the two of you were doing after you left. And Jake might have even talked about your situation during late-night card games on roadies. And… You snapped yourself out of the weird self-analyzing pity show to answer Emma and save yourself from hyperventilating in your friends’ car.

“He did,” you began, “but he was… busy, and I didn’t want to get in his way.” You were sitting behind Emma so you had a much better view of Troy as he reacted to your answer. He squinted before looking over at his girlfriend with a raised brow. Emma’s only response was a mumbled, “Oh.” 

As Troy pulled up in front of your building, you were glad that they didn’t push further. You thanked them profusely for the ride before jumping out and speed walking into your apartment. You closed and locked the door as soon as you got in before pouring yourself a glass of water. One glance at your phone showed that you had many texts waiting for you and one flash of Jake’s name had you powering the device all the way off and plugging it in. You wiped your makeup off and rubbed in your favorite rich moisturizer. Even though it was still fairly early, you felt exhausted with emotions that you shouldn’t have. Nevertheless, you took a melatonin gummy for good measure and brushed your teeth before encasing yourself in blankets and waiting for sleep.

When you woke up to the morning sun on your face, you got up purposefully avoiding your phone. After drinking a cup of coffee you decided to cook a healthy breakfast. Maybe if you detoxed your body a bit it would help to detox Jake from your mind. When you were finished you sat at the counter. You couldn’t stop flashing through every moment with Jake, looking for hidden meanings in his actions and replaying his words to search for anything valuable. It was like you couldn’t stop yourself from relishing in the emotional pain. You weren’t sure how much time passed before you tasted metal and realized you had been chewing up your lip in thought. 

This simply wouldn’t work. No more wallowing, you decided. Cleaning up the pans and dishes you had used with a bit more elbow grease than you would typically use you shoved everything back in its typical place. You stopped yourself for a minute as something occurred to you. While you wished it had been an epiphany about moving on or signing up for online dating, you realized that your kitchen organization was completely lacking. Your pots were nowhere near your stove. Your cups weren’t close enough to your sink. Your pantry was a disaster.

Without any hesitation, you started pulling everything out of the cabinets. Before you knew it your counters were covered in plates, glasses, mugs, pans, and a rice cooker. You had just started alphabetizing your spices when you heard a knock on your door. With a loud groan, you ran to the door and swung it open without even looking through the peephole. Standing in the hallway was none other than Jake Virtanen. You stilled your frenzied movements to just stare at him. His eyes were sharp as they studied your face. 

“Can I come in,” you barely heard his words but they somehow woke you up and you opened the door wider before spinning around and racing back into your kitchen. Your heart pounded wildly as you went back to work. Nerves coursed through your veins so you weren’t being productive but rather picking up an item and setting it down in a slightly different place. The sound of Jake’s footsteps followed you and you could feel him hovering.

“Um… (Y/N)?”

“Yes, Jake?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He paused for a minute to watch you scramble around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“I honestly have no idea.” You huffed and forced your hands to still on the counter top.

“I’m organizing my kitchen.” You forced your face into an expression that could be read as ‘duh’ but given your flushed cheeks and wild eyes, it didn’t seem to translate. 

“Can we talk about what happened last night,” Jake asked. While you hadn’t assumed this was a typical social visit, his question reignited your panic and you resumed your pottering around the kitchen. At first, Jake just seemed bewildered but after a loud clang erupted from two pots you were moving from one side of the counter to the other his eyebrows furrowed into a scowl and he snapped, “(Y/N), do you mind?” 

You threw up your hands and turned to him as he continued, “I want to talk to you and have you actually listen like a normal person instead of doing… whatever it is that you’re doing over there.”

“Talk about what,” you asked, partially trying to buy time and partially trying to seem blase.

“About last night.”

“Nothing happened last night, Jake.”

“I watched you leave with Troy and Emma. You just left, (Y/N).”

“So? You were busy, I wanted to go home.” Without you even realizing it, Jake was taking steps towards you until you glanced up from the floor to find him right in front of you. He reached out his hand to hold your arm. Whether he was trying to comfort you or prevent you from escaping you weren’t sure. The spot where his skin met yours sent tingles down your spine that you forced yourself not to react to.

“When you left, I called Troy,” he said. Now this was news to you. Before you could interject Jake spoke again, “I had been trying to text and call you but you weren’t answering so I finally called Troy. He said you left without me because of that girl.” You tried to pull away but his hand around your arm tightened.

“You were jealous,” Jake said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You glared at him, you couldn’t believe that he would come to your apartment just to embarrass you about your feelings for him.

“I wasn’t jealous. I have no right to be jealous about what or who you do,” you snapped. He threw his head back and sighed.

“That’s the fucking point, (Y/N). I want you to have the right to be jealous.”

Your heart stopped. Your mind stopped. You looked up at him just to see his eyes boring into yours. 

“What,” you asked hazily.

“You heard me. I want you to have the right to be jealous.”

“B-but what does that mean?”

“It means… I love you, okay? I love you and I want to be with you and I want you to be jealous even though you don’t ever have to be. Because you’re the only one I see in a crowded room. Because every time we go to a wedding I imagine it’s us standing up there in front of our friends and family. Because I can’t fucking stand being away from you. Because you’re the most important person in my life,” he said emphatically, vehemently. 

“You love me?”

“Yeah, (Y/N), I love you,” he said with a smile on his face. This all felt so confusing and so surreal and you wanted to pinch yourself because this couldn’t be real life. In real life, Jake was the one who decided that the two of you were friends with benefits. Jake was the one who didn’t want to take it any further. Jake was the one who talked with girls at bars.

“Since when,” you murmured. Jake’s smile only brightened.

“Since always,” he told you.

“But, Jake, you said you didn’t want to ruin our friendship. You never seemed like you wanted to take us any further, where is this coming from?” At your words, Jake released your arm and rubbed his palm along his face. The tables turned and now he was the one pacing through your kitchen.

“I thought you wanted that. I thought you were going to tell me that it was all a mistake, that you didn’t really like me.” His words made your stomach squeeze and it felt like you had been slapped in the face. As much as you wished you could wrap your arms around him and kiss him madly, telling him that of course you wouldn’t do that. Because he was Jake and you were you and that would never be a mistake. But you knew that if you fell into him now you wouldn’t get clarity, so you pushed on. “Then what have we been doing? If you were so scared, if you really felt that way, why did we keep happening?” 

Jake stopped his pacing and shoved his hands in his pockets. He refused to look at you, trailing his eyes along the mess in your kitchen and the pictures on your fridge before settling on the floor.

“I couldn’t keep myself away from you. I thought that if that was all I could have with you it would still be better than nothing,” his words were quiet but you still heard him. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and you opened your mouth to speak before Jake interrupted you.

“But then I called Troy last night asking where you were, what happened to you… and he said that you liked me too and I needed to snap out of whatever I was doing and man up,” he brought his eyes up to yours, “he said he was sick of me whining about you like a lovesick puppy and that I needed to, quote, go get my girl.”

His eyes read nothing but love and sincerity. You trusted and believed him. You didn’t want to stumble around your feelings anymore so you stepped forward until you were chest to chest.

“I love you too, Jake,” you said drawing your hand up to his neck. His face erupted into a smile, but instead of leaning in to kiss you, he spoke.

“Do you want to do this thing with me?” Your responding laugh was watery but he waited for your response.

“What? Being in love?”

“Well, yes, that’s pretty important. But I meant being in a real relationship. Y’know? Hold hands in public, change our relationship statuses on Facebook, the whole deal.”

“You don’t even use Facebook,” you teased. He groaned dramatically but the smile seemed to be glued to his face.

“You know what I mean,” he said, “do you want to do this thing with me?”

Jake’s eyes sparkled and you bit your lip. You didn’t deign his question with a response, just brought the hand that rested on his neck down so you could capture his lips in a kiss. For a few blissful moments, it was just you and him. You arched your back to press yourself more fully against him as he planted one hand on your hip as the other snaked up your back. As he moved to press scorching hot open-mouthed kisses down your throat he broke the silence.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

You pulled on his hair until his mouth was back against yours and you whispered against his lips an answering yes.

And if Troy Stecher whistled and hooted an “I told you so,” when you and Jake showed up to the next Canucks gathering, hands tightly intertwined… well, would he be wrong?

[domesticmail]

the bird and her cage; one

chapter one; litany in which certain things are crossed out

a/n: colton anon !!! here’s your first chapter :) i hope you like it!!

MASTERLIST

PLAYLIST

TAGLIST

warnings: mention of physical, verbal, and mental abuse. alcohol.

word count: 2.3k

you poor, sad thing

you want a better story...

who wouldn’t?

           -  richard siken

You are so cold. The jacket you’re wearing was meant to look cute, not to provide warmth, and you’re suddenly regretting the choice to wear it as freezing air bites any revealed skin. Your hands are shaking, your legs are burning, and your teeth are chattering as you force yourself to move, keep running, keep moving, you can’t stop you can’t you have to keep going.

Headlights engulf you in bright, cutting light. You look back while moving forward, craning your neck to get a good view of the car because oh god, if it’s him, you’re going to die.

As the Volkswagen speeds past you, you put an arm up to shield your eyes from the light. Fuck. Your breath fogs the air and when it feels like you are finally too tired to keep running, you remember your phone, its weight pressing against you in your back pocket. Like a woman who has found god, you cry as you take it out and, hands and fingers shaking in the freezing air, get yourself an Uber for wherever the fuck you are. You type in “hotel” and click the first address you see, nearly sobbing with the release of tension. Thank god, you think to yourself, I can leave, I can get away, thank god, oh, thank you, oh my god.

Thirty minutes later you find yourself standing in front of a random hotel in St. Louis, broken-hearted and desperate.

And it’s painfully apparent.

The guy at the reception desk clearly sees that you’re in some sort of troubling situation, because he doesn’t ask any more questions than he has to. He smiles in that pitying way that strangers do when he hands you your room key, second floor, and you just nod weakly.

The room is comfortable. It’s unremarkable, really - clinically clean, the way hotel rooms are. You know they don’t clean the duvets, so you fold it down and crawl under the covers. You bring your knees to your chest and just rest for a moment. You close your eyes, big inhale, big exhale. I’m safe, you think to yourself.I’m finally safe.

The thought brings tears to your eyes, and in the company of yourself you cry, shaking sobs racking your body, fragile and sad and finally, finally safe. Your phone pulls you from the tears, ringing the tone you set specifically for one person; the only person on the planet you trust. Of course he’s calling, you think to yourself. No surprise there. His timing, coincidental or not, is unmatched.You slide answer on your phone screen, push the speaker to your ear with a sniffle.

“Dad?

”His voice, deep just like you remember, echoes through the other end. You haven’t heard him in a while, he’s been on a work trip, you thought, and yet here he is. Dad knows. “Kid?”

Your voice catches in your throat when you ask again, “Dad?”

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” That stereotypical concern lacing his words. It’s been weeks since you’ve talked over the phone, and here he finally is, exactly the way he was last time you spoke.

A hiccup as you say, “No - no, Dad, I’m…” Your words trail away. What are you supposed to say? Steven turned out to be an abusive prick, just like you’d always guessed. I’m in the middle of a place I don’t know, and I am so, so tired, Dad, I need you to save me. I need you to come here and save me because I don’t know if I can save myself from this - “You there?” He asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” You clear your throat. Better to go with the less explosive option. “Um, Dad, Steven and I broke up.”

A moment of silence.“The engagement’s off?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

Another pause. You can practically see him now, rubbing his forehead in that way Dads do when they know there’s something really bad going on but they don’t know if boundaries permit them to ask. He inhales and exhales hard. “Are you okay?”

You start to say yes, but your voice catches again, the lump in your throat like a terrible rock, throat constricted around it, and you begin to cry as you say once more, “No, I’m not, I don’t know where I am or what to do and I’m tired, Dad, I’m so tired of doing things. I’m tired of him and of everyone and of my life and I just - I want to get away.”

Once again, a pause. He’s got his index and middle fingers pressed into his cheek now, thumb supporting his chin, weighing your words. If he were a better man he would buy you a plane ticket; if he were worse, he would tell you it was your fault.But he is merely himself, and he clears his throat. “Okay. Okay.”

You rub your nose and sniffle again.

He asks, “Where are you, kid?”

“I - I don’t…” You start, then catch yourself. “One second.” You pull up Maps on your phone, then sigh. “I’m at a hotel in St. Louis.”

“St. Louis?” He whistles low. “That’s a ways away from Kansas, Dorothy.”

“Dad.“ You laugh despite yourself.

“I know, I know. Forgive me.” He coughs. “So, St. Louis. Missouri?” “Yeah.”

“Mkay. Do you want to come home?”

There’s a question. If you go back home, back to New York, you’ll be stuck in your apartment, and that’s...less than preferable. You’d rather not spend the next month in the bed you shared with him, every picture and appliance flooded with memories of the vile man you’d been engaged to. 

And anyways, this hotel room wasn’t that bad. Like you’d said earlier, clinical. No memories. A clean slate.“No - well, at least, not yet,” you sniffle.“Okay. Do you - are you in a good hotel? Do I need to get you a room somewhere nicer?”“No, no, Dad, I’m fine where I am.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“You don’t have to keep saying okay.”

He sighs on his end of the phone, and you can’t help yourself from smiling.

“Look, you’re an adult,” he says, “so I’m not going to micromanage you or anything. I mean, if it were your mother instead of me, you’d be on the next plane home. But I think maybe this, this time away, it’ll be good for you.”

“It will, Dad, I promise. I just can’t be anywhere he is right now.”

Another trademark pause.

“Did he hurt you, honey?”

You gulp.

“Y/N?”

Exhale. Don’t panic. If you can’t trust him, who can you trust?

“He was...abusive, yeah.” Sniffle. Tears threaten to flood your eyes but you hold them back with a sharp nip to your lip. “But I’m safe now. I’m safe.”

“I’ll make sure the son of a bitch can’t come within a mile - “

“No, Dad, you don’t have to - “

“I want to. Let me do this for you.”

You sigh. “Dad.”

“No. No leaning on this one.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” You can practically hear the angry grin on his face. Men, you think to yourself. “You have your wallet, and money, and everything?”

You pat your other pocket, feel the ridges of your wallet pressing into the fabric. “Yeah.”

“Okay. What about clothes?”

“Uh….no.”

“No problem. I’ll make a few calls.”

“No - “

“Yes. I’ll text you with the details.”

You huff. “Fine.”

“Alright. You call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Hey. I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”

He hangs up first, and you find yourself sitting alone in the empty hotel room.

You’re not good at being alone. You come from a big family, five siblings, two parents; you’re used to noise, commotion, distractions. The hotel walls feel like they’re creeping in on you, big, silent rumblings as they crawl towards you slowly. The lack of noise is deafening, your skin is crawling, eyes itching for a distraction.

You need to get out.

There’s a bar a few blocks away, Yelp informs you as you weave through pedestrians on the sidewalk. Someone bumps your shoulder; you turn to look at them but they are already lost in the crowd of people. It’s a Friday night, everyone is getting out of work, just let it go. You’re going to get stampeded if you don’t keep moving - there’s already someone passing you, silently annoyed, you’re sure.

Paddy O’s, the sign high above the door says. From inside you can hear the hustle and bustle of a Friday night crowd, no doubt watching some event on the TVs above the bar. 

The door swings open and suddenly the noise loses its muffler as two beautiful women exit. One is tall, with deep, dark brown hair and striking features. Her left arm is draped around the shoulders of a smaller redheaded woman, who is laughing and holding her hand. The redhead has a pronounced accent and can’t get through three words without bursting into laughter. The taller woman is smiling down at her, chuckling.

They are dressed like they went to the bar immediately after work; that is to say, they’re dressed quite nicely. You look from the tall woman’s pantsuit to the redhead’s turtleneck and pants, and then to your own outfit. If their clothing is the usual for this place, then you are severely underdressed.

It’s a bar, Y/N, you think to yourself, shaking your head. You close your eyes and inhale steadily. You’ve got this.

After a few moments, you open your eyes again. The couple has disappeared from sight; probably back to their car. You walk to the doors and open one, entering the bar.

As expected, it’s loud, and it’s crowded, but there’s a seat at the bar a couple feet in that looks comfortable enough. You move through the surrounding patrons to take the seat, and order yourself an old fashioned - it’s your dad’s favorite, and you could use a little comfort right now.

The people on either side of you are deeply engaged in their own conversations. To your left is a woman of about 20, sitting with a man who you assume is her husband. From the small pieces of their conversation you can pick up on, she’s having a problem at work, and from the looks of it, he is humoring her by pretending to listen. You don’t know if she knows he’s not actually listening - but that’s not really your business. The guy to your right, you can tell, is one of those guys who peaked in high school. He’s chatting up the girl to his right about how his YouTube channel is just getting off the ground, and the merch line (you cringe at the phrase merch line) is coming out soon. 

So you’re by yourself, basically. The seat you’re occupying is your own little bubble in this bar, where you are the sole occupant. There’s nobody looking at you, nobody watching your move, listening to you order. No one is engaging you in conversation, trying to grab your attention. You are, just like in the hotel, completely alone.

And holy shit, you hate this.

Panic floods your veins, because oh god, this was a terrible idea. You are completely alone in a city you have never been in before and you decide to go to a fucking bar? In a random city? Oh, this takes the cake for stupid decisions. You really just up and decided to put yourself in a dangerous situation in a town where you have no one. Very smart.

You take a sip of your drink as the guy who peaked in high school and his date get up from their seats. The empty space makes you uncomfortable; you don’t want anyone to sit there but you also don’t want to be sitting next to open seats.

The glass is shaking in your hand. This is what you decide to focus on.

Deep breaths.

The breathing exercises don’t help, and the shaking is getting worse. You feel like crying as the rest of the Old Fashioned floods your mouth, the sweet liquid slipping down your throat as you swallow. The tears are gathering in your eyes again. You try to blink through them but it’s not working, everything is getting blurry and god damn it you’re crying at a bar you’ve never been to before in a city you’ve never seen and this all could’ve been avoided if you’d just flown home, you fucking idiot.

Someone’s sitting down in the empty seat to your right, and embarrassment heats your face. Your instinct tells you to get up and leave but you feel frozen to your seat so instead you just look away, look anywhere but the stranger to your right. 

“Excuse me, are you okay?” 

You can’t turn around because if you turn around the person will see you crying, and you cannot be seen crying by another stranger today, so you just bite your lip hard and nod, hoping the person will take the hint.

They do not, because who the fuck would ignore someone crying in a bar? Someone who looks remarkably out of place, and desperately in need of a friend?

“Hey, are you alright?” They ask again.

You hiccup, then laugh self-consciously. You turn to the stranger, a tall - wow, a remarkably tall man. He’s broad and, well, really, he’s built like a fridge. He’s huge. He towers over you so greatly that for a minute you think maybe you’re hallucinating, but the sad look of concern he’s giving you tells you that no, he’s real. “Do I look okay?” You ask.

He offers a sad smile. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

You laugh again. “Thanks.” You sniffle. “You’re the second random person to see me crying today, so. Congratulations.”

“I feel like maybe that’s not something I should be celebrating.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

He’s looking at you like you’re fragile, like you’re going to break, and it’s killing you, but he is company, and that’s what you need right now. You smile at him weakly. “Is this the part where I buy you a drink to apologize?”

That brings a smile to his face. He laughs, a low sound that you know comes from deep in his stomach, and the air feels a little lighter. “No, absolutely not. If anything, I’m buying you a drink.”

“God, no.” You exhale, and smiling comes a little easier. “I can barely hold the glass.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Probably.”

And here is the awkward pause. The pause where you debate whether or not he’s gonna continue talking to you. Are you worth his time? You can see in his face that he’s considering something - probably which excuse he’s gonna use to go back to his friends.

Surprisingly, he fills the silence. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re new here, right?” 

You nod. “I’m actually from New York.”

He actually laughs again at this. “Don’t take this wrong, but I can tell.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh.

“No no no no no, it’s not a bad thing, I swear!”

“Okay, saying ‘I can tell you’re from New York’ is always a bad thing, you can’t just - “

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

You furrow your brows at him, smiling. “What’d you mean then, huh?”

“I just mean...you have that vibe, you know?”

A laugh bubbles up from your throat. “No! What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s laughing too, both of you facing each other. “You’re confident. You know what you’re doing.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unbelieving. “I’ve known you for all of, like, five minutes. In fact, I don’t even know you!”

“Oh, shit, I’m so rude, I’m sorry.” He extends a hand. “Colton Parayko.”

You take his hand, and as you do, you look him in the eyes.

For a moment, everything stops.

There’s something meaningful about the way he’s looking at you. Something important that you can’t quite put your finger on. He is, for a moment, seeing you. The music has paused; the bartender has frozen; the woman to your left has stopped talking. All that is, is your hand in his, the tender way he’s holding your hands, like he is rooting you in this moment.

And then you shake his hand. And you say, “Y/N L/N.” And you pretend that didn’t just happen, that you’re not still looking him dead in the eyes because you’re scared to look away.

When your hands part, you can’t help noticing that yours feels empty, cold. 

You spend another two hours talking to him. He is easy to talk to, really; he has a comfortable presence. By the end of the night you are facing each other in your seats, your knees touching. You’re leaning forward when you talk, and he’s got one arm on the bar, the other one gesturing wildly. 

Conversation flows like a river between you two. You talk about New York; he’s been there once or twice, he says.

“Oh, really? For what, a frat trip?”

He laughs. “No, for hockey.”

“Did you play in college?”

This is the funniest joke he’s ever heard, apparently, because it absolutely sends him. “No, no.”

“What did I say?” You ask. You’re confused, you thought it was a pretty normal question.

He looks away from you, and then makes eye contact again, you’re having another moment. “I like you,” he says, smiling.

You’re even more confused now. “I mean - thank you. I like you too, but what’s so funny?”

He clears his throat and looks down at the bar. “I play hockey for St. Louis.”

You aren’t in the middle of drinking anything, but this makes you choke. A strangled noise comes from your throat as you slap a hand over your mouth. He grins at you. 

You remove your hand slowly. “Like. The city.”

“Yeah.” He’s almost bashful about it.

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait. Wait. Hold on just a fucking second.”

“Okay - “

“I’ve been sitting here. Bitching to you about my life. For hours. And you couldn’t find the time to tell me you play for the fucking National Hockey League?”

He giggles, and the sound almost seems unnatural coming from someone his size. “That’s...about it, yeah.”

“Oh, I am such a dick!” You exclaim.

“What? No, no -”

“I spent this whole time talking about myself!” You huff, closing your eyes. “I am so sorry.”

He puts his hand on your hand, and your eyes shoot open. Every time he’s touched you tonight, every passing contact, you feel warm, and the butterflies in your stomach start to act up. You can feel your heart rate quicken as he says, “Don’t be sorry. You definitely needed it.”

You smile at him. “Thank you.”

There’s another pause in the conversation, but this time you’re the one debating. You like him - a lot. He’s so warm, and kind, and sweet, and you can tell he’s being genuine, that he’s not just being polite, but you don’t want him to think you’re desperate. You’re not. You just like him. A lot.

You speak up at the same time he does.

“So - “

“Can I - “

“Oh,” you laugh. “You go first.”

“No, no, ladies first,” he responds, gesturing to you. “The floor is yours, Ms. L/N.”

“Um, well.” Suddenly you feel embarrassed. “I kind of made tonight all about myself, and I think maybe I owe you, now.”

He looks surprised, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, you do, kind of.”

“Okay,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “So. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be in town, but...maybe we can do this again, sometime?”

There’s something about the way he grins at you that lights up your heart, because your pulse is rapid as he says, “I think we can work something out.”

You trade phone numbers. He offers to walk you back to your hotel, but you decline - you did just meet him tonight. If this were New York, it’d be different, you’d invite him in for wine and maybe more, but this isn’t New York. Plus, part of you is just so tired. For the first time in what feels like years, you actually want to go to bed.

The night air is warm, and on the way back to the hotel room, all you can think about is the way his hand felt on yours.

When you reach your room, you slip your clothes off and get in the shower. You hadn’t realized how tight your back was earlier - the knots in your upper back are causing aches in your lower back. The hot water loosens the tension, and you can finally relax.

As you’re toweling off from your shower, your phone buzzes.

colton parayko

So, is it weird to ask if you’re free tomorrow?

Maybe being alone in St. Louis isn’t that bad after all.

And hey - 

You’re not really alone, are you?

[equalseleventhirds]

quick disclaimer before fic: this is not meant to excuse or absolve melanie and georgie of outing jon; what they did was wrong and they should not have done it. instead it is an... examination of a character who is Maybe working some things out but, due to Internalized Issues, is harshly rejecting it both for herself and other people. (i’m aware i wrote something with the exact same FUCKING premise back when i was in the sh*rl*ck fandom dear god don’t read that linked fic it is from a deeply shameful time of fandom i only linked it as proof i did the same thing before. almost like i’m still working through the same stuff via writing fanfiction. hm.) (further discussion on THAT in post-fic notes; i wanted to keep it under the cut for personal reasons.)

furthermore: warning for discussion of sex (but not explicit depictions of sex), characters experiencing aphobia both internalized and not, mention of sexism wrt jobs, characters outing other characters without their consent (more than once, and more than just jon), and mention of consensual but unwanted sex (as in, consent was given, but the consenter did not enjoy it, and consented due to expectations).

- - -

It starts with: “I don’t, I, I usually can’t—Lately. I mean. Lately I can’t.” Melanie shuts her eyes so she won’t have to see Georgie, her hand on the sheets, judgment questions in her eyes. “Since I got—shot. It’s more difficult, is all.”

“Melanie—”

“You can still try,” she says, the words falling too fast, too panicked. “If you want, sometimes other people—and it’s fine! I’m always, it’s fine to try. Sometimes I do. I just might not. You know.”

“You might not orgasm,” Georgie finishes for her. It’s hard to tell how she’s feeling about it—until her fingers brush Melanie’s chin, turning her face up.

Reluctantly, Melanie opens her eyes, and then she’s glad she did. Because Georgie’s smiling, not a mocking smile, gentle. And they said this was just, just casual, just between friends (there’s too much going on with ghosts and the Institute and Georgie’s ex sleeping on her couch when he isn’t being kidnapped for it to be more than that), but Melanie’s glad Georgie is smiling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Georgie says. She’s sitting up now, not lying almost-not-quite between Melanie’s legs anymore. She looks gorgeous, naked and cross-legged on that horrible mattress with a microfiber sheet wrapped around her shoulders, and Melanie wants to curl up in the sheet with her and eat the leftover pizza from earlier and fall asleep together with grease on their hands.

No. Focus. “It’s okay,” Georgie says again, gentler. “If you can’t right now. If you don’t want to. You certainly gave me a lovely orgasm—”

“—or three—”

“—yes, thank you, and if you’d rather just call it there, I’m not pushing it. As long as you enjoyed yourself.” She frowns, suddenly, glancing down at Melanie’s hands. “You… did enjoy yourself? I hope we didn’t—”

“I did!” She always does, when it’s other people coming, when she gets to be touching warm skin and watching someone fall apart. It’s… nice. “It’s just, you know. I got shot.”

(And isn’t that a convenient excuse, she sneers in her own head, and it sounds like Toni refusing to come back to the team, it sounds like the most sarcastic videos about her breakdown, it sounds like Elias. Isn’t it convenient that now you can blame your little problem on blood flow, or nerve endings, or stress. Never mind that you didn’t have those excuses a year ago. Or two years. Or back when you had a real girlfriend, and you always said yes but she got tired before—)

Georgie tucks a strand of hair behind Melanie’s ear. “Okay, good. If we, you know, try this again sometime? If you’re feeling better? Then I can try.” She stops, licks her lips, watches Melanie’s expression. “Or I can… not try, if you’d still prefer that. Later. You know. If.”

“I’m not—” And she’s rushing again, always rushing, she doesn’t even know if she and Georgie will ever—

“No, I know! It’s fine! But like—Look, this isn’t exactly new for me, you know? If that’s something you want. Something you don’t want. Or I, I’m saying it’s not a problem, if you do or don’t want me to make you come in the future, or even if you don’t want to have sex at all, I mean, when we were dating Jon didn’t—”

That’s where Georgie stops, as if talking about Jon is too much, as if she hasn’t been speaking Melanie’s secret insecurities out loud in bed like it’s something they can talk about, as if all of this hasn’t already been too much and too terrifying already.

Melanie stands up, grabs the comforter as a makeshift cloak (because Georgie has the sheet, and suddenly she isn’t sure she wants to share the sheet with her). “Right.”

“I’m just—I have a friend. Who you might talk to, if you wanted to talk about this.”

She steps away from the bed, towards the door. “Sure. Pizza? I’m hungry.”

-

The problem is, Melanie doesn’t much like Jon. He was such a dick about the Youtube thing, and about her statement, and about Sasha. And even though she knows (sort of) that part of it hadn’t been his fault, she still isn’t going to talk over her disinterest in sex with him. It’s mortifying. Even if he wasn’t her boss. And Georgie’s ex. And currently out of the Archives, anyway.

But she wants to talk to somebody, about Georgie’s words running around and around and around her head, about the sheer panic mixing with almost-relief and then the visceral no no no churning low in her stomach that had made it a struggle just to choke down her pizza. She wants to ask someone is this normal, am I allowed, is it even enough to be halfway to ‘not at all’ or should I just suck it up. She wants to talk that out desperately.

It’s just… she doesn’t have many friends left, after her whole fall from Youtube ghost hunter grace. She’s not going to ask Georgie about it, any more than Jon, although for pretty much the opposite reason. Who’s left? Her shiny new coworkers? Tim, who seethes and hates everything and everyone in the Archives? Martin, who’s still upset that Jon so much as spoke to her while he was on the run? Basira?

-

When Melanie met Sasha—the real Sasha, the one apparently no one but her even remembers—she’d been the only woman in the Archives. And Melanie had chatted with her about haunted pubs, and maximizing SEO, and how to talk to people who’d seen a white dog while they were drunk and thought it was a ghost. And about their jobs, of course, which led to both of them scoffing about the sexist bullshit of academia and how someone like Sasha could be just an assistant and the only woman on her team.

And then Elias hired Melanie to replace… the thing that replaced Sasha. Hired another woman to replace the only woman. You learn to see patterns from the kind of person who might say diversity the same way as toilet plunger: something necessary, but distasteful. Melanie was filling a role he needed filled, and she could live with that.

And then Basira.

Who wasn’t there because she wanted to be, of course, but was still there. Was still another woman in the boy’s club of terror they’d apparently signed on for. Could maybe, maybe, be someone Melanie could connect with. Someone she could talk to.

Maybe.

-

“Do you know if he and Jon ever…?”

“No clue, and not interested!” She’s laughing, about to just dismiss it out of hand, but… maybe. She can feel the questions she never asked Georgie, the words sharpening their claws on the edges of her mind. The no, not me, not allowed sinking in her gut.

“Although…” Make it light. Make it interesting. Make it about someone else. How to hook an audience without having a public breakdown and becoming a— “According to Georgie, Jon… doesn’t.”

It feels wrong as soon as she says it. Like she’s dirty. Like she’s lying. Like a thousand eyes are looking at her, watching her, waiting for more. Make it a story. Engage your audience. Like it’s 2013 in a convention hotel room and Pete just told everyone Don’t worry, Mel likes girls actually, and even though they were all fine about it that moment of sharpshock terror in her throat as they all looked—

“Like, at all?”

The one thing she never learned was how to stop talking. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, that does explain some stuff.”

And that’s… it, really. That does explain some stuff. Jon is a dick, has always been a dick, overfocused on work and not on other people, and that does explain some stuff. Right. Yes. Like her last girlfriend had told her, about all you do is work, I can’t even get you off. An explanation, just like she always knew it would be.

It doesn’t really matter. She has a boss to go kill.

-

“I think,” she says, slow, like every word is being dragged out of her, “that I might not like. Sex. As much as, you know, people do.”

“You’re a person,” her therapist says, firm, and she has to bite back a sarcastic laugh.

“Right. ‘Course.”

- - -

post-fic notes: i myself personally have previously identified as: heteroromantic gray-ace, heteroromantic ace, aroace, aro gray-ace, aro bi, bi, arospec bi, aro bi again, and aro bi but sex ambivalent. part of that has been natural progression and change; part of that was bcos some people i considered friends got very into aphobic discourse, and i internalized a lot of what they said. in recent months i have been examining my sex ambivalence (sometimes repulsion) and considering what that means about whether or not i am on the ace spectrum. i’m still thinking about these things. i’m still, deep down inside, afraid of the aphobic people i respected and cared about hearing about this.

in part i wrote this to work through some of My Own Shit regarding this. in part i wrote this bcos i will get my grubby little aspec hands (bcos regardless of anything else, i am aspec, whether that’s ace or aro) on every character i can. yes, even the ones who did an objectively shitty thing to jon, the one canonical ace character. bcos sometimes people (like me) internalize things and make mistakes.

[welllpthisishappening]

We’re watching the Blues white vs blue scrimmage and I’m so excited hockey is almost back! I think this calls for a Blue Line re-read because it’s so, SO good and I’ve read through everything on ao3 at least 5 times. 💙

This makes me the absolute happiest! Thank you for reading! And then reading again! I am unreasonably excited about the start of the season and the length of Chris Kreider’s hair and I was going to post a quick Blue Line one-shot here, but it was basically just original characters in that it was literally just Matt Jones being an idiot while meeting his future wife, so I wrote something else this morning and winning the Stanley Cup would mean they’d have to change their before-the-season starts ritual. Anyway, here’s like nearly 4K of everyone ragging on each other just before the season after Blue Line, while Emma and Killian try to figure out where they can make out without anyone noticing: 

————

“Still looking?” “Yup.” “What she look like?” “Like the actual description of her face?” 

Something dug into the bottom of Emma’s shoulder blade, and it took her far too long to realize that it was the jut of Killian’s chin because even the idea of Killian crouching behind her so as to avoid the overall force of Regina’s glare was something that hadn’t even crossed her mind. Until it was happening, apparently. “She’s staring,” Emma muttered, “got that little pinch between her eyebrows that always shows up when she’s—” Killian groaned. Directly where his mouth was resting, which was also on Emma’s back and likely just above the ‘o’ in his last name, if her knowledge of the jersey she was wearing was any indication. Maybe in between the ‘j’ and the ‘o,’ actually. 

“You’re ridiculous.” “Me?” Killian countered, and Emma wished she hadn’t already finished that first glass of wine. Blurry thoughts bounced across her sleep-deprived brain because there was only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, or whatever Kermit sang in The Muppet Christmas Carol. Presumably Christmas. And not hockey. Or the start of the hockey season. 

Splotches of ink still dotted the sides of Emma’s right hand, the product of dragging that same hand over forms she had to sign and other plans she had to approve, and the blue carpet wasn’t coming until next week because the home opener was actually three games into the season, which was not as comforting or stress-reducing as she thought it should have been and she simply did not have time to mitigate an argument between her boyfriend and his agent. 

Even when that boyfriend was very good looking. 

In his Christmas sweater. 

The traditions of hockey players continued to boggle the mind. Emma’s, specifically. 

If she drank any more wine, she was going to fall asleep standing up. “Yes,” Emma said, “you, but only because you’re the one currently trying to burrow your way into me. With your chin.” Humming in confusion, he lifted his head, and that wasn’t really a mistake, per se — but it did leave his soft exhale brushing against the side of Emma’s neck, and that sort of guaranteed that goosebumps appeared on her neck and she should have been more annoyed. By Killian’s immediate laugh. Of the vaguely victorious variety. 

“What do you think about the sweater?” “That you’re fishing for compliments.” “I think I make Locksley’s stitched-on face look very good. Doesn’t get stretched out at all—” Killian ignored Emma’s groan, pressing a kiss to the exact spot her shoulder met her still goosebump-covered neck, and it was the wine’s fault. For the state of her increasingly wobbly knees. “—Which is more than I can say about his current face.” “Oh, that’s rude,” Emma argued. “And I’m not entirely sure it even made sense.” “Are you Locksley’s self-appointed defender, then?” “Are you the single most superstitious player in the entire National Hockey League?” That kiss came with a graze of his teeth and a noise Emma immediately regretted making. Something like a squeak bubbled out of her, flinching in the sort of way that only ensured she was even closer to Killian, and stepping on one of his toes would have detracted from the overall romance of the moment. 

“You can’t do that sort of thing in public, Swan,” Killian chided, and he really did have very good reflexes. Spinning her, Emma’s hands flew to his chest — pointedly ignoring the stitched-on face of Robin Locksley — and he didn’t move. Didn’t stumble or come anywhere close to falling. Just arched his left eyebrow and had the gall to smirk at her like they weren’t in a restaurant filled with their friends and teammates and—

“I’m not taking the shirt off, Gina,” Killian yelled over Emma’s head, “so you can stop whatever you’re doing with your face.” “Trying to turn you to stone,” Emma mumbled.

“Last I checked, she’s not a Greek myth.” “Far as you know.” He moved. Shook really, once his laugh started to echo between Emma’s ears, and they definitely had more pillows in their house than blankets, but the sound of Killian’s obvious and consistent joy was oddly similar to the softest piece of fabric Emma could imagine. Like it was capable of wrapping around her, warm without being suffocating, just this steady presence that didn’t weigh down on her and made everything feel like—

Home, she supposed. 

She was so happy; she was positive it simply poured out of her at this point. And the sweater really did not look half bad. Fit very well, at least. 

“This worked last year,” Will called, shuffling between Roland and Henry. Several wads of napkins littered the floor by their feet, a makeshift hockey game that, as far as Emma could figure, had ever-evolving rules and a tendency to knock chairs over. Roland’s jersey wasn’t quite as long as last year, the hem stopping well before his knees. 

Henry still had a twenty on his back. 

“Still looks ridiculous,” Regina countered. Her wine glass was also empty, sitting closer to Robin’s chair than she had been ten minutes earlier. “Do you think you should send them an email?” Killian’s eyebrow dropped. Pulled low in perfect tandem with the other one, Emma’s head tilting with her own sense of confusion. 

Something slammed rather loudly into one of the walls. Eric might have been doing shots behind the bar.

“What?” “An email,” Regina repeated, “to whatever website makes that monstrosity, so you can let them know that they should get more creative and offer more wardrobe choices to—” “—Idiots?” Robin quipped. 

“Professional hockey players.” Ariel clicked her tongue, ignoring her husband’s objections when she jumped onto the edge of the counter. Only a matter of time until several kids tried to follow suit. “Is your husband not a professional hockey player, Gina?” “Yes.” “Oh, that was far less of an argument than I expected,” David mumbled, stepping next to Emma, and he couldn’t quite bump her shoulder when she was still standing so close to Killian. “And kinda rude,” Will added, “all things considered.”

Regina shrugged. “I cannot possibly overstate how much I hate that sweater.” “Take it up with Banana,” Killian said. “Her gift; makes it her problem. All I am doing is—” “—Wearing it?” “And wearing it well,” he promised. If Emma’s cheeks turned red, no one mentioned it. Which might have been one of the nicer things anyone on this team had ever done for her. “Plus,” Killian continued, “Scarlet’s right. This worked last year. If you want to risk tradition and potential—” A chorus of jeers greeted his near-jinx, complete with pointed fingers and one of Ariel’s legs kicking out like she had any chance of actually reaching Killian. Or wouldn’t be annoyed by whatever harm she could possibly inflict on his upper thigh. 

Regina looked very pleased. “This does not mean you won, Gina,” Killian said, but she only shrugged again, and the first blast of Arthur’s whistle was as shrill as any sound had rights to be. 

More cries bounced off the walls and the balled-up napkins, Arthur’s hand resting on Gwen’s shoulder because at some point in the twelve seconds between the first whistle blast and everyone regaining their ability to hear; he must have decided that standing on a chair was actually a good idea.

Killian’s entire body shook behind Emma’s. 

Getting rid of the goosebumps would be something of a rather large miracle. Especially if he kept his arm around her waist like this, fingers splayed over her stomach. 

“Are we ready yet?” Arthur barked, only to be met with murmurs and more confusion, and Emma didn’t think much before accepting the glass Mary Margaret was practically shoving into her hand. 

“Is there a reason for the collective?” Robin asked. “Did you mean to include yourself in that? Are you not ready for your own speech?”

Arthur was not as good at glaring as Regina. No one mentioned that. No one had to, really. He took a deep breath before he started. “Day before the opener. We know what we did last year, and I want to be the first to tell every single one of you that I don’t give a flying fuck—” Another round of loud objections rang out around him, Arthur not quite able to wave them off because his balance really was awful, and Killian had to let go of Emma to haul Roland up his side. “—Anyone asks you about last year,” Arthur pressed, entirely unperturbed by the frustration of his team and their assorted families, “and you better tell them you don’t give’a shit about it.”

Emma tried to cover one of Roland’s ears. The other one was pressed against Killian, so she couldn’t really do anything about that. “Does he think you haven’t been quoted—like, all off-season?” “The ultimate idiot,” Killian grinned. 

“Is this over yet?” Will demanded. “I’d like to know when I can boo without threat of interruption.”

Belle kissed his cheek. 

While Ruby mumbled curses under her breath, all too aware of just how many people had asked about the Cup run and would keep asking about the Cup run and her job was not going to get any easier if the professional hockey players in that restaurant refused to answer questions all season.

“Nothing that happened last year means anything this year,” Arthur said, but it was starting to sound a bit like a proclamation or maybe an affirmation, and Emma was terrible at yoga. Never had enough patience for it. “So we are playing for something brand-new, and you better not start by screwing it all up on Thursday.” He nodded once. Glanced around because Emma knew he was waiting for some sort of reaction, but the only reaction he got was Will’s promised boo, and that was more than Arthur deserved. Especially when he knocked over the chair while getting down. 

“Tell me he’ll be better with fans,” Emma said, and Killian had to shift Roland, but then he was the one doing the cheek kissing, and the quiet guarantee of absolutely, love was nice until he added—

“Can totally beat him up if he’s not.” “You’re a violent guy, Cap.”

Nosing at the side of her jaw did not impress Roland at all. Fair, really — but then Roland was on the same counter as Ariel, her sliding down the makeshift wood to get an arm around him and her phone already out and ringing, and Will stopped boo’ing. 

To announce, in no uncertain terms, “It’s time! Leader better not screw things up, or I’ll walk to Colorado and kick him in the shins.”

“What a threat.” Robin groaned, but his phone was making noise too, and neither Elsa nor Liam were doing a very good job of sharing space in the frame. Anna was waving with both her hands, already talking a mile a minute with her sister and they were all wearing team-branded merchandise, as the ritual dictated, but this also felt like the first legitimate time Emma was part of the ritual and all three Vankald and/or Jones faces beamed when they noticed her. 

“A,” Will sighed, “you’re supposed to tell us before the taxi squad gets on the call. Then we can prepare and we don’t have to go through this every year.” Anna’s eyes noticeably thinned. “What is this, exactly?” “The gossip wheel you’ve got to run through before we can—” “—Emma’s wearing KJ’s number again!” “We live together Banana,” Killian reasoned, and the jump in Emma’s stomach was undeniable and even more uncalled for. She also hoped she didn’t mess up the ritual. 

“Still.” “Expand on that for me.” Will might have snarled. “We do not have time for this.”

“Are you an actual adult participating in this situation?” Ariel challenged. “Because I am not getting that right now.” Careful to stay out of Regina’s eye line and certain that Roland was at least momentarily distracted by another plate of onion rings, both of Will’s hands moved when he flashed specific fingers. Ariel nearly fell off the counter, she laughed so hard. 

Elsa and Anna were absolutely having their own conversation. 

And Killian kissed Emma’s hair that time. 

“Also,” Elsa added, “should we be collectively annoyed by the taxi squad marker? That’s kind of—” Her voice dropped “A dick move, right?” “You’re a picture of parental responsibility, El,” Killian said. “Buy new clothes.” “See,” Regina cried, arms thrust nearly above her head in what wasn’t quite celebration but might have simply been her innate desire to be right at all times. “Liam, you’re going to have to say something different now, you realize that?” None of them had, quite clearly. Soft gasps and quiet oh’s echoed around their spot at the end of the bar, but Liam’s chin was doing something as well. So maybe it was just genetic. Jutting out, the confidence practically dripped off him, which would have been a disgusting thought in any other situation, but there was something to be said for constants and stability, and not one of them had so much as thought the phrase back to back all offseason. 

“Your lack of belief is disappointing, Gina.” “I’m just covering our bases.” “Wrong sport,” Liam laughed, grabbing the stick that had been leaning just out of frame and it took some finagling to hold it out in front of him. Without also knocking the phone over. He nearly knocked the phone over three different times. 

Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright,” Liam started, and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way Killian stood up a bit straighter. Robin and Will, too. “Wait, wait, shit, sorry Rol—no, but how many years is this?” “Oh my God,” Ariel grumbled. “This is kind of messing it up.” “Leader, do you not know how to do math?” Will shouted, grabbing more than one of Roland’s onion rings. Like he needed something to occupy his hands with. 

Blotches of color appeared on Liam’s face, Elsa’s head shaking back and forth now while several different grown adults tried to do the most basic math problem, and no one else heard Killian at first. Emma did. Presumably, because she was almost standing on his sneakers. 

His arm was back around her waist. “Nine years,” he repeated. 

Liam hummed. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right.” “I know it is.” Nothing about those words was enough to immediately catch Emma short, but the fingers pressed against her might have started pulling on her shirt ever so slightly and whatever look Elsa and Anna shared as soon as she circled her arms around Killian’s middle wasn’t important. Now, at least. Emma had every intention of getting them to give up whatever they knew later. 

They definitely knew something. 

She’d worry about that after the home opener. “Alright, alright, alright,” Liam chanted, the stick back up and Will’s salute lacked any sort of legitimate respect. “Nine years ago now, we all stumbled back into this stupid city and laced up skates and tripped over ourselves on the ice.” He had to glance down. Reading it off an index card, then. Emma’s heart gave a small, but sure tumble in her chest. “And we were God awful. Terrible. Embarrassingly bad. But, as with most things, we figured it out. We stopped tripping over that giant emblem at center ice and we didn’t stutter during post and we actually started scoring goals.”

The stick was starting to shake. Retirement affected forearm strength, it seemed. 

“And we inexplicably won a first-round series and made the backpages of tabloids and then something kind of incredible happened.” Emma waited for the tension, for the sound of Killian’s knuckles cracking, or the exchange glances between Robin and Will. None of it came. It was stupid to think it would. And Liam was far from done. “Down two games in Pitt—” “—Oh my God,” Ruby hissed, “who calls it Pitt?” Liam ignored her. “A two-game hole, and totally fu—messed up media in Los Angeles, but none of that mattered because you guys kept scoring goals and the entire Kings organization is a black hole of talentless idiots.” “This is scathing, Leader,” Will said, “truly. Did you practice this?” “Yes,” Elsa said before Liam could open his mouth again, and Emma’s neck was going to give up sooner rather than later. Emotions twisted between the muscles there, another weight that somehow made it easier to breathe, like they had anything to do with her lungs, but none of her cared and all of her wanted. This, specifically. “There’s more though, Scarlet. Stop interrupting.” He saluted again. 

“Getting everything you wanted’s kind of a weird thing to wrap your head around, but that’s because this isn’t everything. Not yet. Somehow you guys are still capable of scoring goals and—y’know, your quotes leave a little to be desired.” “Here, here,” Ruby murmured. 

Liam might have been the best at glaring. Like, out of all of them. “But that just means the pressure’s on. Vankald cliché requirement; patent pending.” None of the boos that garnered had much bite to them. “Keeping the tradition alive is half the fun of hockey, this dumb sport with weapons on our feet and in our hands and it’s up to you guys. All over again. Start of the season, fresh slate, knowing you can do it because you already have. You ready, Rol?”

Roland nodded more than once, enthusiasm in every jerk of his head. “To the Cup,” he shouted. 

“To the Cup,” the crowd repeated, not much enunciation between the lot of them when both of the phones had a slight delay and there was a baby crying in Colorado. Still, neither Elsa nor Liam moved and the shot glasses Eric put down were rather quickly grabbed. So as to avoid Arthur’s ire. 

Alcohol burned the back of Emma’s mouth as soon as she tilted her head, shivering against the strength of whatever it was she just drank. If she cried, she was going to be really annoyed with herself. 

And the restaurant never got too loud, or too warm, but Emma’s heart stayed at its above-average rate for the next two hours, making the prospect of walking out the door and standing at the edge of the sidewalk all the more appealing. Especially when she remembered how—

It took him two minutes to follow her. Give or take. 

“Feels like we’re in a time warp,” Killian said, leaning against the side of the restaurant while Emma desperately tried to temper her own emotions and she had more emotions than she knew one person could be capable of containing. 

“No dancing, though.” “Banana and I went to a midnight showing of that on Halloween once.” “Seriously?” “Mmmhm. Have I mentioned that I am ridiculously in love with you yet, today?” Her head fell. Neck finally giving up, Emma’s cheek twisted on top of Killian’s shoulder, and his sweater, and if there was a quota for kisses pressed to the crown of her head, he was certainly trying to reach it. Competitive weirdo. “I don’t think so.” “Idiotic.” “Eh, we’ve been busy.” “I love you,” he said, and she smiled. Wide and easy and so goddamn happy, it only occasionally felt like a massive joke. And it still wasn’t enough. As selfish as that might have been, but Liam was definitely right and this wasn’t the end, might have just been another point on a circle and hints of wholly enjoyable déjà vu. “Is this the part where we talk about dating some guy on a team?” Left eyebrow, that time. Perfectly arched while his ability to smirk continued to infuriate Emma just a little, whatever sound she made when he ducked his head and caught her lips somewhere between joy and laughter and the seemingly perpetual talent to make her swoon wherever she was standing. 

They’d definitely gotten better at kissing in the last year. 

A fact Emma had every intention of pointing out — once she was done sticking her tongue in Killian’s mouth. Or trying to get her fingers under his sweater, his soft hiss at the lack of temperature in her fingertips some kind of victory she’d think about until the home opener and possibly until the All-Star break, and the overall arch of her back wasn’t particularly comfortable. But then her hips bumped Killian’s and that drew another sound and made champagne bubbles of the far more metaphorical variety explode in the general vicinity of her heart. 

One of her feet left the ground, not doing much to help her balance, but Emma had already spent too long considering the pros and cons of balance and she scratched at the back of Killian’s head. When her back pressed into the wall, threatening to scratch through her jersey and his fingers weren’t as cold as hers, because he might have just exuded heat, which likely wasn’t a sign and she wanted it to be a sign and—

“I love you,” Emma breathed, harder than she wanted. The force of his answering smile could have melted ice. In several prominent arenas across North America. 

“You worried?” “Very vague question.” “Swan.” “No,” she said, pleased to realize she meant all three letters. With just about everything in her. “Coming out here was—” “—We could have just made out in the restaurant.” “Pushing me up against a wall probably would have gotten us kicked out.” “Which would have led us here and then home, so,” Killian shrugged, “I fail to see the problem.” “You want to go home?” His eyes closed. His smile didn’t waver. Just pressed into the side of Emma’s neck and under her jaw, scruff, and strands of hair that were a little longer than they’d been last season, and she felt him inhale. Like he was trying to breathe her in, or possibly them. The specifics didn’t matter. They were something of a package deal now, anyway.

“Did you cop this jersey from equipment?” Leaning back was impossible with the wall behind her, but Emma was something of a glutton for emotions now and inherently greedy. Killian’s eyes noticeably darkened when she moved her tongue. Directly across her teeth. “Nah, I own this.” The thump of his forehead falling to her shoulder was the most satisfying sound she’d heard in two weeks. Bar none. 

“We’re leaving now,” Killian said. “Now.”

“You don’t want to—” Lacing his fingers through hers, he didn’t quite tug her back down the alley, but it was awfully close and Emma was glad she’d thought to bring her phone with her. “They’ll figure it out.”

She hoped they did. 

Checking her phone was somewhere near the bottom of the list she had absolutely no intention of making that night, opting instead to leave a trail of clothes back to their room and she couldn’t wear the jersey to the game. They made out in the hallway outside the visitor’s locker room, though. So Emma figured it something of a wash; and the first win of the season. 

[toogayforthistoday]

mermaid AU, roaring 20s AU, and fake dating AU with Hiei and Dabi too plz? ~nikkzships

@nikkzships sdgsdrhdfgjghjk!!! AHHHHHH!! NIKKI!! I love you so much oml

As a note, I apparently do not know how to ‘just write headcanons’ for these two, and I just straight up started writing bLURBS AHH-

Mermaid AU: Who is the adventurous mermaid who swims a little too close to the shore? Who is the curious human who finds them? Give one headcanon about you and your f/o’s relationship in this AU!

It goes without saying that for this AU, their first meeting(s) would be as wee beans. For those that don’t know what I mean by wee beans, they’re all children. Cause it’s adorable, and that’s how my brain thought these up.

For Hiei, he’d be the mermaid (merman?) and Gabe would be the Human.

Just Hiei being a tsundere little shit, like “No, I’m not getting too close to the Humans! I’m just making sure they won’t find us...” but the section of shore line that Hiei likes to hang out and sunbathe in, also happens to be Gabe’s little hiding spot away from everyone. So one day while Hiei’s laid back on a rock, almost asleep, Gabe stumbles down, rubbing at their eyes, so they don’t see him. As they settle against Hiei’s rock, still not having noticed him, Hiei had noticed them, and the fact that they were upset.

“Why are you crying?”

The question makes Gabe jump, and they start rubbing harder at their face as they stand back up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be here. I’ll leave...” They lower their hands to look at him, and finally notice he’s a merman.

“You don’t have to leave yet. Not til you answer my question first, at least...”

Gabe eventually manages to calm down enough to answer him, “My family don’t like me, and keep calling me a monster...”

“Hn. A Human as pretty as you can’t possibly be a monster.” At Gabe’s smile, Hiei smiles a little too. “I’m Hiei.”

“My name’s Gabe. Will you... be my friend?”

Hiei nods, smiling more.

@junkratsloverat also asked for Mermaid!AU with Dabi, so here you go, Hannah!!

For Dabi, Gabe’s the mermaid.

Touya had been going to that section of beach almost every day for a month, now; It seemed to be ignored by most of the locals, with tall grass and weeds growing right up to the waters edge. He thought he’d heard singing coming from there one day while walking by, and he’d hoped to find the source. Touya had tripped, crying out in surprise as his face met sand, before hearing a splashing sound and silence. Today, he was hoping his luck would change.

As he walked closer, he thought he could hear a melody over the wind. Touya had to force himself to be careful this time, didn’t need to trip and scare them away again. As he crept close, the song got louder and louder, and he could start making out the words the person sung. Passing a large driftwood log, a figure came into view, leaning over a large rock to look down into a tide pool. Their blonde hair gently swayed back and forth as continued their song, watching as a small crab scuttled by a starfish. The red-head leaned forward, putting more of his weight on the log, hoping to get a better look at the singer.

The driftwood let out a creaky groan before moving under Touya, frightening both him and the blonde. The figures head shot up, looking straight at him before pushing themself away from the rock and into the water.

“Wait!” Touya cried out, running towards the rock. The crab had the good sense to scuttle under the crags of the rock, before the human accidentally stepped on him. He jumped up onto it, where the figure had been resting, looking over to try and find them, but there was no sign of them. He sighed, and sat down, catching his breath.

“I just wanted to tell you that I liked your song...”

Hearing nothing but the waves lapping against the rock in response, Touya stood back up and turned to hop off the rock.

“...You liked it?”

The question made Touya jump and whip back around to the water, quickly loosing his balance and falling back into ocean. He felt the burn of the frigged water, followed by arms around him, pulling him back up. He’s set down on the rock, just out of the water.

“Are all humans this accident prone, or is it just you?” the voice joked. Touya opened his eyes, and saw the blonde figure in front of him, still half in the water.

“...Aren’t you cold?” He asked, noticing they weren’t wearing a shirt of any kind.

“Why would I get cold? Do humans not have good circulation? Is that why you wear those fabrics?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Touya stared at them, confused by their questions. He looked down at the water again, and noticed something shimmering at their waist. “...Are you not human?”

The blonde shook their head. “I’m a mermaid!” A look of guilt shot across their face and they ducked down slightly. “We’re not supposed to let humans know we exist... You promise not to tell anyone, yeah?”

Touya quickly nodded as he grinned. “I promise!”

The blonde grinned back. “I’m ᎶᏗᏰᏒᎥᏋᏝ.” At the sight of Touya’s confused face, they slowly nodded, “You probably can’t pronounce that... Uhhh, you can call me Gabe?”

“And you can call me Touya!”

Roaring 20s AU: Who is new to the city or visiting family in the city? Who’s the wealthy bachelor who notices them at a party? Give one headcanon about you and your f/o’s relationship in this AU! 

Dabi would the wealthy bachelor? With Gabe being new to the city.

Touya had been dragged to the party by Natsuo, who just wanted him to have some fun without their father constantly breathing down his neck. Gabe had also been dragged to the party, by Atsuhiro, so they could make some new friends. So Gabe’s off being a social butterfly with Atsu, and Touya notices them flitting around, and their joy is almost infectious, and he can’t help but go and say hello.

Now for Hiei... He’d be visiting Kurama for one reason or another, and Kurama convinced him to go to the party to loosen up a bit. Hiei’s always constantly stressed, and maybe a bit of light-hearted shenanigans would do him some good. Gabe’s been too busy lately to just relax, and let’s their brother Yusuke convince them to come to the party as well. Yusuke and Kurama are old friends, so of course they introduce the two, and the enjoy the party together.

Fake dating AU: Who has a plan and needs a fake partner to show to their parents or ex? Who begrudgingly agrees? Give one headcanon about you and your f/o’s relationship in this AU! 

In both cases, it’ll be Gabe who needs a partner, cause we already have Hero!Dabi needing the fake partner for that wedding.

Hiei doesn’t understand why the witch would need him to pretend to be their date, Kurama would do a much more convincing job of it. But the longer he thinks about that, the more upset the thought makes him, so he stops thinking about it, and agrees to parade around for their family. The sight of Gabe relaxing in relief has him feeling a certain way, and now he’s confused and slightly worried there’s something wrong with him.

Hiei hasn’t experienced these feelings before, so he goes to talk to Kurama, who would surely know the answer.

“Hiei, you like them.”

“I tolerate their existence.”

“I think you love them.”

“What? No, that’s ridiculous.”

Well, Kurama didn’t have the right answer.

So Hiei goes through the week of Gabe’s family visiting, holding their hand, constantly being near them, and letting Gabe do all the talk as he watched them. On the last day of the visit, it finally clicks that he actually enjoyed being that close to them, and after today, he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

And fuck, Kurama was right.

So he goes and tracks them down. Luckily, Gabe’s just chilling in their room, as it’s still early, and they didn’t want to talk with anyone yet. So, true to Hiei fashion, he’s terrible with words, and just goes in for a kiss, hoping that would get his point across.

It does.

For Dabi... Hmm...

Gabe and Dabi would be chilling in a random bar, when in walks a rather attractive looking woman, who smirks when she sees Gabe and starts walking over.

“Ahh, fuck it’s my ex... Uhh... Can you make out with me?”

Dabi almost spits out his drink, “What?”

“Make out with me! I don’t want to deal with her manipulative ass tonight. I will cook you dinner for a month-” Their offer was cut off as Dabi’s fingers lifted their chin towards him, and he moved in to kiss them. Just as Gabe started to kiss back, Dabi felt a tap on his shoulder. He slowly pulled away slightly, just enough to glance at the woman, who was now sporting an offended look on her face.

“Excuse me, can you stop making out with my boyfriend?”

Dabi slowly looked her up and down, before smirking, and pulling Gabe over to straddle his lap. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I think you mean my boyfriend. They broke up with your terrible sense of style ages ago,” and pulled Gabe’s face down to connect with his again. The woman’s best impression of a fish did nothing to break their kiss a second time, leaving her to storm off, spouting off obscenities and threats.

After a minute, and neither could hear her screaming anymore, they parted again, their breathing heavier than expected. “Thanks Dabi. I... Really appreciate that.” Gabe smiled as a tint of red started to creep onto their face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dabi smiled back, rubbing his thumbs gently on Gabe’s hips where he’d rested them. “I... Uh... wouldn’t mind skipping out on those dinners, if... you wanted to keep making out on a more... romantic basis...?”

Gabe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah...” and they leaned in to continue their make out session.

Oops, I got carried away again!!

~ Gabe

[pricemarshfield]

the killing kind

A post-canon Drarry fic. Read on AO3 here.

Harry would like one day away from the press, from being the Boy who Lived, to just be Harry. Polyjuice would work, but it's disgusting and difficult and also possibly illegal, but wizards are bad at recognizing anything non-magical, so this might work.

At least, that was his reasoning for walking into Diagon Alley with a Muggle stage prosthetic that makes his chin look completely different, a fake mustache, and his hair enchanted to be long enough to finally, finally cover his scar. He's sure that last one will wear off in an hour, but that should be enough to get an ice cream at Fortescue's and sit outside and eat it without being swarmed.

You'd think, years after Tom Riddle's death, that they'd stop caring about him. But no, they need to report every little thing he does. Harry Potter rushed through Auror training. Harry Potter quits Ministry work, possible run for Minister? Professor McGonagall had tried her best to keep his professorship at Hogwarts under lock and key, but after his first day, the papers had a tell-all. He's not sure which student it was, but they're children. He can't blame them.

The first Prophet reporter he sees, a woman with shockingly long hair he recognizes as taking photos outside a restaurant near the Burrow (preceding an article about his break-up with Ginny that made it seem like something tragic and not like school sweethearts amicably parting weeks before the photo was taken), doesn't give him a second glance. He has to force himself to walk normally past her and not rush.

It's the one thing Auror training actually taught him. People won't pay attention to you if you act like everything's fine. One art thief he'd caught in the three weeks he'd actually worked at the Ministry had just walked into places and taken paintings, not bothering to sneak or disguise himself whatsoever. They'd assumed he must have been there. Harry had felt bad taking him in, actually; he was taking better care of the paintings than the rich assholes he was taking them from.

"Was going to take one from the Malfoys next," the guy'd said. "I know apparently the wife and the kid aren't actually, you know, Death Eaters, but they sure don't need all that art, don't they?"

"Don't suppose you'd let me catch you right after you stash that one somewhere," Harry'd joked.

"Nope. Sorry, mate," he'd said, and sounded so much like Ron that Harry made idle conversation about how Animagi tended to find it pretty easy to escape from wizarding jails, and how Azkaban was much more--ethical, now that the Dementors were gone and Hermione had aggressively campaigned for prisoners' rights. (With Harry's quiet support and financial backing, remembering how haunted Sirius had looked.)

Anyway. He's getting lost in his thoughts again. It does mean he doesn't notice if there's any other reporters on the path to Fortescue's. It also means he doesn't process the words on the sign in front of him for long enough that he's getting a couple weird looks.

Aguefort's Chronomantics Romantic Novels

Books to Transport You Through Time, Space, and Dimensions!

Harry blinks at it, looks around. This is the corner where Fortescue's was--and he briefly considers hexing himself when he remembers that Florean was one of the people who disappeared, back in the war, who never came back after. Sure enough, there's a little in memorial metal plaque on the front door of the bookshop.

He swears under his breath. He should have remembered this. But no, he's stuck.

There's probably some other shop he can grab something at, right? Other than what looks like overpriced romances? There's a few sit-down restaurants, but he needs to be in and out in forty minutes, max.

He wanders aimlessly down the streets, hoping to catch a whiff of something. Churros, tacos, some sort of street cart or something. Diagon Alley's not really that type of place, but he hasn't been here in a year and a half, so maybe someone's pushing convention.

There doesn't end up being any cheap little shops on the side of the road, but fifteen minutes later, he does see a place that sells chips and has outdoor seating, and that'll have to do. When he walks in, the place is packed, but the line's moving quickly enough that he should still be fine, if he eats quickly. Worse comes to worse, he can just Apparate away when his hair starts to act up.

He gets through the line, pays, gets his chips, adds some more salt to it, and sits outside in under six minutes. (He counts. Also, he has a watch that he remembers to look at three minutes in.) Outdoor seating's a little cramped, and he can feel himself tense, shoulders higher than they should be. He lets himself sit with his back to the wall, eyes on everyone, ignoring the reminder for CONSTANT VIGILANCE in his head from old Mad-Eye, and begins to eat.

Now that he's got some food in him and he knows...well. He's pretty sure that no one's watching him from behind, he's able to look around and appreciate his surroundings, being in the world without being stared at. It's then that he realizes a few things:

1. Most of the people here have notepads next to them, quills writing notes on their own.

2. The building across the street has a sign in looping, dramatic script that reads Daily Prophet.

3. Draco fucking Malfoy is at the table next to him, and

4. He's looking right at Harry.

Harry tries to express please, for the love of God, don't make a scene with his face. Malfoy doesn't seem to pick up on it from the way he leans forward, drawing the eyes of someone nearby. Harry casts a quick Muffliato around the pair.

"Potter," Malfoy says.

"I'm just trying to grab a bite," Harry pleads.

"What, you think they wouldn't serve you if you showed up?" Malfoy asks, arching a brow at him like he's said something oh-so-intelligent. Harry wonders if cursing him is worth the attention. But Malfoy being annoying isn't enough to get him on the front page of the Prophet, probably, and Harry didn't speak at his trial for nothing.

"No," Harry says. "But sometimes someone might like to eat without everyone staring at them, yeah?"

Malfoy narrows his eyes at him. "I can understand that."

That was more than Harry'd expected. His shoulders drop a little. "Good. I'll be out of here in just a few minutes anyway." He looks back down at his chips.

"Why?" Malfoy asks.

Harry looks up at him. He hadn't exactly anticipated a conversation with Malfoy. With a glance at the Prophet next door, Harry says, "Hungry."

"I didn't mean why here, Potter, have you really not gotten any smarter since we were at school?"

"Have you really not changed since Hogwarts either?" Harry snaps, knows it's a low blow right after it's left his mouth. Malfoy's face blanches, and he turns back to his book with a pinched expression that Harry doesn't feel guilty about. Decidedly not guilty. Not even a little. His hero complex has gotten better, and he can tell Hermione that later.

One minute and fifteen seconds later, Harry caves and hands Malfoy a chip. He has to lean way too far, two of his chair legs leaving the ground, but the scrape of that means at least Malfoy glances up and he doesn't have to say anything to get his attention. Malfoy takes the chip with an expression of distaste. He doesn't seem to have any food.

"Did you come here for food and get turned away?" Harry asks, connecting a couple things in his head like those mystery boards Ron still uses at work.

Malfoy glares at him. "No, I'm sitting here because I'm fond of being by a bunch of reporters."

"You could leave," Harry says. "It doesn't look like you're chained here."

"That would be conceding, Potter," Malfoy says primly. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Alright," Harry says. "Look, I just wanted some food, the charm on my hair's wearing off soon, and I didn't mean to rub it in your face." After an awkward pause, he adds, "Also, wizards don't notice anything with Muggle prosthetics, so. You could try that."

"Is that why your chin looks like that?" Malfoy asks, horrified. "It's horrific, Potter, you're better off just taking off those glasses rather than completely destroy your appearance."

"It's temporary," Harry says, ignoring the little thrill up his spine when Malfoy almost-implies something nice about how he looks. "And I'm trying not to get looked at, git."

Malfoy gives Harry a quick up-and-down look then flicks his wand. Harry braces himself, but instead feels his hair cool a little, like a more pleasant disillusionment charm. When he glances at the shop's window, he can see it's fallen even further flat.

"Thanks," Harry says. Malfoy nods at him. "Sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"That that happened," Harry says. "The shop thing, not the--not the hair thing."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth quirks up. "I'm used to it."

Not for the first time, Harry's struck with a quiet sense of injustice that he doesn't really know what to do with. In school, it was simple: pass his classes, defeat Riddle, and try to win the House Cup. But there's things he can't tackle quite as easily, or at least the path towards them are less clear. The right of blood over anything else in wizarding families, the existence of house elves, the way people are judged years later for what they did as a child in war.

Harry's under no illusions about Malfoy being a good person; he was still a bigoted little git in school. But he also knows he's made an attempt to do better, to be better.

"If you want," Harry says, wincing at how awkward and halting his voice sounds. "Next time the Prophet corners me, I can say something nice about you. Might change things."

"Why?" Malfoy says,  brow furrowed, the picture of distrust.

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Seems unfair."

"You really do have a hero complex," Malfoy says despairingly. "I thought it was just a pathological need for attention, but no, you really do have to step into situations that don't need you if you have even the slightest inkling someone might be a bit upset."

"I don't have to," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "It was an offer. You know, something people do when they're trying to be nice?"

"Gryffindors," Malfoy sighs. "This is why you lot end up being Chosen Ones."

Harry wants to yell at him or just throw a hex, reporters be damned, but Malfoy's smiling slightly, and his tone was almost joking, maybe.

"At least we didn't have to live in a dungeon," Harry says, and meets Malfoy's gaze with a slight smile back.

[hermannsthumb]

90+96?

90. Unexpected Virgin + 96. Scars 

from fanfiction trope mashup here

continuation of me filling ancient, 2 year old prompts in my inbox! sometimes you just gotta return to the basics and write post-movie first time :’) this is the first thing ive written on my new laptop, MOMENTOUS OCCASION. as u might have guessed 18+/NOT SFW BELOW CUT

—————

They’re about an hour into the impromptu We Didn’t Die! party currently ravaging the base when Hermann–stripped out of his sweatervest, and clutching his cane like a lifeline–suddenly grips Newt by the forearm and swings him around to face him. “Newton,” he declares, as the contents of Newt’s plastic cup slosh to the floor, “I would like to invite you back to my quarters.”

It’s probably due to the two shots of vodka Newt downed in quick succession about twenty minutes into the impromptu party that the innuendo flies right over his head, and, instead of accepting enthusiastically, he merely draws his face into a pout. It’s not unusual for Hermann to force him to go to bed, especially after a week of all-nighters in the lab, but now? During this? They’re practically guests of fucking honor. “To sleep? Lame. I’m not tired. Hey, unwind, have a drink!” He pushes his plastic cup into Hermann’s face.

Hermann pushes it away. “I believe you misunderstood me,” he says. “I’m asking you to have sex with me, Newton.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

They’re out of LOCCENT in a flash, and bursting through the door of Hermann’s cramped quarters in another. Newt has been fucking vibrating with energy all day long–excitement, elation, fear, straight-up terror–and he’s more than ready to unleash all twelve hours’ worth of it, plus twelve years’ worth of pathetic pining, on Hermann in the most awesome, cathartic victory sex the world has ever seen. And now that they’re finally alone–now that they’re finally alone together–

“I am so fucking horny right now,” Newt breathes. He kicks off his boots: one of them flies across the room and knocks over a precariously-balanced stack of books, while the other smacks against Hermann’s dresser and sends a photograph of Newt and Hermann crashing to the floor. “Holy shit, you have no clue. Oh my God.” Truthfully, he’s been sporting a half-boner since he threw his arm around Hermann in LOCCENT, and Hermann gave him that little smile and tucked up against him, but Hermann doesn’t need to know that. 

Hermann’s eyes are dark, and his pupils are wide. He wets his lips as those eyes sweep over Newt. “I. Ah. I am, as well.”

“Fuck yes,” Newt says. He moves his hands to his collar, where he rips off his tie, but he stops at his buttons with a grin. He could at least pretend to play hard to get. “Hey, you want me to take my shirt off?”

“That’s typically what’s done, isn’t it?” Hermann says. “During–” He clears his throat. “During these sorts of things?”

“Right,” Newt says. “Okay, do yours too.”

They take their shirts off. Hermann is sporting a nice set of shoulders and biceps, and an even nicer set of pecs, and Newt thinks that trim waist would be the perfect size to wrap his fingers around, but his too-pale skin hugs his ribs a little too-tightly. There’s not a hint of hair in sight. The exact opposite of Newt, basically, in all his hairy, tattooed, out of shape glory. It’s kind of perfect. Newt bets they’d fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.

He wolf-whistles before he can help himself. “I should’ve known you’d be even hotter under all those stupid sweaters.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. His mouth twitches up into a coy echo of his earlier smile. “Thank you. I think.”

Newt wants to get all over that hot bod, and so he does, inching up to Hermann until their stomachs brush and their chins bump, and planting his hands on either side of that neat, sexy waist. He’s right about it being the perfect size to grab. Hermann watches him through his dark lower lashes, standing perfectly still; he’s holding his breath. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

They kiss. It’s pretty cool, even if Hermann stands as stiff as a board, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even if when he finally decides to use tongue it’s at the moment Newt decides to use teeth and he ends up firmly biting down on it. “Ow,” Hermann hisses, pulling back sharply.

“Sorry,” Newt says. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages. I kinda forget how to, uh...” He tries to kiss Hermann again, but at Hermann’s darkening, skeptical expression, drops it. “Uh, you wanna take this to the bed?”

“Take off your jeans first,” Hermann says.

They stare at each other.

“Not–I mean yes, but–what I mean is they’re filthy,” Hermann snaps. “I’m not having you dirty up my sheets. Grime and blood and who on Earth knows what else.”

“Sure,” Newt says, and grins again. He fumbles with his belt and drops his jeans, and Hermann’s gaze drops too. Never one to pass up putting on a show, Newt tips his crotch forward to make his boner just that bit more prominent, and just that bit more in Hermann’s personal space. “Like what you’re seeing?”

Hermann nods.

Newt takes Hermann’s right hand and places it on his hip, just the waistband of his boxers. “You wanna take these off?” he says. He punctuates the question with a little kiss to Hermann’s throat. It’s so smooth–not at all like the scratchy, stubbly mess across Newt’s. He kisses it again, just ‘cause it’s nice, and feels more than hears the low rumble of a groan that rises in the back of it. Hermann’s shut his eyes.

“Ah–Newton–”

When it becomes clear Hermann won’t be sticking his hands down Newt’s boxers any time soon, Newt backs him up to his bed and pushes him down into it. Hermann sprawls backwards with a small thump. His cane clatters to the floor. “You gotta do some of the work here, dude,” Newt laughs.

To his surprise, Hermann flushes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I haven’t much. Er. Experience, with this sort of thing. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

This comes as no small surprise to Newt. Hermann’s just…Hermann, y’know? He’s bitchy, and weird, and kind of weird-looking, but he has a sexy way of rolling his r’s and a sexy mouth and, apparently, a sexy bod, and if Newt–the guy’s certifiable rival–has wanted to get into his pants for ages, he’s sure he can’t have been the only one. But hell if the thought of being the first one to do it doesn’t turn him on likes crazy. “Luckily for you, I’m a pro at sex,” he lies. “I’m amazing. Just ask anyone. Wait, uh, not anyone, I don’t mean–”

“I know,” Hermann says. He sits up and plucks at Newt’s waistband. “May I take these off now?” He wets his lips again.

“By my fucking guest, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann tucks two elegant, nimble fingers under the elastic and slips Newt’s underwear down to pool around his ankles, finally letting his erection breathe a little. Newt leers down at him. “What about now?” he says. “Huh? You like this?”

But Hermann isn’t looking at his dick, inches from his nose though it is; Hermann’s looking to the left of it. “You have a scar here,” he says, and pokes at a small expanse of skin on Newt’s thigh between two tattoos.

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah, dude. I rammed into a table when I was rollerskating in the house once and had to get stitches.”

Hermann traces his fingers over the scar. “You must have been quite the handful as a child,” he says wryly.

The incident in question happened when Newt was twenty-four, but he decides it’s best to not divulge that particular bit of information to Hermann. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hermann reaches down and unbuckles his own belt, then begins to partially wriggle out of his stupid baggy pants and tighty-whiteys. “We’re matching,” he says. “Look.”

His left hip and thigh is a mess of scar tissue that Newt imagines, at one point, must’ve hurt like a bitch. Way more than Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. Way more than could even be compared to Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. But he smiles anyway: he likes the idea of it being some giant, flashing sign from the universe of their drift compatibility. “Have you looked in the mirror?” he says, and shuts his non-bloodied eye to make his point. “We’re not just matching there.”

“Hopefully not permanently,” Hermann says. He finally turns his attention on Newt’s dick, scrutinizing it like it’s one of his incomprehensible equations. It gets Newt even hotter. “Would you like to have sex now? I’m eager to put your renowned skills to the test.”

Newt doesn’t miss the sarcasm. It’d be kind of hard to. “Jackass,” he says. “Move over, I’m getting in.”

Hermann divests himself of the rest of his clothing and shuts off the overhead light while Newt makes himself comfortable on Hermann’s bed, though he leaves his small bedside lamp on to cast them both in a cozy yellow glow. All of Hermann’s room is shockingly cozy, in fact: the quilt tucked in neatly to his cushy mattress, the tea kettle on his dresser, the soft rug on the floor, the space heater (shut off) half-hidden in the corner. No wonder Hermann sleeps in so late. If Newt’s setup was like this, he’d never leave his quarters either.

“We could get under this, if you’d like,” Hermann says, pinching a bit of the quilt. “It’ll be warmer. It can get very chilly in here.” He fidgets. “And. Er. It’ll be easier to wash my sheets, rather than…”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Newt says.

They move under the quilt. Hermann’s breath is warm on Newt’s face, and losing a layer seems to have imbibed Hermann with a newfound sense of confidence; his hands begin wandering across Newt’s body, up his sides, down his back, squeezing and pinching his skin, cupping his ass, and he layers kiss after kiss to Newt’s neck, his throat, his jaw. Newt rocks into each touch and moans helplessly. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermann murmurs into his ear. 

Newt laughs weakly. He’s gotten cute once or twice, but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful. It’s nice. He likes it. “Aw, dude.”

“You are,” Hermann says. “I’ve always thought you were. It’s been a terrible distraction in the laboratory.” He leans in and kisses Newt, still as graceless and chaste as before, but his low murmur has returned when he finishes, and it makes heat pool in Newt’s stomach. “Mm, sometimes all I could think about was how badly I wanted you.”

“Sometimes I used to jack off after we argued,” Newt blurts out.

Hermann blinks, surprised, and laughs. “Did you?”

“In the bathroom. Once in the supply closet. Nnh. Ah, fuck, Hermann, fuck–”

Bored of talking, apparently, Hermann’s decided to creep his hand lower and curl it around Newt’s dick. His touch is light, and unsure, and it kinda just makes it all even sexier. “I wish you told me this was your first time,” Newt whines out, pushing into Hermann’s fist. “I would’ve, guh, bought you dinner. Or something. We could’ve waited. Made it–made it meaningful.”

“Darling,” Hermann says, “this is perfect.”

Hermann kisses him; Newt comes, gasping and whining into his mouth. It’s a little embarrassing. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful, but he knows no one’s ever called him darling, and with Hermann the one being so sweet to him--it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pants afterwards, while Hermann examines the sticky mess on his fingers with mild interest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I wanted to last longer.”

“Oh, we’ve got all night,” Hermann says, sounding pleased. He wipes his fingers off with tissues from a box on his bedside, then drags Newt’s hand under the covers to cup his own neglected dick, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. Newt swallows down a whimper. It’s not fair that Hermann is doing better at this than Newt. “I would like very much for you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Newt squeaks.

[lemonjoonah]

The Shoulder on Which You Cry (M)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Mention of Yoongi x Reader Word Count: 11K Rating: M Genre: Romance, Drama, Hometown AU, Fluff, Angst Warnings: Drinking, Smut Scenes (Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Slight Amount of Thigh Riding) 

Summary: After moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. Each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. Namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. But when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, Jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need. 

A/N: Definitely not the typically genre I write in but I thought I would give it a shot, I would love to hear your feedback! I came up this story after listening to Intro: Persona for the first time (it’s been in my head for a couple months now), using the line, ‘I just wanna give you all the shoulders when you cry,’ as my inspiration.

...

“Fuck,” you mutter repeatedly as you grip the narrow armrest next to you. The women sitting beside you throws you a disgruntled look, prompting you to whisper an apology as turbulence continues to rattle the plane.

Flying is by no means your favourite pastime. You knew that it would become an issue when you moved away. You’re almost thankful that your career goals have kept you chained to your desk instead of enduring this torture on a more frequent basis. Now your trips home have become few and far between, returning only when it was absolutely necessary. 

This place was once filled with such good memories holidays, birthdays, graduations. But now in the past five years it seems like you’ve only returned for unfortunate circumstances events like, the divorce of your parents, your father’s car accident, or the death of your grandmother. Leaving your hometown to become a grim retreat. You’ve come to fear this town and all that it represents, but there’s always been one bright spot in the form of Kim Namjoon.

...

You slowly shove the last box of your father’s into the back of the truck. That’s it, there’s nothing left between them, what’s his is his and what’s hers is hers. When you first heard the news you wondered what could have gone wrong, why did it have to escalate to this? If you had been home could you have seen the warning signs? Could you have urged them to seek help and work things out? 

Your father claps you on the back thanking you for your help before starting the engine and driving off. Leaving you alone in the driveway. Your mother had gone to stay with her sister while your father removed his belongings. You have no desire to reenter the empty house just yet, the emotions of the day are still too raw. At least in the yard with the warm breeze on your face and the cicadas buzzing your world feels a little more full. After the physical and mental toll of the move you take a rest in the shade of a tree, closing your eyes for just a moment. 

“You know most people find somewhere comfortable to nap. A bed, a chair, but no you prefer the ground outside.” Namjoon hovers over you with his soothing tone. 

“Most people didn’t spend the day lifting heavy boxes,” You groan back at him. “Who called you to say I was here?”

“Your mother.”

“Of course she did...”  It’s no secret, she’s had always tried to push you and Namjoon into a deeper relationship than your current friendship. She thought he would convince you to stay, that he might keep you here when you had made a new life elsewhere. Even now she hopes he will bring you back, and at times like this you worry that she might be right.

Namjoon sits down next to you on the grass, pulling the blades of greenery between his fingers. “Was that everything?”

“Yep, he is officially moved out.” You struggle to keep your tone even.

“And how are you doing with all of this?” He asks cautiously as if the question might inflict even greater pain. 

“Fine.” You mutter looking down at the ground

“Liar,” Namjoon scoffs back.

“What? It’s not like I’m the one getting divorced, why should it matter?” You retort your tone falling to a whisper as you reach the end of your rational.

“Because this affects you too. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Not as much as it affects them.” You remain focused on the ground trying to fight the emotions he brings to the surface.

Namjoon lifts your chin to focus his sights on you and your reaction, “Really? You should tell that to the tears in your eyes.” He shifts closer to you under the tree letting your head rest on his shoulder and your tears fall upon his shirt.

...

Namjoon has always been there for you as a friend since you were young. Living just across the street for most of your life, helping you whether your problem be a skinned knee or a difficult test. Even as your feelings for your town grown dim, he refuses to give in, he is that one light which refuses to fade.

When your father had been hurt car wreck, Namjoon was by your side from the second your flight had landed.  He stayed at the hospital with you until visiting hours were over and then proceeded to make sure you got home safe. There were tears then too when you realized there was nothing you could do. But Namjoon didn’t shy away, he came in and held you close. 

You’ve lost count of how many shirts of his you’ve ruined with mascara. You haven’t been back for two years since your last trip, your grandmother's funeral. He had been the one to take you in then, with all of your family at your house there was little place for you to stay, so Namjoon graciously offered up his spare room. 

...

After the funeral you both take a seat on the sofa, the light of the day slowly fading outside. His house is beautiful and comfortable but it’s so large just for him, despite the warmth of the wooden furnishings it feels somewhat cold and empty. However for him this home is a step in the direction of the dream that he’s always told you of, the hope that one day he would have a family. One that he could grow with in this town that he loves. 

His arm crosses around your shoulders as a movie plays on the screen in front of you. You tuck into his chest and close your eyes when the strain becomes too much. 

His fingers comb through your hair with a soothing touch pulling the strands from you face. Its when his lips touch the top of you head you open your eyes to look up at him.

“Namjoon?”

He looks down at you with a conflicted expression before closing the gap between you. His lips take yours in a desperate fashion. Your mind starts to swim with the possibilities of what could be. The clothes discarded on the floor of his bedroom. Your back pushed into the mattress as Namjoon hovers over you. His eyes meeting yours as he presses himself between your legs. 

You gasp at the thought encouraging him to pull you closer, his hands coming to rest on your cheek and lower back locking you in place on top of him. You can’t deny your feelings for him, those have always been very apparent and without question. The problem rests with the cost of staying together. The life you’ve created far away, the one you’ve worked so hard to build, it would all be gone. The thought of staying in this town has never held joy for you, and it’s only gotten worse as you’ve parted. As much as you want to stay with Namjoon, you can’t remain here. 

You push away from him. Trying to find a way to explain yourself, when Namjoon opens the discussion for you. “Ask me to go back with you.”

“W-what?” Your breath catches from the shock of his offer.

“Ask me to be with you and I will. I’ll leave this life behind and follow you.”

The selfish side of you is so overwhelmed, so eager to accept his proposal. Screaming at you to say the words he’s requesting of you. But you can’t do it, not with the man who’s always been so supportive of you.

“You’d never ask me to stay, please don’t expect me to ask that of you. It wouldn’t be right Namjoon, you wouldn’t be happy there, just like I wouldn’t be happy here.”

“Do you love me?” His crestfallen face begs the question of you, as if asking for a reason to discard his dream. 

The simple ‘yes’ rests on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it out. “You have to stay,” Your voice cracks but you hold firm, knowing you would never forgive yourself if you took this dream away from him. You know he’ll find someone who wants this life as much as he does.

...

As the airport comes into view below, you begin to dread the landing, and the arrival home. You’ll cry on this trip too there’s no doubt about it, but this time Namjoon won’t be able to offer his shoulder in comfort.

The customs agent leads with the question you dread most on every return. “What’s the reason for your visit?”

Your throat immediately tightens at the thought, you swallow before spitting out the words, “A wedding...”  

Namjoon’s wedding... he called you a month ago to issue the invitation. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, he had already bought your plane ticket and was sending you the information. He confessed that he had a favour to ask of you when he sees you, but you didn’t care at the time  the majority of what he said didn’t register with you after the words ‘I’m getting married’.

You knew he was dating someone but he didn’t go into details. That part of his life is rarely shared with you since the exchange after your grandmother's funeral. You should have been prepared for this, it’s what you wanted for him, you know that you did the right thing, but it still hurts so much. 

After a short taxi ride you check into the same hotel where the wedding is to take place. Choosing to stay alone rather than reside at your mother’s, where you would be barraged with her constant comments on how it should have been you standing beside him all dressed in white.

...

It’s a large affair, the ceremony and reception rolled into one event, and you are seated at a round table with many of Namjoon’s friends. You recognize several faces from long ago but much to your embarrassment you’ve forgotten many of their names. You sneak a glance at your neighbours place card before greeting them. In anticipation you do the same for the empty seat beside you, reading ‘Jungkook’... yours and Namjoon’s neighbour from when you were kids and one of your oldest friends.

You smile as you recall the scrawny doe eyed child who used to follow Namjoon everywhere like a fawn following a parent. Even though there’s only a few years between them, Jungkook still looked up to his elder with great admiration and in return Namjoon always cared for him like a younger sibling. You remember how you were both eager for Namjoon’s attention as kids.  As you grew your dynamic didn’t change much, even when you and Namjoon briefly dated in high school he was a constant third wheel. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, not since you moved away. You tried to keep in contact but it would seem that distance and time had gotten in the way. It’s a shock when a sturdy man, with wavy hair, takes the seat next to you. “Noona, it’s been a while!” 

You choke on your water. Finding it difficult to see the boy you used to know in the man sitting next to you. “Jungkook?”

He smiles and you relax, it’s definitely him, you would recognize his bowing smile anywhere. But finding it attached to such a built figure is unexpected and slightly intimidating.

“It’s good to see you,” you return the smile. “How have you been?”

“Good, can’t complain business is going well. How about you, how’s life abroad?”

“Busy, I’m just lucky I was able to make it make it back for this.”

As the ceremony starts the chatter dwindles. Namjoon looks dashing in a three-piece suit and his bride statuesque in white. There’s a brief moment of tears from her which Namjoon promptly wipes away as he had done for you so many times. You’re stunned when you see her reaching to his face, knowing full well that Namjoon would rather bury his than put them out on display, but there they are rolling down his cheeks. 

“That’s the first time I’ve seen him cry...” You whisper as you watch the couple. All those years he had been the one to give you strength when needed and yet he’s never shown his own weakness. They might be tears of happiness today, but they are still hers to wipe away. She’ll be there for him in ways you never could, she’ll be his strength.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Jungkook glance over to take in your comment, but he doesn’t press you for any further explanation.

You sit in silence for the rest of the ceremony and throughout the dinner. A mixture of happiness and longing as you watch the new couple take their seats. Friends step up to the microphone telling stories of how they met and moments that you had missed. Wrenching further emotional reactions from you as the speakers recount the love between the newlywed  pair.

As the cake is served the table begins to empty and disperse giving you the freedom to leave your seat without rudeness. Jungkook had already slipped away several minutes before when a few of the bridesmaids began to hang around the table.

The door to the garden is open prompting you to grab your glass of champagne and steal a moment of fresh air.

Passing the rows of fairy lights you spot in the far corner a table between the hedges, hidden away from the others, with only one other occupant, the missing Jungkook.

“Can I sit here?” You ask nodding to the seat next to him.

He looks up from his phone with his wide eyes and nods. He shifts in his seat sitting up straighter before looking back down at his phone.

You glance over to see him on twitch watching an Overwatch match. Your happy to see that he hasn’t changed entirely over the years apart. 

The door to the event room opens to a gaggle of young women. Jungkook’s head jerks up as they call out his name, but not out of acknowledgement, judging from his expression it’s more so a panic of being found. 

You snicker into your glass as you watch him slink back down in his seat hiding from his admirers. He gives you a pleading look as to not reveal his location. You nod and smile back to him, his fear breaks into relief. Once they retreat back inside you begin to pester him regarding his suitors. “Still afraid of girls Jungkook? That’s quite the following you have there.” 

“I’m not afraid of girls! They want to drag me back in there, you know I don’t like crowds.”

“Nice try you were totally afraid of me growing up. You were worried that I would steal Namjoon away from you.”

 “I wasn’t afraid of you...” He nurses what’s left of his beer in sadness, probably realizing he’ll have to go in if he wants to get more.

You get up from your seat and extend a hand for his glass to take it in. “Another drink?”

His eyes brighten and a grin returns to his face, “Please...th-thank you Noona.”

You chuckle as he continues to call you with such familiarity, despite having been apart for so long. 

“Is it okay... that I still you that?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

...

You hand him a full glass and take your seat once again under the dim glow of the lights.

“So what do you do now?”

“I have a repair shop,” Jungkook mutters quietly.

“Really? How did you get into that?” Hearing that Jungkook actually owns his own business comes a surprise.  

“Opened it together with a friend of mine. I never thought it would get as big as it has though...”

“That’s great if it is, I’m sure you’re parents must be proud,” You smile back at him confidently.

“They are...” Eyes look down to the ground. “I think they’re holding out for something like this though.” He tilts his head in the direction of the ballroom.

“I know what you mean.” You scoff as you take a sip of your champagne. 

He starts to ask about you own life, but with the sound of the door you pause your answer to warn him, “Looks like your club is going to be making another round for you.” You watch as he winces at the inevitable, “Why don’t you just go home? Everything seems to be winding down.”

“My ride is in there, dancing the night away I’m sure.”

“I have a room,” You blurt out much to your own surprise, slightly bewildered by your own offer. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to be alone, or maybe you took pity on the shy man next to you, but you stick with it despite your own confusion. “I have my computer to stream, full mini bar...” You laugh in spite of yourself, what you definitely did not expect is for him to take you up so adamantly.

“Yes! Get me out of here please.”

While Jungkook practically dashes in and through the ballroom for the exit, you pause to take one last look at the glowing couple surrounded by their family. Namjoon had given you so much throughout the years the least you could do for him in this moment was be happy for him. You lock eyes and give him a bright smile not wishing to intrude on this moment of his before slipping quietly out the door.

Jungkook waits for you in front of the elevator. Finally seeing him in the full light of the lobby is a staggering sight, the suit neatly trimmed against his built form, you find the fabric taut against his chest and thighs. His lips pull back giving you a view of his clenched teeth as he stares around clearly hoping not to be spotted. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else wrong? You honestly look like you’re avoiding more than just a group of giggling girls.”

Jungkook nods, “You haven’t meet Hoseok or Jimin, if they find me no doubt they’ll physically drag me out. Which is why I want this damn elevator to hurry up!” He pushes the already lit elevator button several times for good measure.

The second that the door cracks open he grabs your arm and pulls you in with him. A loud sigh breaks from him as they close. 

You give him a smile in sympathy remembering how he used to cling to you or Namjoon in social situations like this.

You unlock the room, and head in grabbing the ice bucket before stepping out again. “Go ahead make yourself comfortable I’ll be back in a second.”

His level of comfortable is far more relaxed than you had anticipated. Your old friend had no problem stripping down to his undershirt and pants, while making himself at home on your bed.

You avert your eyes when you reenter and open the mini fridge finding several small bottles of liquor.

You hand him a strong drink over ice laughing at how he cringes with the first sip. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

“No it’s okay it just takes me a bit to get used to it.”

“It’s funny to think, but last time I saw you you weren’t even drinking age... I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“Do you miss it here?” He asks with a slight worry, looking into his glass, “After being gone so long do you find yourself wanting to come back?” 

“No, not really, not anymore. Don’t get me wrong I still miss people but with each trip home I feel more and more like I’m a stranger to this place. There used to be some comfort here for me, but it’s a bit more complicated now...” You can’t help but be saddened by the thought. 

“Namjoon hyung, you and he-”

You look to Jungkook with a slight dampness in your eyes willing it to stay in place and not let it cascade down your cheeks. He notices your grief and switches to a more pressing question. 

“Noona... do you still have feelings for him?”

You give a slow pained nod, “Please don’t say anything, and  don’t tell him that I was upset. It’s foolish really, it never would have worked between us. His life is here, it’s what he’s always wanted, but I wanted to leave, I had other goals.”

He nods in understanding, “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad, definitely more than one should care for a married man...” You hate every word of your confession. You chose this and yet here you are grieving. A tear falls and you are sick of it, you’re sick of crying over things you can’t change. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s hand comes to rest on your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb, and lingering far longer than you expected him too. “No it’s okay, I’m surprised you came if you still feel this way.”

“Namjoon was very insistent. I think he thought he was being kind. I figured it would be best to support him.” You hesitate before asking the next question, “Do you know her well? Will she... is she a good fit for him?” 

“I do, and I think so. They seem very happy when they’re together.” He pauses and looks to you, “I was surprised when he let you go though, I thought he really cared for you too.”

“No I told him to stay. I could never ask him to come with me.”

“Then he should have gone off his own accord,” Jungkook reasons.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” you chuckle lightly, “but our dreams were both bigger than each other. It was time to let go.”

“But you haven’t let go yet.”

“No... I haven’t.”

“And why is that?” He prods. 

“He’s been one of the few people I really connect with, someone who enjoys being with me even when I'm an emotional wreck. I’m doubtful that I’ll find that again...” You give the easier answer failing to mention the fear that’s been holding you back. The fear of finding someone, of falling too deep and the pain that follows when it inevitably comes time to part. You worry that if you let go of Namjoon someone else will fill that void and the cycle would repeat.

You’ve had one night stands and hookups, but nothing beyond that. The longest connection you’ve had with someone is with a man by the name of Yoongi, but that’s purely for physical relief. He’s very upfront about a no strings attached arrangement, and it works for your purposes too.

“You’ll find someone,” Jungkook states confidently.

“And how do you know that?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“To avoid your fan base...” You can’t help but snort at him.

But he only rolls his eyes. “Because I’ve enjoyed your company tonight.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Yes it is Noona! I haven’t seen you in years and yet you still feel comfortable to be around. Do you see me running away from you?”

Jungkook’s hand trails up your leg as if to make a point. “Just because it didn’t work out with Namjoon doesn’t mean you can’t find someone else. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

You’re enjoying his company far too much. The warmth of his fingers on your skin. You should never have invited him up here. He is far too tempting and dangerous of a rebound. “You should go, I’m sure there all finished by now.”

“Why? Because you’d rather wallow away in your pain alone? Stop punishing yourself, you came here to be supportive, you did nothing wrong. You’re allowed to be upset.” Hearing Jungkook speak the words that Namjoon had said before hits you hard, leaving you defenceless as he continues, “What if I want to stay? Are you going to push me away? I didn’t just come up here to hide out Noona. I wanted to make sure that you were okay, you’re awful at hiding your grief and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to make you feel better.” 

He moves in closer placing a hand on your upper chest and softly pushes you down pinning you beneath him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave. Tell me you’d be happier if I left you alone tonight.”

How can someone who seems so innocent be so commanding. His legs are strong on either side of your thighs. One hand now holds him off the mattress while the other tilts your chin. His eyes search yours looking for the honest answer. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please stay...” You whisper, ashamed by your need.

He obliges locking your arms behind his neck and lifting you off the bed pulling the sheets back before climbing under the blankets with you. Joining him under the covers adds an unexpected level of intimacy for such a sudden affair. The warm weight of his body presses you down into the mattress as he nuzzles your neck.

“Jungkook...”

“Yes Noona?” He asks in a soft voice.

“Would you... would you kiss me?” He pulls his head up to meet your eyes again and you begin to worry about what you had just requested, “don’t feel like you-” 

Before you can finish your panicked thought his lips come down onto yours. His mouth moving with yours as his had palms your cheek. The faint taste of his beer and liquor eases into your mouth along with his tongue. 

Your chest pushes back against his as you attempt to draw in deep breaths.

“What else do you want?” He mutters against you. 

You fiddle to undo the zipper embedded the side of your dress desperate to feel his warm skin against yours. His fingers join in the attempt to pull it down lifting himself off you so the fabric can be pushed down your frame, with his fingers making sure to trail along the exposed skin as he does so. 

He holds the seam of his own shirt and looks to you as if asking if it would be okay. You promptly nod, you had felt the definition muscles as he pressed against you but seeing them is a wonderful sight to behold. 

He flips you over to your stomach, your face presses into the pillow, your lipstick no doubt staining the case.

With the clink of his belt behind you find yourself squirming between his thighs, excited by the thought of one less layer between you.  While he takes off his pants you reach back to unlatch your bra sliding it off and free from beneath you. 

He returns to his lowered position on top of you. His chest resting against your back is so warm, the weight extremely comforting. He kisses the top of your shoulder before moving back towards your neck. You feel almost smothered beneath him with the blanket trapping in the heat. 

One of his hands caresses the length of your arm while the other wedges itself between your stomach and the bed.  His cock pressed against the seat of your ass ready and willing but Jungkook places his attention elsewhere. He pushes your underwear to the side finding the sensitive nub and devoting a rhythm of shallow circles to the nerves. 

He whispers in your ear “Do you just want me to hold you like this, or do you want more?”

You nod for more, your hand reaching back to feel for his shaft beneath the cotton of his underwear.

He moves to pull the concealed erection from the fabric of his boxers. Giving it a quick stroke before lining himself up with your entrance, pushing between your dampened folds with the head of his cock. You return grip the pillow as he plunges inside. A swear drops from his mouth along with a groan. 

Your head arches back while a hand comes to grip the apex of your neck, with a commanding grip. Though he takes you from behind you’ve never felt anything so close, so intimate. The full rhythm of his thrust has you aching for more after a few minutes, causing your hips start to buck back into his crotch. “Noona if you keep doing that I’m not going to last.”

You moan as his fingers pick up speed in retaliation. You can feel yourself tighten around him as he draws you closer. There’s a pleading whine in your ear as Jungkook begs you to come for him. His fingers grip tighter on your throat making your head swim as you reach the peak and begin to quake from the tremor that surges through you. 

You’re not sure how long he laid on top afterwards, or when he moved to his back tugging you into the nook of his arm. So lost in a daze you don’t care. It just feels good for once to fall asleep in someone else's arms, and to see him still there by the time morning comes around.

...

You slowly dress yourself as he smiles up to you from the bed. “How long before you go back?”

“A few days.” You explain, “I thought I would take some extra time to visit my family.”

“Give me your phone.” He holds out his large hand waiting. 

You humour him knowing that even if he puts his number in you should probably keep your distance. You don’t want to give him any mixed signals that you might be looking for more. 

...

The second you step into your mother’s house there’s a barrage of questions about the wedding. Who was there? How lavish was it? Did the couple look happy?

“I give it two years tops.” Your mother adds, “He’ll be single again before you know it.”

“Mom?! I’m not having this discussion. Namjoon is happy, he’s made his choice.”

“Sweetheart I’m just thinking about you,” She softens her tone but you still find it difficult to swallow.   

Giving up on any civil conversation after an hour, you exit the house to take refuge in the garden. Seeing Namjoon’s childhood house across the street, and the tree in your own yard under which you both sat, is almost as painful as the topic you mother refuses drop.

Looking for a distraction you busy yourself with the weeds that have taken hold of the flower beds. The sun beats down burning the back of your neck as you yank the dandelions from the dusty ground. Your frustration grows over the realization that the only questions she’s asked have been about your love life, with not one thought to what you are doing with your career or if you’re happy where you are. No her focus lies primarily on you obtaining the golden band that has the potential to drag you home. And now the weeds of the garden are paying for it dearly as you take your aggression on them, not giving in until the sun is significantly lower in the sky.

“Jeez what did they do to you?” The joking voice of Jungkook asks behind you will looking to the wilting pile of greenery. 

“I kept picking them hoping that one of them could answer my wish, but unfortunately I’m still here.”

“But you’re missing one important step.” He picks up one of the discarded dandelion heads, closes his eyes and blows away the seeds. 

The innocent sight brings a smile to your face, “Your right, how could I have forgotten?”

 “That’s okay you don’t need to wish on a weed when I can easily grant that for you. Let me take you out for the night.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me right now I’m a mess.”

“Then at least let me give you a ride back to the hotel. I’m heading in that direction anyway, I just came by to see my parents but I’m heading off now.”

You consider his offer, if you left alone your mother would never let you hear the end of it. But if you left with Jungkook... you could possibly kill two birds with one stone and have some form of peace for the rest of your visit.

“Okay, but I’m going to need you to follow my lead for a minute. Don’t say anything, just smile and nod if you have to.”

You step into back into the kitchen for a moment calling out to your mother. “Mom I’m going to head out, I have a date with Jungkook.”

There’s a brief silence and then a flurried rush of steps from the other house before your mother pokes her head out with a surprised grin. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?” With his parents still living across the street your sure she’s overjoyed by the thought.

Jungkook takes the act very well waving to your mother, “Hi Ms.-”

You push him out the door before he can finish his greeting knowing she’ll want him to stay for her game of 20 questions. “I’ll be by again tomorrow,” You call out to her, before turning back to Jungkook and mouthing a thank you.

He smiles back to you taking his role very seriously he grabs hold of your hand and leads you to his car where he opens the door. If your mom was watching out the window, you’re sure that this would convince her. 

You take a deep breath as you get into the car, throwing Jungkook a smug look, “I owe you one.” 

“Don’t mention it. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to forge a relationship”

“Why would the boy with a fan club need a fake girlfriend?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“For the same reason you would.”

“Oh, so your mom wanted you to marry Namjoon too?” You chuckle at him unable to contain yourself.

Jungkook bursts into a fit of laughter clutching the wheel. “Not exactly, just family pressures. And me finding it difficult to... commit I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“Lucky for you I won’t be here in a couple days, so that won’t be an issue.” You breathe a sigh of relief, if he has difficulty committing spending time with him shouldn’t become an issue later on.

“Yeah... lucky I guess.” 

He parks the car in front of the hotel and thank him for the ride. But you look over in confusion as he gets out too.

“Why-”

“You told your mom we’re going for a date.”

“Yeah but not actually.”

“Oh...” His expression falls looking dejected. 

Fuck... why does he have to look like a kicked puppy when he’s sad, it’s not fair. You give a small huff, it would be easier to maintain the lie if you stuck around with him. “Fine, I need a shower first though.”

His face lights up and he follows you back up to your room taking up residence on the bed to wait for you.  

You throw your phone and purse down on the desk and before slipping into the bathroom, sliding out of your clothes and stepping into the stream of water behind the glass door.

A few minutes later, Jungkook pokes his head through the door you left cracked to help vent the steam. “Noona your phone’s ringing.” He holds it out to see if you want to take it.

“Who is it?”

“Uhh... it’s Namjoon.”

Your stomach drops, “Let it go to voicemail... I’ll call him back later.” The thought of talking to him now, the day after his wedding, is unbearably painful. You stand still in the shower watching the water flow down the drain as you contemplate why he called. Maybe he just wanted to say hi, or to thank you for coming, as you didn’t get a chance to speak to him yesterday. 

Jungkook calls out to you again possibly noticing your stillness behind the fogged glass, “I have somewhere in mind to take you if you still want to go out. I just have to stop by my shop first. Taehyung, my business partner, just sent me a message, he can’t remember if he turned the alarm on when he left the shop today and asked if I was nearby.”

You force a smile back at him, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a second.”

...

Jungkook suggests to walking to his shop since the final destination of the night is a favourite bar owned by a friend of his.

“It’s just right here,” He points to a small building just across the street, taking your hand before dashing across the road. 

You smile at the small sign out front, ‘Nostalgia: Restoration and Repair’. “Cute name.”

Jungkook gives an embarrassed laugh, “Taehyung came up with it. It just seemed really fitting.” He unlocks the doors with a large ring of keys, and then looks back to you “Do you want to take a peek before I set the alarm?”

You nod curious of what you might find inside. It’s not really a store but more of a work space with painting backdrops, vent hoods, and a workbench littered with wires and soldering tools. Behind the bench are several outdated electronics old gaming systems and PCs, things that people wouldn’t normally use nowadays except for... well... out of nostalgia.  “When you said a repair shop this was not what I expected. ”

“Yeah it’s a little different, we deal with things that you can’t buy anymore, items that hold sentimental value. Some people want them just repaired in working condition, while others hope to get them looking like new again.”

You pick up a brick-like gameboy from one of the tables, your fingers brush over the paint worn keys. Hundreds if not thousands of hours would have gone into this device to bring it to this state, it must have been well loved in it’s day.

“It’s not much,” he states nervously looking around the space, “We specialize in mostly electronics, but I’m hoping to branch out in some other areas too, things like metalwork and woodwork. I still have a lot to learn.”

You’ve seen places like that your own city, those which refurbish antique wagons and linen chests, but this is something new and different. This catered to a whole new generation. “It’s brilliant, it really is.”

Jungkook blushes with pride as he scratches the back of his head. “Thanks Noona, I’m glad you like it.”

...

The bar is only two streets over from his shop. The owner looks relieved as he spots Jungkook come in the door. “Thank god, I was going to call you and see if you still planned on coming tonight. Some drunken idiot knocked into our jukebox and it stopped dropping records.”

“Ah Jin I told you, you shouldn’t be using it as your main system unless you go completely electric with it.” Jungkook scoffs.

“I know but do you think you could take a look at it for me.” The barman spots you behind him, “Sorry I can see you’re with someone, but drinks on the house for you and your date if you can fix it.”

“Deal! I’m going to hold you to it.” Jungkook acts like he’s won big with this agreement.

Jin’s tone verges on exasperation, “Just fix it please.” 

“Yeah, yeah, do you have a tool box?”

You take a booth right beside the broken music machine, kneeling on the cushion with your chest pressed to the back of the bench so you can watch as he works. Jungkook pulls away the backing of the player to take a look inside, muttering to himself while he looks over the interior. 

“Electrics look fine nothing seems to have disconnected...” He works his way up the machine leaving no spot untouched. “Ah, here it is...”

“Did you find what’s wrong?”

“Yeah,” he reaches into the mechanical portion and tugs on a lever which falls back into place once he lets go. “Looks like the spring for the release dislodged itself... it should be around here... found it...” His nimble fingers latch it back into place. “That should do it.” He reattaches the back and selects a track with success. He glances over to Jin at the bar with a wide smile, who matches it although looks slightly nervous. “Right, I need to go wash up really quick,” He looks down at his hands covered in black grease, “What do you want to drink?” 

“A beer sounds good.”

“That’s it, you sure? Jin’s buying, so no need to hold back.” Jungkook gives a wicked grin.

“Yeah I’m sure.” 

He returns a few minutes later with your beer while he holds a whiskey for himself. His hands are raw from scrubbing and there’s still a hint of the black grease here and there. He drinks deeply from the cup clearly not caring for the taste but continuing with it nevertheless. You take a couple long drafts of your own drink but know it’s a futile endeavour to try and keep up. 

 “I’m surprised you went for something so strong considering you had a hard time with the liquor last night.”

“Honestly I can’t stand the stuff,” He laughs. “but it’s the most expensive drink he has and I’m not one to waste an opportunity.” Jungkook looks back with crooked smile to Jin who is found shaking his head. “My skills don’t come cheap.”

“I can see that, I’m almost afraid to ask for your professional opinion on a personal matter, I don’t think I can afford your answer.” You peel at the label of your bottle somewhat nervous, but still hoping to discuss something that’s been bothering you for a while now.

“I have been bought with flattery on occasion... just don’t tell Jin.” Jungkook raises a finger to his lips as he lets out a small snicker.

“May I ask you a question then oh talented one?” You can’t help but laugh as you stroke his ego. 

“You may,” Jungkook’s voice sounds confident but you notice a slight blush to his face as he laughs along with you.

“How would you fix nostalgia for a whole town? Say someone only gets to return during the worst periods of their life and the whole view of their former home shifts? How can you save it and bring it back to what it was before.”

Jungkook pauses, the laughter vanishes from his expression as he takes in your question. “That’s a tall order. I don't think you can for something that big. I don’t go around fixing entire blocks, I work with the smaller items. You have to find those things that you still love about this place and hold them tight, bringing them with you when you go.”

You really wish that you hadn’t asked now, for the first thing that pops into your mind is of course Namjoon. “What if you’ve already let it go...”

“Your whole past isn’t linked to just one singularity, you’ll find something else. You don’t always know what you were missing until you find it again. The items that people bring to me have often been hidden away for years in a dark closet or dusty box. All it takes is a little attention to bring them back to their former glory... sometimes they become even better than before...” He stops again looking hesitant to continue but pushes through with his final words. “Namjoon hyung isn’t your only tie Noona... there are other things you can hold on to.”

There’s silence between you as Jungkook brings up his name, you resent how easily he’s able to guess that it was Namjoon in your thoughts. 

 “I’ll go get another round,” He offers giving you some space.

You excuse yourself to the washroom for a moment while Jungkook fetches the drinks. Checking your eyes in the mirror for any sight of streak to your mascara before returning.

He’s still waiting at the bar when you come back, so you proceed to the empty booth. There’s a loud cat call from one of the tables you pass. You look away trying to ignore who ever thought that would catch your attention. That is until he calls you out as a, “cold bitch.”

Jungkook must have heard the insult because seconds later he’s pulling the man forcefully out from the seat. 

You immediately intercede, not wanting for Jungkook to get in trouble on your behalf. “Jungkook, put him down.” He continues to hold the man, and pushes him against the wall with a look of fury. 

“Apologise,” Jungkook demands of the drunkard.

“Jungkook it’s not worth it.” You try to calm him down, but to no avail. Resorting to a more forceful method you grab the arc of his ear. A yelp of pain echoes through him but he releases the man. “We’re leaving.”

“Ow Noona!”

You let go once you reach the front step of the bar grabbing his hand this time to drag him back to the hotel. His other hand reaches up to rub his ear.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” You question him.

“He insulted you!”

“That doesn’t mean you have to throw him against the wall... fuck Jungkook. I told you it wasn’t worth it, a provoked apology means nothing. What if he retaliated and injured you? What then?” 

There’s only silence as Jungkook reflects on his actions. 

“Do you usually pull shit like this?”

“No...” He mutters in defeat.

“Then why would you try and start a fight?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer instead looking down at his feet as you both walk back.

You anger breaks to empathy at the sight of his sad submission, and you give him a small smile. “It was nice to see how fast he shut up though,” you glance over at Jungkook who lifts his head and grins back at you. “Usually I would just end up leaving the bar if something like that happened.”

Your half way back to your hotel when Jungkook begins to speak again, “Do you ever get scared or lonely in your city?”

“Sometimes, but that doesn’t mean that I was never scared or lonely here. It’s kinda hard to compare the two on that level thought... there just... different. Personally I prefer the city.” You look up to the night sky, “I do miss things like this though. Do you remember when Namjoon tried to teach us the constellations?”

“And you kept making up your own to impress him?” Jungkook guffaws back.

“If I recall you got jealous when he said my koala constellation was adorable.”

“Because it was, and I didn't get to tell you first...” Jungkook confesses his blush even more prominent this time. “You see, you do have something good to remember. It’s memories like that which you need to focus on.”

“I don’t think it’ll be enough though... the lights of the city often hide the stars, so I can’t hold them as close as I’d like.”

“It’s a good thing then that they aren’t the only part of that memory.” Jungkook takes your arms and wraps them around him before stealing a kiss. “You can hold me close Noona.”

You can’t help but be confused for the lack of communication between you two if he felt this strongly about your past together, “Jungkook... I wasn't the one who let go, when I moved away. I sent messages to you but you never replied.”

He looks away in disappointment, “When you left, I didn’t know what to do. Namjoon was sad and I couldn’t help but be angry. For a long time I held on to that... but when I saw you again I realized that it was really because I missed you Noona.”

“Jungkook...”

“I know, it was stupid of me. But I see that now, I shouldn't have left you in the dark. I’m sorry it took so long to find you again.” 

...

Your final visit with your family starts off well, your father stops by and it’s almost like things are back to the way they were before, before the wedding, before your parents split, before your move. But then the bubble bursts. You thought your mother would behave, that maybe on your last night she wouldn’t put you through another round of guilt.  Questions of when you would return begin to overwhelm you.

You return to your hotel room in tears. When checking your phone your finger hovers over two more missed calls from Namjoon. If he was so adamant to reach you it wouldn’t be wrong to talk to him despite your feelings right?  You phone changes screens with an incoming call from Jungkook, you answer but there’s a slight warble in your greeting which he notices in an instant.

“Noona... are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Just nervous about my flight tomorrow,” among other things, you think keeping them to yourself,  “Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to see you again.”

“I think I might head to bed, I have to get up early.” You voice catches even more tipping him off to a greater problem.

“What happened Noona? Why are you really upset?”

“I-I’m sorry it’s just... my mom asked about you, she said that if I couldn’t comeback for her that I should come back to see you...” You have heard it all before, but when she spoke of Jungkook that tore into you more than anything else. He’s been nothing but kind and now you’ve dragged him into you family affairs. “I’m sorry I pulled you into this, I told her we aren’t dating so she shouldn’t trouble you with anything.”

“Noona that doesn’t bother me. I can tell your upset, please, just let me come see you.”

“Jungkook I’m not going to use you as a shoulder to cry on. It’s not fair to you.”

“Maybe I want you to use me...”

“You can’t be serious. You see how much happier Namjoon is with someone who can be here with him.”

“I’m not Namjoon hyung,” Jungkook raises his voice enough to startle you, “Noona... I don’t want what he has. I want you!”

“No you don’t... Jungkook... Jungkook!” The line goes dead as you try to talk him down leaving you shouting his name to a dial tone. “Fuck.” You know it’ll be harder to convince him than Namjoon that being together would not be the best for either of you, that he needs to prioritize himself over your feelings. You try calling him back but his phone goes straight to a busy tone.

Ten minutes later there’s a pounding fist at your hotel door. “Noona open up!” You move to the door slowly, resting your hand on the knob and your head against the panel debating if you should give in. The pounding stops after a minute with one last thunk, his next plea no louder than a whisper, “Noona please...” 

The waver in his voice takes hold of you and throws all forms of self-preservation out the window. You open the door to find stunned and teary eyed Jungkook. Stepping closer to him your hands reach up to his face, thumbs brushing away the dampness on his cheeks, before he crashes straight into you with a fierce need. His lips ram against yours almost to the point of pain. His hands take your shoulders and push you out of the doorway, the door slams shut as you are thrust into a wall.

His mouth continues to feast on yours in hunger, his tongue sweeping in for a deeper taste. If you weren’t wedged between Jungkook and the wall you doubt you would be standing. Your legs start to give way and you slip down a little before he places his leg between yours. A moan escaping you as you come to rest on his thigh.

He presses his leg harder against you, dragging out your reaction. “Why didn’t you answer the door sooner Noona? Why did you make me wait?” he mutters against you.

“I didn’t want to hurt you...” You whisper back.

He tugs your sundress over your hips. His hand roaming down in search of answers regarding state of your arousal. “So you were holding back? If I were to touch you would you be already wet for me?” 

You nod adamantly, hating yourself for how quickly you give in to your selfish needs. He relaxes his leg for a moment allowing his fingers to push aside the damp fabric and press inside. As they start to curl inside his leg ramming the back of his hand driving the tips of his digits even further sending a shock wave through you. 

You collapse forward head against his shoulder with deep quaking breaths. The palm of his hand folds up pressing firmly against your clit. You can feel the warmth begin to spread through you, his fingers no doubt soaked pressing you to your limits. As he drives more you are forced on to your toes and with nowhere left to go you give in to the wash of tingling heat. All you can do is lay limp against him as he continues to cull your moans with his hands and collect them with his lips.

You gladly accept his arms as they encircle you, supporting your body as he moves you to the bed. He takes a moment to tug off his shirt. Throwing his pants and boxers to the floor before climbing on top. He holds the swell of this cock in his hand, pumping it slightly as his hangs over you. “God I want to fuck you. Do you enjoy this power you have over me?”

He gives you a crooked smile, “Should I make you beg? Should I show you what it feels like to wait?” 

“Jungkook... please...”

He buries the head of his cock to your entrance and roughly snaps his hips. “No I have a better idea, I’ll fuck you without end, continuing even when you’re raw and filled. I want you weeping my name.” 

His thrusts are slow but determined and impactful, shifting you on the bed each time. His hands take your wrists and pin them beside your head.

He drives himself deeper inside as you writhe beneath him. You cry out with each surge from his cock. He looks down at the sundress and bites his lip. He stops his thrusts and removes his hand to grab the hem, dragging it up and off you. You bra is next to go, barely surviving the forceful removal.  Jungkook catches the curve of your breast in his hand his mouth latching on to the stiff peak, and toying at it with his teeth. You take his other hand and bring it to your mouth, you can taste a hint of your remaining arousal but you could care less considering what the sight is doing to him. 

His thrusts return and he bites down hard. A squeal of surprise exits much to his pleasure, you release his hand only for him to drag it down your stomach and grip your waist. 

His fingers appear so desperate to grasp your flesh, to handle you in any way he can. Never letting go but trailing from spot to spot in a teasing line. You are at your end every nerve you your body screaming to release. “Jungkook...” You whine with desperation.

“What’s wrong Noona? If you think I’m finished with you, you clearly weren’t listening before.”

Your vision clouds as you quake from the climax that hits, but he carries on with a smirk. “I don’t want to let go just yet.”

By the end you’re nearly in tears just as he promised, barely able to move. You lost count how many times you called his name, but on each occasion he would reward you with a harder thrust leading down an endless cycle.  He leaves your marked chest with a kiss before turning you over and folding in behind you. You both lay there in the dark for a time, letting the quiet settle as you listen to his breathing.

“Noona,” His mumbles with hesitation, his voice void of all the confidence that he held a few minutes ago, “If I were to come see you in your city... would you still want me? Could we ever have more than this?”

“Jungkook...” You have to cut this off now, you have to lie for his own benefit. Your selfish honesty would only cause him to follow as he admitted before. “No... I don’t think that would be a good idea.” You fill your head with assurances that he’ll find someone better for him here, just like Namjoon did.

...

        You step into the airport the next morning in a haze, sleep having escaped you after rejecting Jungkook in such a manner. He surprisingly stayed with you until the early morning before heading off. You in your cowardice you pretended to remain asleep as he bid farewell with a kiss to your cheek. 

Your thrown off when you hear someone calling your name from behind you. Turning around to find Namjoon running towards you. “Wait!” He urges as he takes the last few strides which separate you. His heavy breathing accompanied by a smile of relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you...”

“Namjoon, why... shouldn’t you be...” You want to question him and chide him, but all you can give is an apology. “Listen I’m sorry...”

“No, I’m the one who needs to apologize.... I got a somewhat angry and condemning call from Jungkook last night. He told me you were upset, and why you didn’t return my calls. I’m so sorry if I had known...”

“No it’s okay, I’m glad you didn’t.”  You can feel the tears brimming to the surface. You plead with yourself to keep it together, just a few more minutes and then you’ll be on the plane. You make a promise to yourself that you can cry all you want then, just not now.

Namjoon pulls you into a hug and whispers. “I wanted to invite you as a thank you, to thank you for being strong, and for allowing me to find the happiness I needed... by telling me to stay.” 

You have no hope in hell maintaining your expression now, the dam bursts and your tears spill out. But for the first time it’s not Namjoon that you cry over... but the loss of a future with Jungkook, and the confirmation that you’re doing the right thing by telling him that you’re relationship can’t continue. 

Namjoon reacts calmly as always, rubbing your back with his hand. “I’ll be here when you need it, I’ll still give you a shoulder to cry on when you need it. Okay? We’re still friends right?”

You nod lifting yourself away from him. 

“I need to ask something of you though. It’s about Jungkook... He doesn’t want me to tell you this but I think you need to know and make your own decision. Do you remember how I wanted to ask you a favour?”

You nod in confusion. 

“I need you to look after Jungkook...”

Your heart breaks even further, having Namjoon plead his case. “Namjoon, please don’t say that, he belongs here, for god's sake he has a successful business! I’m not going to drag him to another city, another country with me.”

“That’s just it. He didn’t want me to tell you this but he and his partner are almost certain to by a business out your way. There’s a seller who has a restoration shop for sale and is willing to train him in the areas he wants to expand in if he buys the business. He didn’t want to tell you because he wasn’t sure if he was going to put in the offer, he was scared to make that jump and leave to somewhere new. I told him he should talk to you about it at the wedding, to hear how much you love it there.”

You chest tightness at the prospect, and the fear over the impact of your lie. “When he called you did he say that he if he had decided?”

“No I’m still not sure if even he knows. He was supposed to leave quite soon after the wedding to make an offer. If he does decide to go I wanted to make sure that someone was there for him, to check up on him. He’s probably going to have a tough time adjusting so he might need someone to lean on every now and then.”

You give Namjoon a small smile back, Jungkook clearly hadn’t gone into details about what had happened in the past few days between you two. “If he goes, I’ll gladly be there for him.”

Once you leave to go through security you’re stuck with a dilemma. How much did you affect his choice? You don’t want him to make the decision based on you but at the same time you don’t want to leave him with a bad taste in his mouth regarding the possibility of a move. You would be there for him if he moved, you want to be close to him. But if his dreams fail, if he makes the wrong choice because of you, you could never live with yourself.

You take your seat by the window fastening your belt as tight as it will, before resting your hand in it’s usual in flight position, clutching the arm rest. In your other palm lies your phone, you have only a few short moments before you have to turn it off, and you are still hoping that it’ll make the choice for you. When he calls...

You answer it quickly, and Jungkook leads with a stern question “I need to know, did you lie to Namjoon or did you lie to me?”

You begin to stutter unprepared for his question, “I-I...”

“Do you want to cut all relationship ties even if I come to the city or do you want to see me? Did you just say yes because Namjoon asked it of you? I need to know Noona. You need to tell me what you want.”

All his cards are on the table all of his choices are there, you only need to lay out yours to make this right. “I’m sorry Jungkook, I’m so sorry I lied to you last night. I was just worried that you would follow without-”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Yes.”

��You’re okay if I go the the city alongside you?”

“Yes, I just wanted to make sure if it’s something that you want for yourself.”

“It is... I’ll see you soon Noona.”

“Wait no... don’t hang up on me again...” You plead but the line still goes dead.  

 You’re about to call him back when you spot Jungkook boarding the plane. His fluffy black hair and masked face peak over the line of people boarding. The phone drops from your hand as you look to him. You may not be able to see his mouth but you can tell from his eyes he’s smiling widely. He sees the empty seat next to you and double checks his ticket, before a man in a suit comes to claim the spot. Jungkook looks across the aisle to what must be his seat and instead taps the man on the shoulder. 

“Would you mind switching seats with me,” He points to his own two feet away. “It’s just that’s my girlfriend and she’s terrified of flying.”

The man grumbles but makes the switch. Jungkook plops down in the seat next to you but before he can get a word out you smack his arm. “Ooow what was that for?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Do you know how painful it was to let you go?”

“I was still deciding, besides I wasn’t sure what you wanted out of our relationship. If you only wanted to have a fling and to cut ties again after this weekend I wanted you to be free to do that. I didn’t want you to have to look after me, I told Namjoon not to ask you but he came here to see you off anyway, and I guess I’m glad he did. I overheard the two of you talking...”

“And what were you going to do if I said I didn’t want to see you just now.”

“I would have taken the next flight,” He smiles sheepishly. “I remembered how much you hated flying, I wanted to be there for you if you needed it.” 

He lays his open hand in front of you, his eyes wide and expectant. A hint of a smile graces his lips as you release your grip from the rest. Your fingers graze across his palm before interlocking with his. “Hold on to me Noona,” He comforts you with a whisper before resting his head on your shoulder as the plane takes off.

...

-Three Months Later-

You wait at the airport checking the flight arrival information for the hundredth time. Making sure that his flight did in fact land when you finally see him amongst the crowd. There’s a heavy bag on Jungkook shoulders but even that can’t weight down the massive grin on his face. You run to greet him colliding with his chest and forcing him to take a step back with the impact. He coughs slightly from the hit to his lungs, but then hugs you back just as tight. “I definitely prefer the welcome here, Namjoon only shook my hand when I saw him.” 

“So that’s everything, your visa cleared and your belongings shipped? No more loose ends to tie up?” After Jungkook’s offer was accepted it’s been months with him going back and forth for the transition. Helping Taehyung find an additional worker and supply training, plus the time spent packing up most of his life to move it out here. You’ve grown so accustomed to having him here that sending him off each time leaves a deep ache inside you.

“Yep, that’s everything.” He takes your hand and kisses your fingers with a smile, “No more letting go.”

[anika-ann]

Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold - Pt.8 (S.R.)

The Date Night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one-sided Matt Murdock x reader 

Word count: 1850

Summary: Avenger!reader AU, love triangle. You got yourself a date, went there and... it turned out rather interesting. Probably not the way Steve and Natasha think.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Story Mastelist

────── ·❆· ──────

“I honestly don’t know why I’m freaking out about my outfit. He won’t even be able to see it! Why am I freaking out, Tasha?” you asked her on a verge of desperation, smoothening your dress for the millionth time.

As you got to the hem of the dress, all you wanted to do was to pull it over your head and change. Again. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, honestly considering it.

Natasha, standing behind you, put her hands on your shoulders to keep you in place and raised her eyebrow.

“Hey. You have every right to be nervous. How long has it been since your last date?” she asked gently, surprisingly so for a super-spy.

You bit your lip guiltily – of course, she found the root of the trouble. It had been too freaking long. The fact you were going out with Matt – an amazing human being – was not helping to sooth your nerves either.

“Almost two years.”

“Well. I think you’re entitled. But you’re gonna be fine,” she reassured you and you caught her honest gaze in the mirror. She squeezed your shoulders. “That guy? He fell hard – I hope you figured that out already. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.”

You took a deep breath. “Thanks, Tasha. I really should go or I’ll be late. The taxi might even be here already.”

You picked up your coat, leaving the dresses you didn’t even want to count – Natasha had supplied you with too many of hers and still, you took the only dress you owned yourself – and grabbed your purse on the way.

You were insanely grateful to Natasha for her help – yet, your heart was fluttering nervously and ached a little. You wished Steve was here too, but you understood this was more of a ladies thing. You were sure he wished you the best for your date even if you hadn’t heard him say it.

You opened the door only to meet with Steve’s surprised face. His eyes measured you from head to toe and you fought the urge to hide – god knew why. That was until his gaze returned to your face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You look beautiful, Snowflake,” he whispered, checking you out shamelessly once more. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You bit your lip, feeling the rush of heat colouring your cheeks. You lowered your gaze, examining your shoes; they had heels, you were about to kill yourself in them, why were you wearing them again…?

Steve chuckled at your reaction. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something foreign in that supposedly happy sound, something you couldn’t decode.

A hand appeared under your chin, fingers tucking a strand of your hair that fell in your face behind your ear. He kissed your forehead lovingly and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down your rapidly beating heart. You knew he was trying to help, but it didn’t really work.

“Hey, Snowflake. Hold your head high, you look wonderful. It’s gonna be fine. If he upsets you, you not only can let him go, but you have five– no, six pissed off friends actually, I’m sure Thor would stop by for that – to punch Matt in his face. Understood?”

That finally made you relax and the tension in your shoulders eased with a huffed laughter. Steve’s eyes twinkled for a moment and you couldn’t but laugh again.

“Did you just say ‘pissed off’?” you asked incredulously and Steve shrugged it off – except a hint of a blush appeared in his cheeks too and hell, you could not miss that. You feasted your eyes on his embarrassment and only then gave Captain Language a proper hug, which was reciprocated tightly.

“I guess I’m nervous for you that much,” he murmured over your shoulder and the statement melted your heart.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He squeezed your waist once more, caressed your back and released you from his embrace, uneasy smile on his lips.

“Go. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”

You just nodded and made your way to the elevator. You sparred one more glance at Natasha, who joined Steve in the hallway, couple of dressed folded over her forearm. She grinned at you.

“Not to make you nervous, Frosty, but just because he won’t be able to see you with his eyes, it doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate your appearance! And other stuff! Considering all of his senses are heightened!” she called after you and you felt you face turning into a mask of horror.

All of his senses. Shit. What perfume did you use? How much could he— would he be able to tell you hugged-- did Steve just hug you to make Matt jealous and possibly make him think you were wanted, so he would value the fact you were going out with him more?

No, wait, you were the one who hugged Steve, which--- this was so going to be a disaster. You whined and slid into your coat, hoping it would make you invisible. And undetectable in any other way. This evening started swimmingly…

With you going down in the elevator, Natasha and Steve were left alone.

“Smooth, Rogers. Very subtle,” the spy exclaimed, patting his arm patronizingly. Steve shot her an unreadable glare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“About the fact Mr. Hot and Devilish wouldn’t even have to make her unhappy. It’s him making her happy that you want to punch him in the face for.”

Steve grinded his teeth, his look turning murderous. “That’s not true. I want them to get together.”

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “That’s why you marked your territory like a goddamned dog.”

The rush of irritation and shame at being caught hit him stronger than excepted. Natasha knew exactly how to push his buttons and it drove him crazy.

“I didn’t-“ he protested lamely, only to realize he indeed hadn’t. “She was the one who hugged me.”

“Yeah. Keep yourself telling that. She did hug you, but what happened before that, that was on you. I’m surprised you didn’t kiss her on her mouth. I don’t understand how one can be so blind— eh, sorry-”

Steve’s hands curled into fists and he paced to his room to change into something more suitable for workout. He needed to punch something and as much as he was pissed at Natasha for mocking him, he liked her too much to hurt her – the punching bags would have to suffice. Bags, definitely plural, because he would tear some today, no doubt.

“Have a good workout, big guy!” she shouted after him almost cheerily and he slammed the door with such force that dust of plastering snowed down around the doorway.

Snowed down. Fuck. That would be more than one ruined bag today.

────── ·❆· ──────  

Natasha was standing in her room, staring out of the window as snowflakes slowly descended. None of them stuck, melting as soon as they collided with the surface, but there was no denying it really was snowing. And given the fact that the temperature needed to drop significantly for this to happen, there was no doubt whose doing was that – deliberate or not.

Apparently, your emotions were running high.

“Hey, Steve. What are you still doing awake?” she heard your astonished voice from the hallway and she bit her lip. This was definitely your excited voice; the date went well. The snow was a good sign.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Natasha’s heart ached for her friend, simultaneously wondering if you could hear the subtle hint of pain in his voice. She suddenly felt guilty for helping you to get ready for the date – but it felt like the right thing to do.

“So you went to a gym? It’s after midnight. You’re making us all look like couch potatoes.”

Natasha could easily imagine that the soldier ‘casually’ shrugged.  

“Felt like working out,” he explained easily. No shit. How many punching bags did he destroy this time?

“Is everything okay? I know it’s not the first time. Something troubling you? Talk to me, Steve,” you pleaded softly.

Natasha sighed. That would be your placing your hand on his forearm in comforting gesture, your eyes screaming ‘you can trust me’. You always did that, because it was the thing you two did and you two were so utterly hopeless it hurt.

“It’s nothing, Snowflake. Nothing you need to worry about. You look happy. I take it the date went well?”

His voice was strained and the spy had no doubt you could tell. Yet, you answered him, voice wavering as if you weren’t sure how much you should share. “Yeah. It did.”

“One more reason for you not to worry about me,” Steve offered kindly and Natasha just gritted her teeth. Rogers was such an ass. Noble, maybe, but bozhe, such an ass. “I’m happy for you, Snowflake.”

“Thank you. But we’re talking about you, soon. I need you to be happy too, Steve. You’re too important to me and too good not to be.”

Natasha agreed wholeheartedly, glancing at the flash drive on her nightstand. She had downloaded the conversation she had with Steve, him confessing his feelings for you, but now, it seemed worthless.

While she wished for you to be happy, she was hoping you could do that with the supersoldier who was head over heels for you. She had been sure you felt the same, but now she had doubts. You could easily fall in love with Daredevil, he was charming enough, and she had no right to interfere with your love-life.

“Okay. I promise I’ll tell you later.”

Natasha scoffed. Yeah, sure. On your deathbed, maybe.

“ ‘kay. Love you, Steve. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Snowflake.”

Natasha heard your footsteps trailing off and slowly went to open her door for a slit.

“Don’t say a word,” Steve warned her icily, heart-breaking crack in his voice.

“I was gonna offer you a drink, an ‘I’m sorry’ and a hug.”

She heard him inhale and exhale shakily and she stepped out to find him resting his forehead against the nearest wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and she would swear it wasn’t sweat what gleamed on his cheeks. She pressed her lips together, hesitantly bringing her palm to his arm. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” she whispered tentatively, surprised when he bounced off the wall, looking her straight in the eye. His own were indeed glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

“You don’t have to be. She deserves the win, I’m happy for her.”

He said it with such conviction that if she hadn’t known him well enough, she wouldn’t notice how fragile the façade he had hastily built up was.

“Good. But you should know you don’t have to be, macho man. It’s okay to be angry, not just with yourself, but also with her and especially with him. You can be sad and you can be hurt. I know I’m not exactly the most open person when it comes to emotions, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel. And you can feel too.”

Steve escaped her gaze, but she could see his tiny nod. She took it as a victory and encouraged, she took his huge arm.

“Come on, Cap, let’s find out where Thor stocked the good booze.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

Part 9

────── ·❆· ──────  

Tags:  @mermaidxatxheart​, @murdermornings​, @elisaa-shelby​ @ask-hellbent-tweek

────── ·❆· ──────  

(The chapter is very similar to the other version, only leaves details on the date night with Matt. Buckle up for the next parts y’all. Roller -coaster of emotions coming in 3, 2, 1…)

Thank you for reading :))

[miss-tc-nova]

The Cat’s Meow - Jumin Han x Fem!Reader Pt 17-Finale

Okay, look, I know the first half of this is kind of...Anyway! Maybe not my best ending, but I giggled writing it so there. I promise that the bonus chapter coming out tomorrow will be better. 

Part 17: Thank You/Finale

                Grumbling, I flop into the chair and let my head fall onto the table. The chair beside me moves and, with a grumble, Saeran sits and lets his forehead meet the table as well.

                Things went a little crazy in the hospital following the incident with Rika. Out of it came Saeran, Luciel’s, or rather, Saeyoung’s brother who’d been manipulated by Rika. He’d caused havoc his first night at the hospital, but had come around to understand Luciel’s true intentions and Rika’s misdirection. He came to apologize to me the following day and we actually get along pretty well, taking on the suffering together in cynicism. We’re only a week in, with the doctor stating it may not even be the halfway mark.

                “You too, huh?” I mumble, feeling the deep-set ache in my muscles.

                “I considered cocaine today,” he groans. “But Saeyoung said I had to find it myself and I’m too tired for that shit.”

                I laugh a bit, turning my head to look at him. “Jumin’s making every employee remove all cigarettes and medications from the C&R building. I think he’s even put all his wine in storage.”

                Saeran lets his head fall to the side, giving me a suspicious look. “...None of that would work for our withdrawals.”

                “I know...”

                “Aww, look at our little druggies sulking together!” Saeyoung teases, sitting across from us. He’s also become a bit brighter since everyone’s been working to get him out of his secret agent job.

                “_____, are you okay? Do you need anything?” Jumin asks, resting a hand on my back.

                “Mmmeth.”

                Saeran starts snickering.

                Jumin replies in a warning tone, “_____.”

                Giggling, I push myself off the table. “I know. Meth is expensive.”

                “_____, get your facts straight. Cocaine is the expensive one,” Saeran says, earning a frown from Jumin.            

                “It’s not that price that’s the problem,” Jumin states.

                Still chuckling, I play with the end of his sleeve and look up at him. “I’m just kidding. I could really use a water though.”

                His stern expression softens and the heir leans in to kiss my forehead. “Very well.”

                We quietly watch him go before Saeyoung adds, “You know he’d probably find you meth if you were truly desperate for it.”

                “Noooo...Couple months ago, maybe. But definitely not now.”

                “But we have withdrawals now,” whines Saeran.

                Reaching out, I half-heartedly take his hand in comfort. “Be strong, Sae! We will overcome this!”

                He’s not impressed. “I hate you so fucking much right now.” Even he can’t keep a straight face through his insult.

                “I see non-druggie Sae likes to swear.”

                “He has no respect for my innocent ears!” Saeyoung complains.

                “You were watching porn last night!” shouts Saeran.

                Saeyoung points a finger at his brother. “It was holy porn.”

                “Holy porn, my ass!”

                By now, I’m lying on the table crying from laughing so hard. That’s when the rest of the group finally enters the room.

                “Hey guys!” Yoosung greets. “Oh wow, you guys look awful.”

                “Shut it, blondie,” I retort, sitting up and wiping my eyes. Jumin passes me a water bottle. “Thanks sweetheart.”

                “Hello Saeyoung, Saeran, _____,” V greets, Zen pushing him in a wheelchair. Not only was he still miraculously recovering from the gunshot, but also the eye surgery Jumin finally convinced him to have.

                Now the situation with V was much more strenuous than making friends with Saeran; I had killed the woman he loved. Honestly, the moment I could walk on my own and was allowed to see him, I fell to pieces, sobbing and begging for his forgiveness. The man assured me multiple times that it wasn’t my fault but I know it still hurts him. Still, even if I will always feel the guilt, he doesn’t outwardly hold it against me.

                He pushes a tray onto the table. “I brought treats for everyone.”

                Saeran apparently hasn’t had enough of our shenanigans. “Is it drugs?”

                Poor V is so confused. “I-...What?”

                “Sae! No one is going to bring you cocaine!” I exclaim, slamming a hand on the table.

                The room is silent for a minute before Saeran breaks, laughing. “I hate you so much.”

                I lean back heavily in my chair, staring at V. “But seriously, what’dyu bring?”

                “Uh, I brought cookies.”

                “Yay,” I whisper loudly.

                Saeran and I are the first to partake. Cravings and increased appetite are withdrawal symptoms; that combined with the fact that Saeran and I both naturally have a sweet tooth, we’re sugar monsters.

                Jaehee sits down, looking concerned. “Though you two do seem to be suffering from serious withdrawals. Are you going to be alright? Are you going to therapy or counseling or anything? I read somewhere that people suffering from withdrawals often relapse without secondary treatment.”

                “Dis is mah ferapy,” Sae replies through half a cookie.

                Saeyoung speaks up, “He’s meeting someone on Friday.”

                Jumin folds his arms. “And _____ has an appointment next week.”

                I huff. “I’m telling you, I don’t need a therapist. My addiction didn’t come from voluntary use so what’s a therapist gonna do? Tell me not to take any more drugs? That’s great ‘cause Sae won’t make me any anyway!” I glare when my boyfriend takes my cookie away.

                “Don’t look at me,” Saeran growls. “I wasn’t part of the group that made the elixir. The bathtub would be full if I knew how to make it. We’d probably just poison ourselves trying to replicate the stuff.”

                I grumble, “So, much to our dismay, Saeran and I will not be relapsing.” I reach for another cookie. “We are, however, scouting new substances to abuseTHAT’S MY COOKIE!” I snap at Jumin, who’s taken the fourth from me.

                “Substance of choice? Sugar,” hums Saeyoung.

                “You’re going to that appointment. And you’ll just complain later if you keep eating all these sweets,” Jumin replies, not bothered at all.

                Grumbling, I fold my arms. “I’m complaining now.”

                “Also, it’s polite to share and Saeran has already taken the extras.” He passes off the cookie to Yoosung while pointing out the pile Sae is hoarding. The former-cultist pulls his stash closer to his seat when he catches me staring. We glare.

                “Dammit.”

                V clears his throat. “Alright, sugar and withdrawals aside, I’d like to begin the first official meeting of…of…Did we ever decide on a new name?”

                “We did not,” Jaehee replies.

                “Oh, well then I guess that’s the agenda of our first meeting. Would anyone like to make any suggestions?”

                Jumin raises his hand. “Jumin Han, we are not naming the new organization after me,” I growl. He puts his hand down before raising it again. “Or either of the cats.” Hand goes down.

                From there, the brainstorming goes on and on until it comes down to Sunrise Charity, mostly because V didn’t want it to be called VFA, which is fair enough. After discussing some dates for the inaugural charity party, we end the meeting there and Jumin takes me home, and I mean my home.

                “Mako, I’m home!” I sing. The fold comes padding out to greet us with his chirping. Jumin kneels down to scratch behind his ears. “That took longer than I thought it would. I should start working on dinner.”

            ��   “I could have something ordered,” offers Jumin.

                “No. I’m a big girl. I can cook for myself.” I eye him for a minute. “Can you even make anything edible?”

                He thinks for a moment. “Pancakes.”

                I gasp, hanging against him with my arm around his neck. “You should make me pancakes in the morning.”

                An embrace that brings comfort engulfs me. “Is that what you want?”

                “Yes. Also, maybe…” Supporting myself, I trace the pattern on his tie. “You could spend the night?”

                I’ll admit it, since the incident, being alone has been a bit distressing. I’ve gotten over a lot of my withdrawal symptoms while recovering in the hospital, but there are a few that still plague me. My first night home, I woke up in a sweat my first night home and didn’t go back to sleep. Jumin made a point of staying on the phone with me until I fell asleep after that.

                “Do you think we’re ready for that?” He’s concerned.

                I scrunch my nose at him. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist me in my sloppy pajamas and bed-head?”

                “Yes.”

                My shoulders droop. “Wow. Okay. Maybe we aren’t ready for that.”

                Jumin’s forehead rests against mine. “If it’s what you want, I’ll spend the night. It might be tough, but I’ll practice my restraint.”

                I sigh. “I don’t want to push it.”

                “Perhaps we should. How will we ever get anywhere if we don’t try?” He chuckles. “Besides, even if I do end up pushing it too far, you’ll just threaten me with a knife.”

                I hide my face in his chest. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

                “You threatened the life of a high-profile corporate heir.” A gentle hand beneath my chin encourages me to look up. “I promise; I’ll keep myself under control. Do you still want me to stay?”

                “Please?”

                I receive a kiss to my brow. “Very well. But first I need to run to the office to sign some documents and stop by my home for some things.”

                “Okay. I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”

                With a kiss goodbye, Jumin heads out and I change into sweats and a t-shirt before I prepare food. Before long, he returns with a small bag.

                “How was the office?” I ask, stirring the pasta.

                “It was fine. Just needed a signature so we can begin analysis on the coffee chain tomorrow.”

                “Ew…”

                “Yes. Ew.”

                I giggle. “Well dinner’s almost done. You should go change.”

                He glances at the suit he didn’t change out of. “You want me to change?”

                “Yes! Look at this!” I pick up a magazine from ages ago that had a page of Jumin lounging in the sun in a t-shirt with a blue over shirt. “I know you own normal clothes and I demand you wear them more!”

                A corner of his mouth quirks. “Demand, huh?”

                “Yes! Especially if you’re going to be lazy with me!”

                Apparently, I amuse him. “I see.”

                “And I swear to god, if your pajamas are some ridiculous matched set they wear in comedy family movies, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider this relationship!”

                A hand feebly covers up the laugh he’s trying to contain. “So…*ahem* So I should probably go then?”

                “Are you serious?! What are you, twelve?!”

                “I sincerely hope not or you’re at serious risk of going to prison for romancing a minor.” I glare. “Also, can we discuss why you have a magazine from last year with that page dog-eared?”

                I turn back to the stove in an attempt to hide my blush. “Shut up and go get ready for dinner.”

                Sure of his victory, Jumin ambles away. With two bowls in hand, I get comfortable in the living room when in walks that man in a gray t-shirt and sweats. The bit of water in my mouth goes right back out.

                “Where did you get those?!” I shout, temperature rising.

                His smirk signals that he’s still playing with me. “I’ve had these for a while now.”

                “And yet you lounge around in slacks and a dress shirt?” I retort, picking up my bowl. “I’m going to corrupt you with my laziness.”

                “We’ll see.”

                Throughout dinner, I can’t help my wandering gaze every time I let up the reins on my brain; I begin zoning out and my eyes immediately drift to Jumin. Not only am I very much addicted to how he looks being casual for once, but the fact he’s here to spend time with me as my boyfriend is a nice thought.

                “Are you okay?” he’s caught me.

                “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

                His brows furrow. “Are your hands numb again?”

                The question draws my attention to my hands that I’ve been flexing mindlessly, trying to work through the pins and needles. This is part of my recovery, part of the withdrawal. “Yeah, but it’ll pass.”

                Jumin takes a hand and beings gently massaging my palm with his thumbs. He’s been doing things like this since I woke up. The nausea was terrible the first few days and he was there to endure it with me. The lights and volume were turned down when they became too much. He even fed me a few times when my hands would shake so much I couldn’t do it myself. I hate it but at the same time, I’m so thankful to have someone here looking after me.

                “How’s that?” he asks.

                I test my movement. Most of the foreign sensation is gone. “A lot better. Thanks.” Jumin suddenly pulls me against him and leans against me until I collapse onto the sofa. “What are you doing?”

                Jumin hovers over me, grazing his nose against mine. “I wanted to cuddle with my girlfriend.”I’m positive he can feel the heat radiating from my face. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” his deep voice rumbles.

                “No,” I say softly.

                “Good.” The man wedges his hands beneath me before relaxing on top of me, his head resting against my chest. Once he’s comfortable, he gives a very satisfied, content sigh. Adjusting to my cuddly partner, I settle in to watch the movie while running my fingers through his soft hair. It doesn’t take long for me to hear a deep, steady breathing. Seeing this man, whose entire wardrobe consists ninety percent of suits, who’s known for living high class, who’s always been the ever-vigilant business man; seeing him here in my tiny home, in a t-shirt, and fast asleep upsets the butterflies in my stomach.

                The movie ends and I have to come to terms with the fact that I need to use the bathroom and that requires disturbing Jumin. I savor the sight for just a moment longer before attempting to wake him.

                “Jumin. Sweetheart, get up.”Groaning, he tightens his grip. “Jumin, stop! I need to pee!”

                Flinching, the man props himself up. “What? What’s wrong?” he grumbles.

                “I need to use the bathroom, but maybe you should go to bed if you’re so tired.”

                Jumin sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

                I slip off the sofa and reach out to brush some hair from his eyes. “It’s fine. It is getting late though; you should go to bed.”

                The man stands up too. “Only if you join me.”

                Rolling my eyes, I let a smile pull at my lips. “Alright. Let me shut everything down. Go on; go get ready for bed.”

                Once the bathroom problem is solved, I shut down the movie and clean up a bit. Ambling into the bedroom, I find my boyfriend sitting on the bed, providing Mako with enough ear scritches to get the motor running. Interrupting the bonding, I sneak my way onto Jumin’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek. The response is a soft, reverent kiss in return that puts me under his spell almost immediately. For a while, I bask in the comfort of Jumin’s presence and the love he emits. My muscles ache, my head is full of dull pain, sometimes pins and needles overtake my hands, and sometimes I can’t sleep, but right here I get complete solace.

                Jumin groans and breaks the kiss. “You’re tempting me, love,” he says lowly, and I can see the lust alight in his eyes.

                “Says the man who made it much easier for me to strip him down,” I hum, slipping a hand beneath the hem of his shirt against his abs. I immediately notice the pink bleed across his face and the passion flare up. I nearly tear his shirt trying to rip my hand out. “No! Wait! I take it back!”

                He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “How cruel you are.”

                “Eheh, sorry. We should go to sleep now.”

                I flip the lights and sneak under the covers with Jumin. An arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. With a bit of a giggle, I hook a leg over his waist and latch onto him. The musky sweet scent accompanied by the warmth of his presence quickly envelopes me and I feel like I could just melt.

                It’s been only a couple years since I met Jumin Han, and my life since then has been everything except perfect, but all the seems so far away now. The tears, fears, worries, none of that matters now. I have the love of my life in my arms; we struggled and suffered so much to get here, but we can finally be happy. I can finally give him everything without getting in my own way. The relief is so overwhelming I could cry, but instead I just revel in the peace.

                On the exhale, I hum.

                “What’s wrong?” he asks.

                “Nothing. I’m just…happy,” I reply, resting my forehead against his chest. “Thank you for staying. And thank you for taking care of me.”

                His arms tighten briefly. “I already told you, I would do anything for you,” he murmurs into my hair.

                “I love you.”

                “I love you too.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Catching Feelings 9/10 (Keanu x OFC)

Summary: AU in which Keanu is down on his luck after he comes to Hollywood trying to be an actor. To earn some money, he joins this app for escorts and meets Steph, a rising star who hires him to try to forget her ex. Neither of them is expecting to fall in love and all the problems it brings. Previous chapters:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Author’s Notes: This might be my favorite chapter so far. I’m very proud of how it turned out. Just to be safe, keep your tissues close.

Wordcount: 3377

Warnings: angst and mentions of alcohol 

“So, I heard back from the producers,” Jean started tone just a little hesitant and Steph got up from her seat, rolling her eyes.

She already knew what the next words would be. He had been her agent and publicist for a few months and she learned to recognize when he was about to break the news of another no.

“They said you great but…”

“Not what they’re looking for?” she completed with a bitter snort and Jean nodded, grimacing. “In other words, you’re radioactive and we want nothing to do with you. I don’t know why I even bother anymore.”

“Steph…” he started with that unsufferable sympathetic tone and she could feel his gaze on her as she paced in his office. “We gonna get through this. You just need…”

“To be patient and persevere,” she cut him off, repeating the words she had been hearing for the past six months. Even since her career imploded with the whole Keanu fiasco.

For weeks her face had been plastered in every trashy magazine that existed, her name associated with a sex scandal. Because she dared to fall in love with a man that happened to be an escort.

The first blow she suffered was the call from Judy, the woman had been with Steph since the beginning of her career. She ranted at Steph for being stupid enough to put herself in that position and offered a solution that was basically throwing Keanu under the bus. Tell the press that she had no idea he was an escort. Steph wouldn’t do it. This was her mess, not his.

Judy quitted after that, leaving Steph without an agent or publicist to help her navigate through this mess. Fortunately, Jean had been a lifesaver and took Steph under his wing, working out all the necessary statements and helping her dodge most of the press.

The second blow came on Monday when Fincher was waiting for Steph at the set with an added scene on his script. They were killing off her character. To keep the integrity of the work, he said. It made more sense…

Even he didn’t believe his own words and Steph just wanted to scream and hit someone. This had been a dream project for her, and they were casting her aside like she was nothing. And even though it cost her a hefty penalty for contract breach, Steph never regretted walking out of the set and refusing to shoot the metaphorical death of her career.

Instead, she flew back home and discovered it was true what they said: you only knew your real friends when shit hit the fan. Ad companies ended contracts with her; production companies that had offered her parts in upcoming movies pulled back their offers; people she had worked before, that knew her, and that Steph always considered close friends, and cut off communication with her. Only a handful remained in the end, among them Vincent, Jean, and Gwen. Everyone else bailed and Steph couldn’t believe how naïve she was to believe that they were her friends.

“Maybe it’s time I face the truth, Jean,” she sighed, looking out the window in his office. In the distance, she could see the Hollywood sign in the Hills she called home. “If I can’t even get a secondary character in a cheesy rom-com, my career is over.”

“No!” he protested, getting up to stand beside her. “You made only one mistake in this whole thing,” Jean said, laying his hands on her arms, making Steph look at him. “You pushed away the man you love. Everything else? That’s judgmental bullshit from a hypocritical business and I’m not gonna let them punish you for falling in love.”

There was determination in his handsome face. His eyes shone with it as he let go of Steph and moved back to his desk, shifting things around until he came up with a stack of papers and handed it Steph. It was a script and she recognized the writer and director’s name: Katheryn Gerwig.

“They sent it in for another actress I’m representing,” he explained. “It’s an independent movie, very low budget, unlike anything you’ve ever done, but it is the main character and Gerwig is a genius.”

“What about your other client?” Steph asked, looking back to Jean.

“I’ll just make sure she had a schedule conflict,” he assured with a wink, making Steph smile thankfully, before pulling him into a hug. “You might want to give up on yourself, darling, but I’m not there yet. So, read it and if you like it, I’ll set up a meeting with Gerwig.”

---

Steph changed positions on her chair for the sixth time in the last five minutes, her fingers restlessly rearranging every single item there was in the table, trying to work out the energy thrumming through her.

She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first audition ten years ago, coming back to acting after dropping out at age 13. At least back then the only reputation she had was of child starlet that gave up the spotlight for a normal teenager life. Now, even months later, she knew they still referred to her as the former raising star that had to pay for love.

Steph was tired of it; the whispers and snide comments, but she was determinate to keep her head high. That was why this meeting was so important. If this didn’t work, if Gerwig wouldn’t take her, she would be done. Steph would rather get out in her own terms than everyone else’s.

Checking the time again, Steph considered asking the waiter for something stronger than orange juice. Even if it was 10 in the morning. Maybe decided against it. Her worst decisions had been made thanks to alcohol. Instead, she looked out at the view, trying to see it the rhythmic movements of the waves would soothe her racing heart.

Gerwig had scheduled this meeting at a seaside restaurant Steph had never heard of before. It was small and intimate and more importantly, out of the way enough that most people around had better things to do than worry about potential celebrities hanging around. Aside from that, the view was fantastic and if the smell waffling from the kitchen was any indication, the food was too. This could easily become Steph’s new favorite spot. If this meeting went well.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, dear,” Gerwig spoke, startling Steph. “No need to get up,” she said before dropping on the chair in front of her, taking off her hat.

The woman that sat before Steph was impressive. Not only because she was stunning; Her sand blonde hair waving in the soft breeze, a few grey strands shining against the sun. Her blue eyes were startling bright and showed a sort of keen intelligence that seemed to pierce through her. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth spoke of a life well-lived, full of laughter and challenges.

Steph didn’t know why, but she immediately liked Gerwig. It was almost as if she had found a kindred spirit and something inside her connected at a deeper level with the older woman before her.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Steph said, suddenly feeling like a beginner meeting their idol. “Thank you so much for meeting me, Mrs. Gerwig.”

“Of course,” she replied with a kind smile. “Call me Katheryn. I’ve always hated Gerwig. It’s my ex-husband's name.”

“Sure.” Steph nodded quickly, her own smile nervous and hesitant as Katheryn asked for a mimosa. Apparently, unlike Steph, the older woman had no qualms on drinking before noon.

“I have to say, dear, a lot of people advised me against taking this meeting,” Katheryn declared, sipping her drink. “So, before we talk about my movie, I want to understand why.” She set her glass aside, entwining her fingers together and resting her chin on top of them, watching Steph with her full attention. “Tell me everything.”

And Steph did. Much like she had done to Vincent, she shared every detail of what happened between her and Keanu and the aftermath of it until they reached that particular moment of her life, struggling to get a role in anything worth wanting to be part of.

“That’s it?” Katheryn asked once Steph fell silent, and the young actress nodded. “For fuck sake! The way my producer was speaking, I thought you murdered someone or something. Definitely something more serious than falling in love with a hooker.”

She clicked her tongue in something like disappointment. If with the fact that Steph’s story wasn’t as juicy as she expected or that her producer made a bigger deal of it than necessary, Steph couldn’t tell.

“Honestly, if the roles were reversed, it would be a fairytale. He would be Richard Gere and you Julia Roberts,” Katheryn continued with an eye-roll. “This is why I hate Hollywood.”

“You don’t care, then?” Steph asked hopefully and Katheryn shook her head, gesturing to for the waiter to bring her another mimosa. “So, you let me audition for the role of Sarah?”

“That’s another matter entirely, dear,” Katheryn replied, looking back at Steph. “I took a look at your work and you weren’t exactly what I was envisioning for the role. Don’t get me wrong, you’re great, but I was thinking of something more subtle.”

“Oh.” It was all Steph could say. She really didn’t expect that it would be her career itself that would take this role from her and not what happened.

“I hope you understand,” Katheryn said with a sympathetic smile. “I need raw emotion, but not something too overt or explicit. I need…” she paused, deep I thought. “You know what the title of my movie means?” She asked and Steph shook her head. “That word, Saudade, it’s Portuguese. There’s no translation to English, but it conveys a sort of nostalgic longing for a place, a memory, a person. Like…”

“Like it’s a part of you that you’re missing?” Steph said, her gaze looking away from the woman in front of her.

To an onlooker, it would seem like she was just admiring the ocean extending in front of her. The blue waters that seemed to mix with the bright skies. The fluffy white bubbles whenever the waves crashed on the shore. The boats in the distance and the couples walking hand in hands through the wet sand… It made the scene look like a painting.  However, Steph’s gaze was actually lost, unseeing as she searched for the words to describe the feeling Katheryn was talking about.

“It feels almost as if they left a hole in your soul, shaped like them and that never full heals,” she sighed, feeling the tears brimming in her eyes. “Most days, it just a dull ache and you can actually trick yourself into forgetting and not noticing. If you’re busy enough if you work hard enough, it makes you believe that maybe… maybe one day… you’ll be fine and it will be over. But then…” her voice broke as the lump in her throat grew, making it harder for Steph to bring the words forth, but she had to do this. Digging her fingers on her knees under the table, she wetted her lips and continued.

“Then you see something that belonged to them or heard their name or smell their scent and… Sometimes I believe that’s what time travel must be like because you’re there. Back at that place with them and it’s so sweet because you can feel how happy you used to be, but at the same time, God! It hurts. That kind of throbbing, pulsing pain. All compassing and consuming. Suddenly, it’s all you know again, and you can’t believe how you thought, even for a second, that it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Because it’s a piece of you that’s missing and it’s the most human thing to want to feel complete, but you can’t. Not anymore. Not without him.”

Steph let out a shuddering exhale, ducking her head to wipe away the tears that managed to escape while she swallowed around the knot on her throat before she turned to look at Katheryn and the other woman had tear tracks marking her cheeks as she watched Steph.

“Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” Katheryn nodded, a smile gracing her lips as she reached across the table, catching Steph’s hand and squeezing lightly. “You understand. I think you understand Sarah better than I could ever hope to write her. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re exactly what I need.”

“Thank you.” Steph’s lips tilted into a smile too. Katheryn had a point. She never felt this connected to a character before.

“We’ll start shooting in Toronto in two weeks. Think you can be ready by then?”

“Yes.” Steph nodded, satisfaction and happiness filling her heart. “I’ll be there.”

----

Steph never had an experience quite like this shooting a movie, but she loved it. Jean wasn’t kidding when he said it was a low budget independent movie. Katheryn crew was tiny and the entire thing was shot in a single location, this two-store house in Toronto, using one single camera.

All of it meant long hours of shooting, especially since Katheryn liked wide angles and long takes so Steph felt this incredible pressure not to screw up. She was the protagonist. The entire concept of the movie depended on her doing her job right.

In the end, it was an incredible thing. After a month of working intensely and living in close quarters with the rest of the cast and crew, Steph grew close with all of them. She knew the names and birthdays of the DP’s children and all the cameraman allergies… They had become a second family to her and when they finally wrapped up filming, even though Steph was exhausted and in desperate need for long hours of sleep, she accompanied them to this local club so they could celebrate.

It wasn’t an official wrap party, then didn’t have the funds for that. Just a bunch of friends trying to find a way to fit at a too-small table in an overcrowded club with overpriced beer and some nice rock tunes.

Basically, it was all Steph needed after the dreadful year she was having. No one could blame her for letting lose, drinking a tiny bit too much – not quite like the night with Jean, Vincent, and Keanu – but just enough to make her tipsy and overfriendly, hugging people left and right, much to Katheryn’s amusement.  

She danced to the music played by the band on the stage and even agreed to a couple of selfies from one or two people that recognized her, before retreating to the table, tired, sweaty and dizzy, but very happy.

“When we back to LA, we need to do this in a proper bar,” she commented to Katheryn, who had kept up with her the entire night and the older woman laughed and nodded, clinking her beer bottle against Steph’s.

She drained her beer, before getting to her feet again and stumbling towards the restroom, getting stuck in line for ten minutes, until she could finally step out of the warm, smoky bar, into the slightly cooler air of the restroom, which was a reprieve despite the faint smell of urine and disinfectant.

Steph took her time relieving herself, washing her hands and retouching her makeup, faintly hearing the muffled sounds of the new band presenting themselves before they started to play. She bobbed her head a bit at the very little she could hear while she applied another layer of lipstick and stepped out just as they finished the first song.

She didn’t know why she didn’t glance at the stage on her way to the bar to pick up a new beer, even if the first accords of the new song was so pleasing. She was happy she didn’t because when a familiar voice reached her ears, one that Steph never thought she would hear in a million years, she froze, beer bottle halfway to her lips, eyes wide, staring at nothing.

She didn’t know the song itself, but she had heard enough Dogstar before the entire mess with Keanu that Steph could recognize Brett’s voice. Shaking, she turned around to face the stage, her gaze instinctively finding Keanu and her breath caught in her throat as she watched him.

His hair was longer again, curling by his nape, sticking to his sweaty forehead. His jaw was covered with a spotty beard that shouldn’t look that charming. His broad shoulders ripped and moved as he played, making the black t-shirt he was wearing stretch over his strong chest and biceps. His jeans, as usual, were tighter than needed, displaying muscular legs and, if his red bass wasn’t positioned right in front of his crotch, Steph knew she would be able to see the generous volume of his cock too.

Somehow she much had forgotten how gorgeous he was because Steph couldn’t bear to look away from him as her heart rabbited in her chest as if trying to burst from her ribcage and butterflies fluttered in her stomach, especially when he joined on the back vocal, his voice barely audible, but enough to make her knees weak.

She leaned against the bar, gaze fixed on the band in front of her, completely oblivious to Katheryn approaching her, calling her name. Not until the woman shook her shoulder and Steph finally tore her eyes away, blinking away the wetness in them. Katheryn looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on her and she glanced back at the stage.

“It’s him?” she asked, and Steph nodded, holding her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. “Which one?”

“The bassist,” she whispered, eyes returning to him, watching the wide smile in his face, the one she had only seen when he was on his bike or with her.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Steph gasped, once again unable to take her eyes away from him. “I’ve always wanted to watch him play.”

Katheryn nodded, squeezing her arm gently before retreating to the table, leaving Steph alone to watch the band, but mostly Keanu. The way he bounced over the stage, grinning like a manic, playing around with his mates and some of the audience. He was a natural, completely in his element, like he was born to be there and Steph was so happy he had found a way to make this work.

At the end of their set, Dogstar thanked everyone and announced that they had CDs for sale in the back before disappearing into the bowels of the club. Part of Steph was sad that it was over. She could spend the entire day listening to them, so she located the table with the merchandising, grabbing a CD and a t-shirt, before stepping outside for some fresh air and to recompose herself.

It was one thing Katheryn to see her like this, shaking and troubled. She knew the entire story, but the rest of the cast and crew only knew bits and pieces. Not because she was ashamed, but because it was still too hard to talk about it.

Steph exhaled slowly, the cold air grounding her to the present, keeping her from getting lost into memories of Keanu. And as long as she was grounded and kept a level head, she could stop herself from seeking him out. He didn’t want to see her. He made that very clear in that hotel in Paris.

“Steph?” She shivered at the sound of his voice saying her name. She missed that. She missed him. So, so much.

Slowly, Steph turned to look at him, her hands shaking so much the plastic case of the CD rattled a little. There he was, tall and strong and perfect and she couldn’t help but think about the title of the movie she just finished shoot: Saudade. That was what she felt, her insides yearning for that lost piece of her and she wished there was a way to tell him.

“Hi Keanu,” she said instead. What else could she say when there were so much, but not enough words?

xxx (tbc) xxx

Go to chapter 10

Permanent Tag List (give me a shout if you want to added or removed)

@toomanystoriessolittletime @meetmeinthematinee @theolsdalova @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @futuristic-imbecile @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @fanficsrusz @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery  @penwieldingdreamer @alwaydreamingofu @partypoison00 @hnryycvll @soarocks @a-really-bi-girl​

Tag List for Catching Feelings (give me a shout if you want to be added or removed)

@baphometwolf666​ @thesadvampire​