#been seeing this worrying rise of people saying ‘‘enemies to lovers’’

[usergrantaire]

tumblr shippers learn what “enemies” actually means challenge (impossible)

[loki-cees-all]

Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark {Avengers!Loki x Female Reader One-Shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : You and Loki absolutely despise each other. A mission to Finland forces you to work together undercover in the days leading up to Christmas, and then a blizzard traps you at an inn with only one bed. Suddenly all those teasing games aren't so fun anymore, and the animosity takes you both down a path neither of you anticipated.

W/c : 6.2k words

Content / Warnings : Enemies to Lovers, Snowed In, Only One Bed, Shameless Smut, Fingering, Teasing, Hate-Fucking, Cowgirl Position

Author's Note : My entry for @sarahscribbles' Christmas Collection, using the ✨ Enemies to Lovers ✨ prompt. Hope you enjoy it, dear!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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This had to be a joke. 

Not only had you been given the ridiculous assignment of “accompanying” the newest member of the Avengers, the so-called God of Mischief, to Finland. Not only did you know it wasn’t accompaniment, it was actually babysitting, because despite Thor’s intense insistence that his brother be given this chance at redemption, the rest of the team still didn’t quite trust him yet. 

Not only were you sure that this mission was just busy work - a way to simultaneously keep Loki distracted, and away from the prying eyes of the American government and media. And not only had this man single handedly usurped your rise from common S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to the next member of the Avengers, because the dungeons on Asgard were just too cruel for the precious Prince…

But now, there was only one bed left in this entire goddamn inn. 

The sweet old woman checking you in apologized profusely when she broke the news, and you just stood there, silently fuming and clenching your jaw so hard your teeth would be aching for days. Truthfully, you should have known better - it was only four days before Christmas; how could you forget that it was technically a holiday, and that millions of people around the world would be traveling for leisure right now? 

Maybe it was just because you couldn't recall the last time you'd taken a vacation, or the fact that you hadn’t spent a holiday with loved ones in years. Or maybe you’d been cursed somehow - most likely by the man standing next to you, with an infuriatingly charming grin on his face.

“Please don’t worry about it, my dear, we’ve just had quite a long day of traveling,” Loki gently assured the woman, reaching for her hand as she all but cowered in fear at your palpable rage. She seemed to relax as Loki soothed her, and you hated that it was him covering for your negative attitude instead of the other way around. “My fiancé - she’s just a bit old fashioned, and she wants to wait until marriage, you see...”

The woman smiled as if he was describing kittens snuggling together on a cold and rainy evening, and you were this close to absolutely losing your temper; he was already deviating from your mutually agreed upon cover story, that you were simply colleagues traveling to the Muotkatunturi Wilderness Area on a research trip, and he intentionally chose his own cover story to replace it - one that was designed to deliberately piss you off. 

You knew Loki could feel the anger radiating off your skin, and he turned towards you with a smile of his own as he continued to act as your doting fiancé. “And I’m determined to make that a reality. I promise, I’ll be fine sleeping on the floor, alright, darling?” 

He slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, his emerald eyes shining as he surely relished in your discomfort. You tried to focus on that, on how angry you were at him about everything - instead of his warm embrace, or how inviting his scent was. 

“Well, you’re in luck. We’ve got the most comfortable floors in all of Rovaniemi!” the woman laughed as she returned to filling out the guestbook.

It was humiliating, but it seemed as though you had no choice. You let out a heavy exhale, deciding it would be easier to just go along with his story and get this interaction over with as quickly as possible. Your only saving grace was that this was temporary - soon this reconnaissance mission would be over, and sooner or later Loki would ruin the good graces of Tony and Steve and be sent back to the dungeons on Asgard. 

But until then, you were going to have to find a way to make him pay for all of this later on.

“There’s my girl. Always the brave little soldier,” he purred softly, leaning down as if he was going to kiss you. Your eyes widened in panic, desperately fighting the urge to push him away and possibly punch him in his handsome face, but Loki caught the hint and quickly looked the other way. 

You turned your attention back to the front desk as the woman fiddled with the paperwork, and a group of figurines for sale caught your eye, nestled among the garland and twinkling lights. A wicked grin crept across your face as you nudged Loki’s ribs unplayfully. “Look, dear - they’ve got some Odin statues for sale. Shall we buy some to hand them out with our Christmas gifts this year?” 

Loki’s gaze slowly descended into madness, and you cheered silently once you were sure you’d gotten under his skin. His jaw tightened, along with the hand pressed against your ribs, but the woman smiled happily, unaware of just who she was talking to. 

“Ah, yes - these make excellent souvenirs!” the woman laughed as she picked up one of the figurines, admiring the wood carving with a loving eye. “Did you know that the myth of Santa Claus is based partially on the myth of Odin - and that it all started right here in Rovaniemi?” 

“Oh, I had no idea!” you lied, almost giddy with how much this was going to piss Loki off. “Could you tell me more about that? I find Norse mythology to be just fascinating…Of course, that pesky God of Mischief certainly leaves a lot to be desired, wouldn’t you say?” 

She opened her mouth to answer, clearly very pleased that someone was finally so interested in her offerings, but Loki quickly interjected with barely contained rage. “Actually, if you could just focus on retrieving our room key now, I’d really appreciate it.” 

“What is the God of Mischief’s name? Loki, or something like that?” you continued with absolute delight, slipping your arm around his waist the way he’d done while teasing you. “Pretty ridiculous name, if you ask me. Thor’s name is so much more elegant…”

“Well, it’s funny you should mention that. The name Loki actually means - ”

“The keys! Now. Please,” Loki snapped as he yanked your arm away, gripping your wrist so hard you were sure it was going to leave a bruise. That was definitely going in your mission report once you’d returned to Stark Tower.

The woman faltered briefly, clearly not expecting the charming man to shift his attitude so abruptly, but she reluctantly obliged and began rummaging around in a drawer for a set of room keys.

“You’ll have to excuse my fiancé, m’am…He just doesn’t believe in all that Norse mythology nonsense, even though I think it’s super interesting…” you smirked as Loki stewed with indignation. “But it’s just this one night that you have to endure the tall tales of Norse mythology, and then we’re off to Inari in the morning…aren’t we, sweetheart?”

The sweet old woman furrowed her brow as she pulled the last set of keys from the drawer and extended them over the counter. “Oh, didn’t you hear about the blizzard arriving tonight? They’re saying it’s the storm of the century. I doubt you two will be going anywhere for a while.”

Loki’s face fell alongside yours, and you both turned to the woman with matching grimaces. “I beg your pardon?” 

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Your mood quickly soured by the time Loki led the way upstairs to your room; of course there was a blizzard incoming, and of course it would mean you were trapped here longer than anticipated with the most inconsiderate man alive. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving you behind to struggle with your luggage, while his belongings were no doubt stored easily inside that stupid pocket dimension of his. 

If just one more thing went wrong on this trip, you feared you might actually lose it - consequences be damned. 

By the time you made it down the hallway to the door of your room, Loki was casually leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a brooding expression on his face. If you didn’t hate him so much, it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. 

“Hey, thanks for offering to help,” you called out sarcastically as you made your way over to him. “I’m absolutely shocked by how thoughtful and courteous you are.” 

Loki scoffed and pushed himself off the wall as he pulled the key out of his pocket. “I could have just gone inside and left you wondering which door was ours. You should be grateful I didn’t.” 

“Aww, is someone a little mad that I made him think about Odin?” you taunted, enjoying the way he tensed up again at the sound of his father’s name. 

“No, it was just foolish. Do not make that mistake again…” 

The door swung open and you rolled your eyes as you followed him inside. “Are you threatening me?” 

Loki whipped around with barely restrained fury as soon as the door closed. “We’re meant to be under cover here, yes? So do you really think it’s a good idea to be throwing around my actual name just to infuriate me?” he snapped angrily, eyes blazing and fists clenching at his sides. 

Your stomach did a flip in your abdomen, and you struggled to maintain an air of defiance as he continued. “You don’t know who anyone is here, or who could be listening to our conversations. So keep your mouth shut if you don’t want us to be discovered! Am I being clear?” 

You nodded meekly, because that was all you could manage while kicking yourself. He was right, you were being foolish and forgetting the true purpose of this trip. Hydra could easily have eyes and ears everywhere, and if you kept pissing Loki off, he might not be inclined to save you if necessary. 

And you hated that it might be necessary, because he was a literal God with infinite magic at his disposal, while you were just a fallible little human that he absolutely despised. 

As Loki turned away and started pulling the drapes shut, you distracted yourself with examining the room you’d been given. Three large windows took up the entire outside wall of the room, and on either side of the lone queen-sized bed were two end-tables, each with a dark green lamp providing the only light to the room. A stone fireplace sat on the opposite side of the bed, decorated with greenery and frosted miniature Christmas trees, and a tiny wooden desk and chair were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. 

It was definitely cozy, even you couldn’t deny that, but that just made it worse. In any other circumstances, you might have enjoyed this break; but the Christmas decorations just reminded you of how alone you were, and Loki’s presence only reminded you of how unnecessary you were. 

And it was already starting to get uncomfortably cold inside the room. Just before Loki yanked the last curtain closed, you caught a glimpse of the snow outside; it had quickly transformed from light flurries into heavy sheets of frozen precipitation. You were in for a very cold, very long and lonely night, and daylight couldn't come soon enough.

A deep sense of dread settled in the base of your spine as you realized how long you might be trapped here with this narcissistic, self-important and delusional mockery of all the sacrifices you’d made to get to this point of your career. 

You’d foregone relationships with family, friends and potential lovers to spend every waking moment either training your body or honing your skills, trying to prove your worth and dedication to keeping this world safe from anything that ever threatened it. 

And the planet’s most recent threat, the reason for the Avengers’ very existence, was making himself busy pulling pillows and blankets off the bed to make his own on the hardwood floor. Loki was silent as he worked, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually hurt by your teasing. 

You hated it. You hated this - especially since you hadn’t expected to feel so badly about taunting him. Clearing your throat, you set your suitcase on the chair and pretended to look for something inside. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened before. I guess I’m just…on edge.”

“Why bother?” he replied coldly, and you didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t actually hurt, or if it was because he didn’t care that you were potentially sorry about hurting him. Either way, the dismissal stung. 

You continued rummaging through the suitcase, anything to avoid looking at your roommate for the night. How long had it been since you’d shared such close quarters with another person? Had there been anyone since college? You already felt raw and exposed by the idea of falling asleep within the same four walls as another person; but at the very least, Loki was sticking to his word about sleeping on the floor and not in the bed with you. 

“You’re not worried about the mission? Or the blizzard? Or the fact that we might kill each other at any moment?” you laughed nervously, hoping to at least break some of the tension. 

Loki sighed. “This mission is a joke. The blizzard might be a problem, and yes - we might certainly try to kill each other…but none of that is cause for real concern - not to me, anyway.” 

Your brow furrowed, and you turned to look at him; the God of Mischief was on his hands and knees, arranging pillows and blankets on the floor. It was an amusing sight, and you struggled to maintain focus. “Wait - you think this mission is a joke?”

He paused what he was doing, staring off into the distance with regret in his eyes as if he’d already said too much but couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Don’t think for one moment that I don’t know what this mission actually is…” 

You rubbed your neck nervously, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“I know how easily it would be for Stark to send in his machines to do this reconnaissance, and that the Scepter likely isn’t here. Obviously, I’d be the last person they’d ever want close to it,” Loki continued, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefingers. “I know the others are probably on the other side of the world recovering it as we speak, and that this mission is completely pointless - hence, assigning you and I to it.”

Your heart sank as he spoke, knowing that he was probably right; that this mission was utterly pointless, that it wouldn’t advance you any further in your career. That the only thing this mission was going to lead to was meaningless and unnecessary frustration and pain for the both of you. 

“I know what they - and you - don’t particularly like or trust me. And you have good reason not to.” Loki cast a tragic glance in your direction before quickly looking away again. 

“So why are you here then? If you don’t want to be here, and if you don’t…” you trailed off, unsure if you should finish that thought. 

Loki sighed and shook his head. “It…doesn’t matter,” he answered sadly, and your heart broke over the entire situation. You didn’t know what to say to make either of you feel better, and it was likely that nothing ever would. 

“There. I think that’ll do nicely,” he announced pleasantly, abruptly changing the subject and rousing you from your pensive thoughts. You glanced over to see a grown man - a God, in fact - standing proudly over the neatly arranged pillows and blankets on the floor, and for a brief moment you couldn’t help but be amused by the sight - that is, until you noticed the state of your sleeping quarters for the foreseeable future. 

“You stripped off most of the bed!” you protested angrily, examining the three paltry blankets left to keep you warm overnight. 

“On the contrary - I stripped precisely half of the bed,” Loki replied as he began to remove his coat. “Of course, there’s a simple and quite easy way to double your warmth if you’re so concerned…” 

“Absolutely not.” The words came out harsher than you’d intended, but even just sharing four walls felt way too close to him; sharing a bed was probably way more than you ever could handle. 

“Fair enough. Shall I light a fire to keep us warm then?” Loki offered without skipping a beat, the sudden change in his tone giving you multiple rounds of whiplash. He stepped over to the fireplace to examine it, running his hands over the stone hearth’s arch before crouching next to the pile of logs. 

How was he able to switch so suddenly, from profound soundness to being so thoughtful? You wanted to accept the kindness and be grateful for the change in tone, but all it did was put you on edge. You sat down on the bed and began to unlace your boots, still desperately trying not to look at him. “Don’t bother on my account,” was all the response you could manage. 

The room was silent for a moment, and you could almost feel the gears turning inside Loki’s head as he tried to come up with something else to say. But why was he trying so hard? You had been counting on him retreating into himself the way he always did back at Stark Tower, or worst case - that he would be deliberately messing with you, making your life hell and again ruining your chances at proving yourself worthy. 

You could feel his gaze boring into the back of your skull as your boots clattered to the floor. And when he still hadn’t tried to speak, you cautiously looked over your shoulder to him. “Was there something else you wanted?” 

Loki sighed and let his eyes drift away as he shook his head. An expression of restrained exasperation crawled across his features as he made his way to the makeshift bed on the floor. “Nothing. I don’t need anything from you…” 

Your brow furrowed and guilt poured into your veins with every step he took. But guilt about what? You weren’t friends. You owed him nothing. This was just a mission - nothing more, and nothing less. You opened your mouth to speak, but Loki was already laying down on the floor with his back to you, clearly uninterested in speaking anymore that night. 

The room seemed colder after Loki withdrew. It was an odd, incredibly distracting feeling - one that you hadn’t ever prepared yourself for, and didn’t have the energy to explore at the moment. Sleep was calling out to you, beckoning you closer as it always did whenever the feelings all became too much. 

It took so much effort to crawl underneath the three blankets on your bed, and you didn’t even bother changing out of your street clothes before cocooning yourself inside. You thought about everything in your life that had led up to this incredibly excruciating moment, all the choices you’d made and the pain you’d gone through. 

All that sacrifice, and where had it gotten you?

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Sleep did not come easy for you that night. Despite your body exhausted from travel and the gentle bed cradling your wearied soul, you laid awake far longer than you would have expected. So many thoughts flitting uncontrollably across your mind, so many shivers slipping along your frigid bones. 

A cold draft seeped in through the seams of the windowsills as the snow poured down outside. You were still awake, curled up on your side with the blankets pulled tight around your narrow frame. Eyelids pulled shut and breath held cautiously, you struggled to keep from shivering too much as you imagined Loki on the floor. 

He had to be colder than you were, and part of you wanted to ignore his possible discomfort. He deserved it, didn’t he? Maybe if he was more pleasant to be around, it wouldn’t have to be like this. 

But another part of you hoped he’d be so uncomfortable that he’d ask to join you in the bed. Your thoughts returned to when he had slipped his arm around your waist earlier that evening, and you struggled to keep your heart rate in check. It was wrong, you knew it was so wrong because you were supposed to hate him, the villain who had terrorized New York City, and he was supposed to hate you, a simple mortal who was only good for kneeling. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was a whisper, a small shadow in a room full of empty ones. You slowly opened your eyes, your pupils taking their time to adjust the dark and make out the furniture inside the room. You wanted to sit up, to peer out into the world and see if he looked any different on the floor. 

“Can’t sleep. It’s too cold,” you murmured softly, barely able to even pull the blankets tighter around you. 

Loki sighed off in the distance. “The power’s been knocked out by the storm, so the heating’s off.” 

It was only then that you realized the bedside table lamps had gone out. Too busy retreating inside yourself, the only warm place you had left. “Oh. Hadn’t noticed.” 

“I could light the fire now, if you’d like.” 

No, you thought. No, that won’t do. That’s not what I want from you. “Why are you being so nice to me now?” 

Loki stirred on the floor, presumably shifting underneath his blankets. He could be sitting up right now, looking at you in the dark and you wouldn’t ever know. “Some things are easier to say in the dark.” 

You thought for a moment, wondering about how to beckon him closer without risking rejection, or your dignity. This shouldn’t happen; and yet, it never ever would in the light. “Then let’s stay in the dark.” 

Loki didn’t respond, and silence descended upon the room again. You couldn’t stop the shivers tormenting your flesh, and your teeth clattered together as you waited for a response. This time, you were sure you were going to freeze to death, despite burning in the waiting, and yearning, and longing that rolled up and down your spine. 

“But where there’s light…there’s heat,” Loki finally answered. His voice was closer, much closer now; he’d stood up, and maybe he was right next to the bed. Could you reach out and touch him? Should you?

“I’m doing just fine in the cold.” 

Loki chuckled, and you felt the blankets pull away as the mattress dipped under his weight. “You shouldn’t lie to the God of Mischief, dear,” he whispered softly as he settled in behind you, curling his knees behind yours and brushing his nose against your ear. 

His body was so very warm, and you were aching for his touch. “I think it’s only fair. You came to my bed, and left your blankets on the floor…” you sassed, unable to help yourself. 

“You want me to retrieve them?” Loki’s voice carried the slightest hint of mockery as he started to pull away. You panicked and grabbed his hand, eagerly pulling his arm back around your waist. 

“So fussy…” he murmured with a smile, his voice hot against your neck as he settled in to spoon you once more. “You want heat, but not light. You hate me, but you want me close…” 

You melted in his arms, and forced out a soft, defiant sigh. “You have no idea what I want…” 

“And you do?” He matched your sigh with one of his own, and pressed his hand flat against your stomach, moving languidly over the fabric of your many shirts and jackets. You could feel how much he wanted to move his hand upwards to more stimulating areas, and it was so very thrilling. 

“So what do you want, hmm? Why did you tell the innkeeper we were engaged, when that wasn’t our planned cover story?” you whispered, shifting your hips and ass against his crotch. 

Loki swallowed a deep groan, and you could feel your own arousal beginning to coat your inner thighs. His hand latched onto your hip, but he didn’t stop you from moving. 

“Was it just to piss me off, or was it because you wanted to pretend it was true?” you continued, shifting back against him and hoping the movement would cause your clothing to reveal a little bare skin. 

“The…first option. Obviously…” Loki whispered, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear as his hips started to grind against yours. 

You swallowed back a moan, trying desperately to ignore his hardened length against the swell of your ass. “Which one of us is the liar now?” 

“Gods, do you ever stop talking?!” he hissed as he began rummaging underneath your jacket, eagerly searching for bare skin as he pulled your shirt upwards. His hand finally found your bare hip, and his touch was white hot as he began unbuttoning your jeans. 

This time, you didn’t bother hiding the moan, and you twisted ever so slightly underneath the sheets to encourage him to keep going. Your heart beat frantically in your chest and your lips parted, intending to tease him one more time with the brattiest ‘make me’ ever spoken aloud…

And then his fingers dipped beneath the waistband to slip between your slick thighs. 

The sound that tumbled from your lips was equally parts gasp and whimper as his fingertips grazed over your soaked clit, and his breath was heavy against your neck. “There we go. That’s more like it…” he whispered breathlessly, slowly dragging his fingers back and forth. 

Your thighs drifted apart, as much as they could while trapped inside the unyielding jeans, and your hips rolled eagerly as he pressed harder against your clit. Heat flooded your veins, pooling beneath your cheeks and spilling out of your lungs as you whimpered for more. 

Loki slipped his other arm around your shoulder, those fingers curling in your hair as his lips started to kiss and suck along your neck. “So sensitive…have you always been this wet for me?” 

“Yes…” you moaned honestly, unable to deny it any longer. You’d say anything to make him keep going, to keep those delicate fingers pressing and massaging and coaxing endless satisfaction from you. 

“That’s a shame. We could have been doing this the whole time then…” he groaned heavily, shuddering and sighing along as if he was getting as much pleasure out of this as you were. 

“Oh, my god - Loki!” you gasped as he slipped a finger inside, slowly pushing and withdrawing it from your swollen, throbbing pussy. Your hips bucked with his movements, and your fingers curled around your clothing, desperately trying to pull and shift to give him more room to work. 

Loki smiled against your neck, and brought his lips up to nibble on your earlobe as he added a second finger. “This feels good, doesn’t it? You’re enjoying what I’m doing to you?” 

That familiar coil of release was beginning to contract inside your core, tighter than it ever had before. Frantic whimpers of ecstasy fell from your lips, unashamed and without second-guessing. With your eyes closed and your hips writhing, you moaned louder and louder as your climax approached. 

“Careful, little one. Do you want the innkeeper to hear us breaking our vows of chastity?” he taunted in a low, thrumming voice against your ear. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care! Just, please - keep going!” 

Loki’s fingers moved faster still, skillfully and without hesitation, as if he was completely determined to bring you to Heaven himself. But just as the floodgates were about to open, just as you were about to come so very hard, he cruelly withdrew his fingers. 

“What?! No!” Your eyes flew open in shock as the pressure receded and the coil in your belly began to loosen. 

Loki gazed at you with a triumphant grin on his face, his emerald eyes blazing in the dark. “Maybe now you’ll be nicer to me…now that you know what I can do to you…” he murmured, bringing his fingers to his lips and sucking your arousal from them. 

Your mind reeled uncontrollably, so furious and yet still so turned on by the pleasure he’d brought and subsequently taken from you. “I- I can’t believe you…Wh-why would you’d d-do this…?” you stammered, clumsily pushing yourself up to sitting. 

Loki settled on his back, grinning from ear to ear as he watched you struggling to pull your jacket off. “Surely you can. But the real question is…what are you going to do about it, hmm?” 

“Oh, my God, I hate you. I hate you so much,” you groaned as you finally freed the zipper and yanked the jacket off your frame. You stumbled out of the bed, thighs trembling violently as you worked to remove the rest of your clothing. You weren’t lying; you did hate him, but goddammit he was so alluring and you desperately needed to come. 

Loki watched hungrily as you stripped the rest of your clothing away and climbed back onto the bed, settling yourself over his hips. “Well, this is certainly an interesting strategy,” he whispered as he curled a hand behind your neck and pulled your lips down to his. 

You moaned deeply as you kissed him back, violently and passionately moving your lips and tongue with his. You eagerly rolled your bare pussy against his clothed hips, searching for any sort of friction and for a way to tease him more than he’d teased you, to make sure you wouldn’t be denied a second time. 

He met your lips just as eagerly, groaning and moaning against your mouth as he moved his hands to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing across your nipples and driving you mad with want. Your hands moved to his jacket, grabbing and struggling to align the zipper with the chain and be able to feel his skin directly against yours. 

“Use your magic, undo your clothing…” you whispered frantically against his lips, unable to see or think clearly. 

“Absolutely not. Show me how much you want me…” Loki hummed teasingly, shifting his hands downwards to grasp your ass and force you to roll harder against his hips. 

You grinned, pleased with his words, and pulled back to sit upright on his hips. With your full weight pressing down, you rolled yourself harder against him, and his back arched in pleasure. When his jaw clenched tight and he rolled his hips with yours, you violently pulled the jacket zipper down and then ripped his shirt open. 

“Oh, you are going to pay for that, minx!” Loki hissed angrily as shirt buttons went flying across the room. He pulled his hand away as if preparing to smack your ass, but you ignored it, leaned forward to take his nipple between your lips. 

Loki moaned loudly as you sucked, flicking your tongue as he squirmed and writhed beneath you. His eyes closed and both of his hands returned to your ass, and you matched every one of his moans with some of your own. Vindication and pleasure rushed up and down your spine - and then he finally magicked his clothes away. 

You found yourself pressed directly against the length of his throbbing cock, and you both moaned loudly in unison at the intimate contact. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but you couldn’t believe how amazing it felt already. You shifted to bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent and basking in the warmth of his naked body as your hips gyrated together. 

The blizzard outside was forgotten, the cold air nipping at your bare skin was no longer a concern, and in that moment you couldn’t remember why you ever hated him. He whimpered in your ear and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as your hips writhed in unison, and soon that coil was wrapping itself around every fiber of your being again. 

There was nothing anyone could do to stop you from coming this time; in fact, Loki actively encouraged you to keep going through a heated, growling voice. “Yes, take it from me. Let it all out, I’ve got you…” he commanded, his fingers pressing harder into your flesh. 

The orgasm ripped through you, searing every nerve ending as you thrashed on top of him. Your fingers and toes curled beyond what you thought was ever possible, and your muscles kept tensing and relaxing, grinding and rolling in a desperate attempt to keep this pleasure flowing. 

Loki held on tightly, groaning and gasping right along with you until you finally started to come back down. One by one your muscles relaxed until you lay limp, breathing heavily between parted lips on top of him. You were finally sated, with no thoughts passing through you any longer; maybe now you could finally fall asleep…

Satisfied that you had gotten yours - and the better of him - you started to roll away, but his arms tightened around your body, keeping you on top of him. “Oh, I don’t think so, darling. I’m not done with you yet…” 

Your eyes fluttered back open as Loki adjusted your body on top of his, and before you could muster the strength to tease him again, he was pushing himself inside you. It felt incredible, like his body was molded to fit inside yours, and you couldn’t believe he’d somehow figured out what your favorite position was. 

A deep whimper of pleasure was all you could manage as you took him in, his cock pulsating inside you and filling you entirely. Loki moved his hands back down to grip your ass as he began to thrust upwards, his thighs tensing and pelvis tilting to hit your sweet spot. You shifted your knees away from his hips and hovered above them as he drove himself into you over and over again. 

Almost immediately you were on the verge of coming a second time, and you cried out his name as every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession. Loki’s thrusts were relentless as he came apart with you, his fingers digging into your flesh and hips bucking wildly and uncontrollably beneath you. 

You clung to each other the entire time, your minds wracked with pleasure and bodies spent until you were both just panting and laying peacefully in each other’s arms. When clarity returned, you had no idea how to react; should you push him away? Should you say something rude? Was he going to beat you to either of those options first? 

The deepest, most vulnerable part of you just wanted to stay there, lingering in the bliss you both had created with each other. You’d never had a partner this exquisite before, and you didn’t know what you were going to do when you returned home - let alone the next morning. 

You nestled in against his chest and listened to the sound of his heart beating - steadily, calmly, peacefully. Loki kept his arms around you, and his fingers ran through your hair, gently massaging your scalp as he held you close. 

“I’ve got a lot of amends to make,” Loki said quietly, his voice tinged with melancholy. 

You blinked and cautiously brought your hand to his chest, placing it soothingly over his heart. “What do you mean?”

“Earlier you asked why I was here. I’ve got a lot of amends to make,” he repeated, placing his hand over yours. “For New York, for the pain I’ve caused my father and brother, for letting myself be - ” 

Loki swallowed hard and shook his head, and could almost feel the regret swelling in his eyes. There was something important he wasn’t sharing; maybe he didn’t know how, or maybe he didn’t know if he could trust you yet. Something deep inside you longed to earn that trust, something you didn’t quite understand. 

“You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to. But…I’d be willing to listen, whenever you are ready,” you replied sincerely, hoping he’d believe you. And then you continued on, to make a joke and hopefully lighten the mood. “First, though, I think we need to agree to a cease-fire. In the spirit of Christmas, and whatnot.” 

Loki smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I knew you’d be the first one to concede…” he murmured playfully. “But I’m feeling generous. Let’s just call it a draw…” 

Your mind reeled with possibilities, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t make anything worse or ruin the moment. “Really? I thought your hatred of me was permanent…” you answered cautiously. 

Loki shifted his hand to gently grasp your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “I don’t hate you. You just…bewilder and confound me…”

His gaze was soft and warm, and it almost took your breath away. If he was this delicate with someone he found this irritating, how tender could he be with someone he actually loved? And could he ever actually love you someday? 

You forced a smile, and traced his cheekbones with your fingertips, hoping he couldn’t read your thoughts. “I don’t know. Maybe all the teasing and insulting was what made this so good?” you murmured playfully. 

Loki returned your smile, although there was a hint of sadness you couldn’t quite place etched upon his features. “I suppose we’ll see what happens in tomorrow’s light, won’t we?” 

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

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[watsittoyah]

Prayers From A Sinner- Dick Grayson x Blk Fem Reader

Warnings-Sexual content, and adult content. Toxic behavior, enemies to lovers? Oral sex, slight rough sex, drug use, violent behavior.

I do want to let everyone know that this story will have dark themes. It’ll be erratic at times and the main characters morals will be tested. There will be foul language and lots of descriptions of acts of violence and other uncomfortable subjects. If those themes aren’t for you, I won’t feel any way about it and you don’t have to continue. But for those who decides to stay and read, thank you, I’ll do my best making this story���interesting and entertaining.

Chapter 1 - Thou Shall Not Kill…

“Dear God, I know we haven’t spoken in ten years, but…I know you listen. Even to sinners like me. I know I won’t make it to those pearly gates but you please please save her. My mothers faith has never wavered, she always speak so highly of you. Just…don’t take away the one person who loves me.” You pray as you knees at the alter.

The sentiments were soon gone when you felt a shadow beside you. You open your eyes and turn to face him. “You shouldn’t be here.” The reverend says glaring at you. You kiss your fingertips and proceed to tell the good lord amen and then you look back at the Reverend.

“What? Can’t sinners come to church and pray too?” You ask in an innocent tone. “You know God won’t be listening to your prayers, you little demon.” He hisses at you which only gets a rise out of you. You rise from off of your knees and lean in.

“Tell me, reverend…do you still get those urges?” His glaring shakes a bit as he knows what you’re asking. “You need to leave, now Miss Price.” He tells you ignoring your question. “Oh but Rev, I was just asking do you still get those urges? Especially when you do communion? Do you get a stiff one when you have the men open their mouths when they eat that cracker?”

“I said get out!” He snaps causing you to laugh in his face. You wipe the tear from your eye and pat his arm. “Don’t worry, Reverend Jones. I was only teasing. But if you ever want to settle those urges you know where to come. I got the best boys that’ll satisfy you better than the misses. Just remember I won’t tell if you don’t.” You wink at him and motion for your three body guards to follow you outside of the church.

“Church people are so judgement.” You tell Nathan, your best guy. “That’s why I’m atheist.” You laugh and he helps you down the stairs while Marc gets the truck ready and Jake holds your umbrella.

You stop mid step and sigh. “Hold on, boys. I’ve got company.” You turn and right in the shadows you see him. “I’ll be back.” You pluck the umbrella from Marc and continue down the steps.

“But Miss Price-” You turn to Nathan and give him a look that makes him back down. “I’ll be fine, now don’t hover you know I hate when you do that.” You walk away from him and you walk down the alleyway, and stand in the slight moon light.

“You know you’re not your daddy, Richie Rich. Come out so I can see you.” You say with a slight smirk on your lips. Dick Grayson had stepped out of the shadows but he wasn’t wearing his stupid getup.

No he was dressed differently. Hell he stood differently, and he was more filled out than the last time you saw him. But things change in six years. “What are you doing here, Victoria? I thought it was clear that you were never to come back here in Gotham.”

You cock your head to the side at him. Clearly his attitude hasn’t changed.

“That’s rude, normally when you greet an old friend you ask them how they’ve been and what they’ve been up to.”

“We’d have to be friends for me to ask that.” He steps up close to you and you smile. “Awe, Richie Rich that hurt my feelings. Now kiss my lips and make the pain go away.” You say as you lean in.

But he moves back from you and leans against the wall. “Why are you here?” He asks again. “I have business to take care of here, since you’re so concerned. Now where is Batman? Is he still around?” You ask looking past him.

Dick looks at you and you see the sadness in his masked face. “I heard about your mother. I’m sorry-” You raise your hand and stop him. “Don’t be sorry, people die all the time. It just happens to be my moms name on the reapers list.” You say in a cold tone.

“You know that I can talk to some people. See if she can get better treatment.” You laugh in his face. “What you don’t think I haven’t done that? You don’t think I haven’t tried to buy more time for her? I have thrown enough money at these so called doctors, and all they’ve told me was she has no time! She is dying! And I can’t do a fucking thing for her! You and I both know she doesn’t deserve this, she’s one of the good ones in this dump of a city. And I have to watch her leave me!”

Dick walks over to you and he hugs you as you feel your shoulders shake. “I’m here for you, you know that right, Victoria?” Dick makes you look at him and you give a nod. “I know. I just-I hate crying. God damnit.” You wipe the tears and Dick kisses your head.

“You…you can’t stay here in Gotham. You have too many warrants and you’re a target.” You shake off his embrace and glare at him. “You think I give a fuck about that right now? You insensitive bastard!” You go to slap him but he catches your wrist and he sighs.

“Don’t take your anger out on me. I know you’re hurt. I know you want to lash out just to make yourself feel better. But I just want you to be safe. You know I care about you.” He tells you as you oddly become calm.

“If you want me to feel better then, make me feel better. This suit looks good on you. Makes your shoulders look more broad. And you smell good. I bet you still taste good.” You start to press up against him and you cup the front of him making him flustered a bit. “Victoria, I can’t. We can’t.”

“Are you scared of me, Dick? I promise I’ll be a good girl for you. I won’t leave bruises like last time. I’ll even let you leave some down my throat.” You press him against the wall and as you go to kiss him he stops you and he holds you still.

“No, I said no and I mean that.” Your eyes get low and you step off. “Fine, I won’t press my luck. I apologize.” You say in a monotoned voice. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you want to talk. Maybe we can-” You turn on your heel ignoring him and you feel him follow you. As he reaches out to you, you snatch your arm back and point to the siren noises.

“Superman ain’t here so get to it Robin.” You spit at him as you walk towards your truck. You don’t even look back as you step inside. You just toss the umbrella and glare out the window.

“Marc, take me to Spades. Miss Molly is getting a bit dull and I want to show her off.” You tell him as Nathan and Jake both sit quietly. “Sure thing boss.”

••••

“Watch the doors fellas.” You tell Marc and Nathan as you step into the strip club. You see ass and bare breasts all around. You see a great amount of men, all salivating at the women dancing for them and you yawn. You take off your fur and Jake takes it for you while you walk towards the vip section. You feel eyes on you and but no one catches your attention like he does.

There was something about Dick Grayson that made you get into this mood. You never let your emotions go like this, you were a pro at bottling them up, but old Richie Rich just knew how to break that bottle and make you pour.

You knew he could bring out the best side of you, he could help you with your attitude and you’d be an upright citizen. But why would you want that? You’ve left far too many dead bodies in your wake. And you didn’t want to scrape for pennies ever again.

You’ve made a name for yourself and you liked the fear it invoked in others.

So that is why you needed a distraction, you didn’t want to think about him anymore. So you eyed the male dancers. One had a very large bulge as he moved his hips to the slow yet low base beat song. You two made eye contact and you take a crisp one hundred dollar bill out.

“You’re cute, what’s your name?” He gets on his knees and he crawls over to you. “Nicholas, but you can call me yours, pretty lady.” He accepts the money from you and you smile, looking at his pretty tan skin and his pretty white teeth.

“I think I’ll keep you. You wanna come home with me, Nicky?” His deep brown eyes seems to look a bit panicked and you gently place your well manicured nail under his chin. “Don’t be scared. Trust me, I’m all bark.” You flirt as you stare into his eyes.

His pupils dilate which causes you to smirk. But suddenly you feel someone behind you. “Now this looks like a party.” You smell cheap scotch and you turn, seeing Jake grab the strangers shoulder but you shake your head and he backs off.

“Nicky, go get us a room and wait there for me.” You pass him another one hundred and he gladly takes it and nods. “I’ll be waiting pretty lady.” He leaves off the stage and walks away, you look at his ass and you sigh.

“Come on, baby can’t I watch?” The cheap scotch drinker asks. With a swift move you take out your rose gold beretta that was secured to your thigh under your dress. You placed it under his chin and as soon as he heard the click, he sobered up quite quickly.

“Wa-” You shake your head at him. “I thought you said you wanted to watch? Well I don’t think you’ll want to watch that pretty boy eat my pussy out. I bet you’ll want to watch some girl on girl action? Well let me introduce you to miss Molly. Ain’t she pretty? She packs a mighty blow and I’m sure you’d want to watch that right?”

“N…no. Please don’t kill me.” You raise a brow at him. “I’m really a nice lady, now if I recall I asked you a question. Answer it. Isn’t Molly pretty?” The man stutters out a yes and you smile.

You pat his cheek and rub the barrel against his lips. “I think, everyone should meet Miss Molly. Now stand there and be quiet while I introduce her.” You move the gun from his lips and you shoot three shots in the air, scaring the hell out of all the patrons in the club.

The music comes to a holt and you blow the smoke from your gun. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce my little friend named Molly, and I wanted to reintroduce myself. I am Vic Price. You may have heard of me, and if not then let me remind you who I am. First things first, I am not someone to fuck with. Okay? I will shoot you and then go out for ice cream because I feel like it. Secondly, I know a lot of you in here are my enemies main men, let your bosses know I don’t give a fuck about the targets. I’m out for blood and I’m ready to spill it. And lastly, does anyone know this guy?” You point to the scotch drinker and just about everyone in the place shakes their heads.

“Good, this is a lot easier for me.” Without hesitation you shoot the man in his face and his blood as well as brain matter splatters against the stage. You step up closer to his fallen body and you shoot him in his mouth as well. A few girls scream and a few people scramble to the door but they stop as they see Nathan and Marc.

“Here you go boss.” Jake hands you a handkerchief and you wipe your gun clean and place it back on your person. “Jake you’re the best, and because you are the best please explain to the lovely folks in the room, why I shot that man in his face and his jaw.”

“Miss Price here shot that sack of shit in the face, because she doesn’t want him to be recognized by the Gotham police. And she also shot him in his jaw just so he can’t be identified by his dental records. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Price simply shot him because she was in the middle of a conversation with someone. I don’t know about you lot but I wouldn’t want to fuck with this lady.”

You clap as you laugh. “I love this guy! Now where is the owner of this fine establishment?” You scan the room and Jake points to the chubby man trying to run back stage. “Grab him.” You order.

He moves quickly and grabs the man. “Hey le…let me go!” Jake tosses him at your feet and the man looks up at you scared.

“I don’t want any problems. I respect your father and-” You bend down close to his ear and whisper something only he could hear.

“You know my old man? Please let him know his baby girl is back in town and she’s coming for what she’s owed. And if you don’t tell him, I will shoot your little pecker off and make you eat the rest. Do you understand?”

He nods quickly and you smile. “Good boy. You know what, I’m going to stay in Gotham for a while and I think I’m going to take this place off of your hands. You don’t mind right?”

“I can’t do that-” You stomp your stiletto down on his hand and he gives out a cry. “What was that?” You ask. “It’s yours! It’s yours Miss Price.” You remove your pointed heel and you look back at the crowd.

“Spades is under new management! Ladies and gentlemen all the tips tonight belongs to you. As for the rest of you that have came in to pay? Tip my people well, I’ll be making more change’s tomorrow! Jake, you make sure you keep these people from bothering me. I have a new pet to break in. Oh and one more thing, cut that cheap scotch drinking bastards hands off and drop them somewhere no one can find them.” He smiles wide and nods. “You got it boss.”

You walk down to the vip room and you lean against the door frame as you knock. Nicholas opens the door and he looks spooked. “Were those a gun shots?” He asks as he looks past you.

You place your hand on his toned chest and you move him back into the room. “Don’t worry about those loud noises, Nicky. I took care of that. Now come dance for me.” You say as you look into his brown eyes.

He gives a slight smile and he leads you to a chair. You sit down and he moves close to you and he places your hands on his abs, as well as his thighs.

“You wanna be my special friend, Nicky?” You ask as you move your hands from him and place them on the hem of your dress. “All depends…what are the benefits of being your special friend?” He asks as he eyes your body.

“You get access to me, you get spoiled. And I do love spoiling my friends. And most of all you get to have the best sex in your life. I’ll fuck you so good, you’ll see God and the devil at the same time. How’s that sound?” You ask as you raise your heel and he takes it, letting his soft hands rub down your calf. “That sounds amazing, but why me?” He asks as he unclasps your heel and he rubs your pretty black painted toes.

You let out a giggle. “Because I like that bulge you have in those skimpy little shorts, and because your eyes remind me of someone. They look…kind.” Nicholas smiles at that and he brings your foot to his lips.

“Can I?” He asks as he kisses the pads of your toes. “Go ahead, let me see you enjoy yourself Nicky.” He sucks your toes and he lets out a soft moan as he licks and suck’s your foot. You rest your head on your chin and you can visibly see he’s getting rock hard.

“That’s enough, Nicky.” You tell him. He gently places your foot down and you hike your dress up past your belly button. “I want to see what else you like sucking on.”

He kneels down and looks up at you. “I..I won’t get in trouble will I?” He asks as he looks down at your freshly waxed brown pussy. “Nah, the new manager here said she’ll let this slide. Come closer, I’m sure you’re hungry after dancing all night.” He leans in and as he grips your thighs he freezes and moves his hand back.

That movement makes you giggle. “Awe, what’s the matter? You don’t like guns?” You ask as you pat Molly. “I..um, I don’t have great experiences with them.”

You cup his chin and move in close as if you’re about to kiss him but you stop. “Well I won’t ever raise Molly to you as long as you don’t make me upset, if you do oh you won’t like that. Now Molly is staying right on my thigh. But you don’t need to be concerned about that. Just pay attention to what’s between my thighs. Now I have two things to tell you. After you give the correct answer we can have fun. Number one…I want you to know I have two main rules. One, you only get to fuck me. If you fuck someone else I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again. And two, I want you to treat me like I am your god. When I enter your presence, worship me. When I walk past you, hunger for me to come to you. Do you understand?” He nods but you grip his chin. “Answer me.”

“Y…yes pretty lady.” You let go and you place your hand on top of his head and move his face between your legs. “Now answer this for me as well. Do you have full understanding on how to eat pussy?” You hear him inhale the scent of your sex and he lets out a moan. “Yes, yes I do pretty lady.”

“Call me Vic, and I’m so happy to hear that. Now take that delicious looking clit of mine, move the hood back and lick it with just the tip of your tongue.” He does what he’s told and you lean your head back as you feel him lick circles around your clit.

“Such a good boy you are. You’re going to be my favorite. Now go ahead and suck.” You push his head deeper between your legs and you let out a soft moan as he sucks your clit hungrily.

Even though you know it’s Nicholas between your legs, your mind still wonders to Dick. In your mind he was the one licking you out and making you wet on the seat.

“It’s so good to be home…”

Next

[greenninjagal-blog]

With An Enemy Like You (Who Needs A Lover?)

:) New fic? New Fic.

Summary: Virgil is an FBI agent. Janus is a Mob Prince. Fifteen years ago they were boyfriends.

Words: 9521

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To Roman’s credit, he does try to stop Virgil.

It’s almost impressive how quickly Roman catches on. There are so many things already happening around him that even Virgil feels a bit overwhelmed—twenty four tables in the vicinity have unobstructed vision on the VIP table in the middle where the target was sitting, meaning that there were forty eight people with possibly concealed weapons ready to kill whoever walked up to the table; the waiters were attentive and quick moving, so fast it was a miracle they hadn’t bumped into each other and it would take two people dedicatedly watching their hands every second to make sure nothing surprising made it into the food; the grand floor-to-ceiling windows were freshly cleaned and any possible snipers would have perfect views as they sat and waited in their perches in the high rises surrounding the restaurant; Logan is purposely sitting himself across from the target who might at any moment reveal a new method of murder, they couldn’t have possibly accounted for—and yet Roman’s eyes snap right to Virgil when he walks in and he’s standing before Virgil makes it halfway across the open floor.

Roman is a good agent. He’s an excellent actor too. Virgil’s always been privately starstruck by how easily Roman’s good-natured optimism can flip on and off like a switch. One moment he’s an upstanding FBI agent who will always fight to protect people, the next he’s the scheming, skeevy fencer (or forger, or drug supplier, or, or, or) that they need for undercover work. He’s good at everything he tries, and excellent at things he practices.

Virgil thinks it might be a shame that Roman practiced being Virgil’s Friend.

Because Virgil is halfway across the floor and Roman’s calling out to him and everything is moving too fast.

Roman’s fake date, Missy, is complaining about something both mundane and made up, there’s a waiter taking orders for the table next to the target, the woman at the table in the corner has a laugh that sounds like a tea kettle whistling, a man in a business meeting keeps checking his watch and the clock face keeps catching the fading sunlight almost in a pattern, a waitress in the back is carrying a tray of waters to the far side of the room, there’s a sommelier giving a rundown of the wine list to a couple, Logan is asking the target what his goal is. Voices keep bouncing off the walls, the chandeliers sway nearly unnoticeable overhead, there’s a chill in the air that makes everything feel like porcelain against his skin. The fabric of Virgil’s suit is tugging against his frame, and Roman is standing up, and Roman’s wine is all over Missy’s $500 dress, and Missy is swearing in the most unladylike fashion, and Virgil draws his gun and puts it to the back of the target’s head.

And, just like that, everything is completely still.

Even Logan, who’d been in the middle of a sentence cut himself off completely, his eyes piercing into Virgil with a bewildered expression that’s quickly morphing into one of fury as the situation clicks into steady place. There might even be a layer of worry buried underneath, but Virgil can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. Logan would want to see an apology in Virgil’s countenance, or an explanation for why Virgil went directly against his orders, or proof that Virgil holding a gun at the target is just a mass hallucination.

And Virgil has none of that to give him.

“….And you said he wouldn’t be joining me this evening,” the target says. The sudden oppressive silence makes his languid tone spill across the spacious floor, unhurried and as saccharine as honey. “Truly, Special Agent Ackroyd, I feel as though you don’t know the members of your own team quiet well enough.”

If Virgil were a better agent, he would have been listening to the coms, planning this to be as inoffensive as possible to his own team. If Virgil had been a better employee—a better team player, a better subordinate—he would have taken a double dose of a sleeping pill and spent tonight conked out of his mind rather than come here.

If Virgil were a better person, then the safety would have been slightly harder to switch off.

He wonders for a moment if the cameras can pick up on the way his hands shake, the barely perceptible tremble that comes from facing something he’s been running from for fifteen years.

Patton, after all, has control of the cameras and he’s as close to an expert on body language as a human being can get. He would know in a second, if he didn’t already, the reason why Virgil had to come—why no amount of bluffing would work on the target, why no order from his superiors would be enough to keep Virgil from showing up, why Patton’s only chance to stop him had been to tackle him in the parking lot.

Virgil had enjoyed his first two years on the team, this team, their team. He’d never go so far as to admit that they were friends—Virgil was particular and picky about putting a label on people these days—but he’d gone out to drinks with them more often than not. He knew Roman’s coffee order, practiced perfect grammar in his written reports for Logan, helped Patton with a volunteer event on one of his precious days off. He’d even picked up drunk-off-his-ass Remus from a bar after his uber canceled and brought Missy ice cream on the anniversary of her dad’s death. Virgil was prickly at best, but the others weathered his quiet, unfriendly aura and in turn he did his best to curb the worst of his habits and pretend to be a functional human.

They tracked down killers across the country, put a stop to serial arsonists, and reunited families with their kidnapped loved ones. They cracked a human trafficking ring, shut down Bonnie-and-Clyde bank robbers, solved nine different cold cases that brought closure to hundreds of people. They were doing good.

Then one case had a link back to another. A name from the guest list at a previous crime showed up on the witness list for another completely different one. People in the background of security photos started to look familiar.

Then, suddenly, every case had started to weave together, as though someone was pulling on strings and making puppets dance in front of them. Evidence appeared and disappeared at just the right time; key witnesses withdrew statements or provided airtight alibis; large sums of money and dozens of text messages to burner phones linked back to no one at all. Logan had even gotten pressured by his superior to drop a lead and let a prime suspect go.

Half a year ago a criminal had chosen suicide by cop instead of talking to them, several CEOs had gone tight lipped and grey in the face of questioning, and a politician had even been found hanging in his cell less than twenty minutes after requesting a meeting with Virgil’s team’s lead after they caught him involved in an arms smuggling operation.

Someone had started messing with the FBI, and Virgil’s team specifically. Virgil couldn’t even confidently say that they had closed cases themselves anymore, because it only ever seemed that someone let them find the clues left behind. It didn’t matter how far away their cases had ended up being: Virgil couldn’t shake the feeling of being whispered about behind his back.

It felt familiar in all the worst ways.

Then the card invitation had appeared on Virgil’s desk, waiting oh-so-innocently for them to arrive back from their latest finished case, resting on top of the unfinished reports he’d been behind in finishing. The sight of it had drawn him to a stop so suddenly that it had immediately alerted Roman to something being wrong.

The cameras were down, security said, scratching their heads. Scheduled update.

Patton had insisted on sending the card for fingerprinting, even though it would come back clean of prints besides Virgil’s impulsive ones. The cream cardstock was unassuming and unoffensive, the font in black cursive, the border done in a delicate gold foil which shimmered in the office lights as Virgil’s hands shook.

Simple and to-the-point, as if the sender was paying for each word and was short on money: a time and a place. They hadn’t even left a signature. Just a simple “See You There”. Virgil should have crumpled it and thrown it away and done his reports.

Team Lead Logan Ackroyd, obviously, hadn’t wanted Virgil anywhere near this. Glaringly apparent trap aside, Logan had more than enough common sense to see that Virgil hadn’t been on his A-game, or even his B-game, for a noticeable amount of time. While Virgil’s quick reactions in the FBI academy training tests were still record holding, the lingering feeling of being watched and played with had caused Virgil’s distraction twice in the previous mission, and the second time had ended with a bomb getting set off.

But Patton had pointed out that missing an appointment might cause the perpetrator to use more drastic means to contact them. They’d all been aware that someone was setting them up, that money was being exchanged between hands, and shadowy people were making decisions like Virgil’s team were just number statistics instead of living breathing people. If this was their mysterious puppet master reaching out about the shit show of their last mission, then they wanted to be heard and they would keep trying.

And next time they likely wouldn’t be as nice as to give them the option to ignore them.

The threat of the sender showing up at one of their homes when they were alone and off duty was enough for Logan to relent on skipping the invitation all together. The danger they could face together would undoubtedly be safer than the danger they’d have to face alone, but under no circumstances was Virgil allowed to be on the confrontation team; he could have a seat in in the offices finishing up reports or head home with an escort to watch his house all night, but Special Agent Virgil Storm was not to be anywhere close to this location.

Virgil hadn’t said anything as the others decided this.

He couldn’t have said anything as the others decided this.

Every time he opened his mouth it felt like there was sand slipping down his throat, turning his lungs into an hourglass he couldn’t stop. If he’d spoken up, they would have demanded to know why he hadn’t before. Virgil hadn’t been able to come up with a reason—even the most comical take on it all would have been treated seriously by his team, but the words wouldn’t come and now it had turned into him needing an excuse. Virgil had nothing. He didn’t even have an apology to offer Remus.

So, the entire world is horribly silent, and Virgil stands with his gun pointed at the back of the head of the man who was going to wreck his entire life again and wonders why he hasn’t pulled the trigger.

Black suit, Italian silk, two button jacket—Virgil knows the cut from the endless hours of complaining that Roman’s done over magazines instead of doing his reports. His team hadn’t known who they were looking for walking in, but the sheer amount of wealth and prestige dripping from him is exactly enough to tell them that this man is their puppet master; the snake cufflinks with actual diamonds in them are just consolation prizes in case the family name escaped them. His posture is the perfect blend of casual and elegant: he’s sitting at the table with his legs crossed comfortably, and lounging in the way that only rich people could at an establishment where water costs more than a month’s worth of work.

Case in point: Logan is across from him, ramrod stiff and face paled, his plate empty and his silverware untouched, and not even a fingerprint on the water glass to show he moved it out of the way for him to sit. His suit was a business suit, something to wear at the office with enough give to make it practical if a sudden firefight broke out. At an establishment like this, he looked tacky rather than professional, and it was likely plucking at Logan’s irritation nearly as much as the entire situation was.

Behind both of them, past the tables of horrified guests who all froze at the sight of a gun and the wait staff that had been caught unprepared for such audacity, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city and provide an excellent view of the setting sun in Virgil’s face. But Virgil can understand an attempted metaphor when he sees one: as Virgil walked up, he was forced to see the dying sun rays crafting a halo around the target’s head. Even now, it’s nearly painting worthy, and Virgil struggles not to counter with “blood on the white short stemmed rose centerpiece”.

The target has a wine glass in his hand, gently swirling a half-cup of white wine before he brings it to his lips, unbothered by the threat less than an inch from him.

“Hello Special Agent Virgil Storm,” the man says without turning around, barely a head tilt to acknowledge what had the rest of the building suspended in time.

Virgil isn’t exactly surprised that he knows who it is. Virgil hadn’t made any noise as he walked up, his footsteps as silent as every trained agent knows to be in the middle of a mission—even his breathes had been far and few on account of the crushing weight of what he might find waiting at the table for him. The target’s attention had been completely focused on insulting Logan for attempting to trigger a trap that hadn’t been set for him.

But as far as Virgil’s aware, there’s only been one idiot big enough to point a gun at him in his entire life.

There might have been hidden cameras in the lobby, which pinged when the algorithm recognized Virgil walk onto the scene. Or he might have felt the subtle shift of the air when the door had been opened and known that Virgil had decided to accept the invitation left for him regardless of how stupid it was. Or maybe he heard the half shout that Roman had made before he realized it was already too late and felt the relief that his dolls still danced when he commanded it. Or maybe he noticed Logan’s eyes over his shoulder, catching sight of Virgil walking up after he’d been told explicitly to not come, and realized there was only one person who could cause his superior such horror and fury at one moment.

Faintly, Virgil hears his team over the coms, buzz, buzz, buzzing. Each of their voices blurs into one another: he thinks Roman curses at him for being stupid, Missy snaps that Virgil owes him a dress, so he better not die, Patton orders him to hold on a moment because that man is extremely dangerous—

But Virgil doesn’t need that to hear that. He’s known that for a long time.

"Janus," Virgil says darkly.

The man hums in a self-assured, pleased way. “You’re late, you know. I thought you were going to stand me up!”

“The only time I plan on arriving early for you is for your fucking funeral.”

"My, my, such hostilities!" Janus says, tilting his head slightly to look over his shoulder and grace Virgil with part of his smirk, a flicker of those brown-grey eyes alight with mischief, playful and kind and a lie. "What have I done to deserve this?"

Virgil doesn’t rise to the bait. "Why did you ask me here?"

"Is it not enough to just want to see the charming face of an esteemed FBI special agent?" Janus says smoothly. He shifts his weight ever so slightly, swirling his glass in hypnotizing circles. Virgil’s seen the move a thousand times before: with alcohol in a red plastic cup from a drink table he bought, with soda from a plastic bottle from a vending machine, with milk in the cartoons from the school lunches. The graceful elegance of the motion is part of the trick—just like everything else about him.

Virgil says, "If your next words are "please help me Virgil, I'm being framed!" I’m going to make them your last words entirely."

“Virgil,” Logan hisses out. “He’s not—"

Janus laughs, because of course he does. Because he’s an asshole and a bastard and a criminal and everything Virgil hates. "I would never waste your time like that!"

And then he turns around, fully, casually, smoothly, and Time itself stops entirely.

Because it’s Janus. At the end of it all, it’s still Janus. His blond hair is still gelled back in that ridiculous hairstyle he decided on in high school with a whole two strands of hair free to bounce over his forehead, his eyes are still dual colored and sparkling like cider and there are still crinkles by them from the way he’s perpetually laughing at an inside joke, his lips are still thin and pink and inviting, hiding his picture-perfect politician’s smile.

Virgil’s traitorous heart still jumps right into his throat.

“Aw, did you miss me?” Janus asks, “Darling.”                   

“Hardly,” Virgil says honestly and means it.

“Oh, ouch. My feelings are hurt.”

“Good. Are we done here?”

“Why are you in such a rush?” Janus asks. “Slow down. Sit down. Have a glass of wine—on me, of course, I know what the government pays even its most celebratedagents—you’re too tense.”

Virgil almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. His finger is poised over the trigger and one accident away from never having to meet Janus’s gaze again. But Janus smiles with all the warmth of an old friend, inviting and alluring, leaning forward on the chair back to nearly press his head to the barrel. As though Janus Ekans, the mob prince, would be delighted to have Virgil’s face be the last thing he sees.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” Janus says fondly. “All work and no play.”

As though he hadn’t been avoiding Virgil as much as Virgil had been avoiding him.

“I don’t play with racketeers.”

And the smug smile on Janus’s face is nearly enough for Virgil to lose his tightly wound composure entirely. The flash of perfect teeth, the flick of his tongue wetting over his shiny lip-glossed lips, before he indulges in another sip of his wine pretending like he doesn’t want Virgil to watch the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

“See, I would believe that, Virgil,” Janus says, eyeing the swish-swish of his wine. “But cleaning expenses of my first Lexus say otherwise.”

Somewhere behind him, Virgil hears Roman’s voice choking on a creative take of religious figures. Logan’s gaze snaps up to Virgil’s expression, searching, searching, searching for something to disprove Janus’s words. Patton’s voice whispers in his ear about how that can’t possibly be right, Virgil, that’s not true, is it? You would have told us that you were in cahoots with someone on the FBI’s watchlist, right?

((It was an Audi RS7 and Virgil hates that he can remember, that for a split second he can feel of those leather seats on his bare skin, that he can smell the vanilla air freshener that Janus had his cleaners use, that it’s on the tip of his tongue to correct him, and Janus is smirking at him because he wants Virgil to correct him and prove he hadn’t been able to forget Janus at all.))

“What a terrifying look on your face,” Janus says, conversationally, resting against the back of his chair. “One would think that I took something from you that you hadn’t been absolutely desperate to give me! How vile!”

“I’m surprised you remember anything from those days,” Virgil says. “Considering you spent them so drunk the only way you knew you were in a school building was when someone was telling you to dump out your water bottle of vodka.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Janus says defensively.

If Virgil wasn’t staring him in the face, he wouldn’t have even seen the twitch of his lips as he fumbles the attempt to appear unphased. The pink flush over his cheeks wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but Virgil could be blind and still know he’d pre-gamed.

“You’re not even sober right now.”

“We all have our vices,” Janus counters, but the warmth of his tone is tepid at best. “Or are you telling me that you would have managed to walk in the doors unarmed even if your team had already reported my corpse, Virge? Do I scare you that much still? I have no weapons on me, and I’ve brought no bodyguards here, and yet you can’t shake the feeling I’m a threat.”

Because you are. Virgil almost says it. Who can look at him, at his pristine clothes, his friendly smile, his mischievous eyes—who can hear his amiable tone and candied words and honeyed whispers– who can go to a magic show and not expect to be duped in some way?

Virgil’s seen him at his worst: blood on his immaculate clothes, and his friendly smile a bit too wild and a bit too sadistic, and his mischievous eyes violent with fury. Virgil heard his tone icy cold and Virgil’s tasted the poison under those sugarcoated words and then he’s heard that tongue of his drip out honeyed whispers as though he hadn’t murdered someone right in front of Virgil.

((Self-defense from a violent mugging, the police called it. Virgil hadn’t been brave enough to ask if they were in Janus’s pockets before or if that was the first time those officers had had the pleasure of meeting the Ekans family heir.))

“Sit down and have dinner with me, Virgil,” Janus says with the same mouth that once tried to tell him that was an accident. “You won’t like what happens to your team if you don’t.”

Logan bristles, and Virgil falls just short of reacting to it. Janus, of course, knows all the buttons to push, all the levers to twist, all the ways to make Virgil so fucking angry that he lets Janus have control of the conversation.

“How many times did you use me as an alibi?” Virgil asks instead. “Was it every date, Janus? Was every time you invited me out just an excuse to check up on your slowly building empire? What will I be questioned about this time? A bank robbery? A weapons exchange? Or the classic physical assault on someone who didn’t pay you back in time?”

“Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“I haven’t been wrong in fifteen years,” Virgil says.

Janus pouts.

His glass swirls again, gentle and careful, and Virgil spares a thought to what year he was drinking from: did he just pull the most expensive one he saw? Or did he choose a specific year as if he could transport himself back in time with a taste and wake up before Virgil realized exactly why the police kept such a close eye on his boyfriend? If Virgil took his stupid glass and poured it over Janus’s head, would it feel like they were still those kids?

On his worst nights, Virgil wishes he were seventeen again. He wishes that he could have had something real. He wishes that Janus had wished for him.

“You should see a therapist for those trust issues,” Janus decides.

“Every other Tuesday,” Virgil says, because even though its none of his fucking business, Virgil wants to see the shutter of emotion in Janus’s eyes: proof that he can feel something other than confidence and greed, proof that maybe he’s changed, proof that maybe somewhere, somehow Janus Ekans might feel guilty.

But for that to happen, Janus Ekans would have needed to be human and not the personification of a tsunami.

“You get fifteen minutes,” Virgil says even though he shouldn’t. He’s already given him these past five minutes, already given him the satisfaction of seeing Virgil show up like a dog that still responds to the call of an owner that left him at the dog park years ago, already given him all that Virgil had to give and Janus shouldn’t get to ask for anything more. “You get fifteen minutes, and then you get out of my life entirely, Janus, and do not come back.”

“Do you get off on bossing me around?” Janus asks indigently. “This isn’t a food court! I can’t have a four-course meal in fifteen minutes, Virgil! My hors d’oeuvres haven’t even arrived yet!”

It truly sounds like something that is not Virgil’s problem. Janus splutters another two times before he begrudgingly checks his gold-plated watch. He takes just long enough to utter something extremely foul in Italian about Virgil’s mother, then he waves to the nearest waiter and snaps twice.

Immediately, the rest of the room falls back into the steady flow of everything. If Virgil closes his eyes, he’d be swept away in it all: the voices resuming their conversations, the waiters moving around like buzzing bees, the clink of forks on plates and food being eaten. There’s a pause but then the conversation picks up again, an uncanny impression that everyone in the building was part of a script and they’d walked in on the scene. If someone spliced the video footage, it would appear near seamlessly, almost as if nothing had ever happened, aside from Virgil now standing out of place in the middle of the room.

But, of course, it’s the magic of being around Janus Ekans: an illusion that the whole world revolves around him, that the laws of physics would change for him, and he could change them for you too, if you asked. There’s something tantalizing about being able to hold his gaze: it made sixteen-year-old Virgil feel special, unique, and powerful. There’s something addictive about being in love with disaster; something that made him feel like he could do anything in the world that he set his sight to.

But in the end Janus Ekans is just a man, and the acts of pure magic is just money greasing the right hands at the right moment. Virgil glanced behind the curtain and saw too much, and God is dead because Janus stabbed Them fifteen times in the chest when they were still seventeen.

Janus turns back around in his chair, elegantly graceful in the way that he ignores Virgil clicking the safety for his gun back on: as if it was never really a concern that Virgil might go back on his word, as if he never really considered that the gun was a threat, as if he was as immortal as he was immoral and it didn’t matter if Virgil shot him at all. Virgil’s breath stalls in his chest, warmed by the fiery fury that only Janus can draw out of him.

“You can go,” Janus says to Logan, as though Logan were not Virgil’s direct superior and capable of arresting them both at this very moment. Janus, of course, would be out in mere minutes, probably before Logan would be able to handcuff him, but Virgil would more than likely be seeing a night in a holding cell if he were lucky.

Logan’s eyes flick between them. Virgil feels them tracing over him, cataloguing all the things wrong with him. None of his team has seen Virgil dressed in a suit that fits him, never seen Virgil with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, or the bags under his eyes covered up with concealer. No one has ever seen Virgil look like a function human being, and definitely never even seen him try. He looks like a stranger wearing his own face; like a friend possessed by something no one else understands yet.

Remus would have loved to see photos of this, Virgil’s sure. But Logan’s frown just increases with every second Virgil refuses to meet his gaze.

Then, finally, Logan says, “I’d prefer to stay.”

That’s his leading tone, Virgil recognizes. His play-along tone. His we are going to trick this man right now and disarm the threat tone. Virgil remembers getting caught in a bank robbery while investigating a series of white-collar crimes and Logan used that tone to hint to Virgil what they needed to do to get the robbers to drop their guard, save the hostages, and get out alive.

But now it makes something awful twist in Virgil’s lungs for reasons that Virgil refuses to admit.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Special Agent Ackroyd,” Janus says.

“I didn’t take it as one.”

Janus sneers, because he’s a child, and throwing tantrums is the easiest way to get what he wants.

“If he wanted me dead, he’d already would have done it,” Virgil says, and Logan’s gaze hardens just a bit more when he knows that Virgil won’t follow his lead and let him stay. He feels numb all over, as though Janus’s snake-like admiration had slowly been turning him to stone, but that’s fine.

Stone makes for good walls after all, and Virgil’s been throwing himself in front of his teammates since day one. How could this possibly be any different?

He remembers Logan discussing the plan, yesterday, when he was sitting blankly at his desk while the others talked around him: no more part of the conversation than the chair he was sitting on. He remembers hearing Logan tell them that he would be the one that would take over role that Virgil was meant to play, that Logan would meet their mysterious puppet master and risk walking himself directly into the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, that he would rather be the one that got shot than to give their caller the satisfaction of seeing Virgil come.

 “The invitation was for me, anyway,” Virgil says. “He wouldn’t kill someone he invited out.”

And you weren’t invited out, goes unsaid between them. Although Virgil hears Patton’s sharp breath in his ear and Roman mumbles a prayer, he guesses that everyone hears it anyway.

Janus hums again. “That would be bad manners, of course. To kill my guest. Not to mention my favorite FBI agent.”

Virgil tries not to imagine breaking Janus’s very snappable neck. “Trust me,” He grits out. “Logan, just this one last time. I will be okay.”

“Outside of your impending dismissal from the FBI in sixteen minutes, for this…theatrical performance.” Janus offers a conceited smile, leaning forward. “You know, I happen to be looking for a bodyguard—”

“Eat a cock.”

“At least consider it before you deny me!” Janus complains, swirling his wine another time before raising it to his lips.

But right as he tilts the glass, Virgil wrenches it from his hand, ignoring the startled noise that comes out of Janus’s mouth. The wine sloshes around the rim, pale and floral smelling, and it’s still chilled when the droplets drip over Virgil’s hand but he barely recognizes it because then suddenly Virgil is meeting his superior’s gaze head on.

Two years of missions had to be enough, Virgil thinks. It had to be enough to buy him just these fifteen minutes of trust. Virgil who’d never disobeyed, who’d never questioned, who’d done everything for the sake of his team, his friends, his family, better me in the crosshairs than them—

Logan’s eyes are glacier blue, nearly unnatural with the strength of the color. Virgil had seen these eyes pin a suspect in place, nearly scientific in the way that they dissect motives and crime scenes, and yet the ruthlessness still pierces through Virgil. He’s searching for something in Virgil, peeling him apart like an onion.

“Your gun,” Logan says, through gritted teeth, sounding very much like he’d rather get open heart surgery without being put under than allow this.

Virgil swallows down the appreciation, because Logan hates everything to do with gratefulness when his agents are intentionally throwing themselves into danger. His hands tremble as he twists his handgun and offers the handle to his superior. For a moment Virgil’s tongue wants to scream, the words just shoot me clog his throat, and his lungs shudder with the excess air.

Then Logan is holding Virgil’s gun and Janus’s wine and there’s nothing left for either of them to hide behind.

Roman is saying something, but he sounds far away and small, and it makes his worries sound inconsequential. Logan waits another moment, as though Virgil might beg him to stay, but Janus clicks his tongue impatiently as he adjusts his cuffs.

“My fifteen minutes will not start until Special Agent Logan Ackroyd removes his eyesore of a person from my line of vision,” he says. “Go join Prince Charming at the front table and tell him to sit. Both of you look like fools. He at least should be ashamed: ruining that poor girl’s dress with paint thinner like that!”

Virgil’s tongue rolls over his teeth, nearly hard enough to cut. Logan’s vision snaps to Janus, cold and cool and promising a lethal action in Janus’s immediate future. But Janus smiles in a daring way, taunting and bright and Virgil remembers being seventeen and at the movies and on a date and the police just so happen to ask what the two of them are doing.

Virgil hadn’t understood back then what that smile meant.

“And tell your friend that I’ll pay for her dress as well,” Janus adds, over his shoulder, to Logan’s retreating back, as though he found an immense pleasure in treating a high ranking, highly honored FBI agent as an errand boy. “It’s always a shame to see a Duvall original ruined, don’t you think?”

Virgil yanks out the chair and places himself across from Janus and the mob prince raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Despite knowing that Roman and Logan are less than twenty feet away and Virgil can see them, that Missy could disarm a dozen gang members by herself, that Patton’s watching on the cameras, that he has a comm in his ear still so that he’ll know the moment any of them get hurt, Virgil still feels like he’s the safest fucking person on the planet.

Because for a moment he’s sitting across from Janus at a diner and he’s purposely kicking his feet into Janus’s and stealing fries off his plate and Janus’s voice is the prettiest sound he’s ever heard—Virgil blinks and fifteen years haven’t occurred and he’s still in love with his best friend and believes in magic and the world turns in the slow, lethargic way that makes it feel like they’ll live for forever, staying just like that.

And Virgil hates it.

He snaps out and picks up the menu left for him. “If you’re being so damn generous with your blood money, are you going to pay Remus’s medical bills, too?”

“Already done,” Janus waves him off. “I even sent a fruit basket to him. Although at his age he should have known not to get that close to a bomb. It was clearly labeled and everything.”

Far, far away, Roman is still standing, one hand on the back of his seat, that’s suddenly gone white knuckled at the careless words thrown in the air, and Logan’s gait has frozen mid step as he spins to pin Virgil with a swiftly approaching realization of why Virgil has been incredibly distracted during the past mission.

Virgil swallows down the urge to swear about it, to call Janus all the horrible, awful things he wanted to shout when the bomb had first gone off, to ask Janus why he didn’t call or write or even show up at Virgil’s house to get his attention; to ask why Janus had set a trap to kill his team before he could show his face here. His fingers pick at the professional menu cover because if he doesn’t do something with his hands they’ll reach across the table and strangle the blasé expression right off Janus’s face.

“I…” Janus says, and then hesitates mulling over his words. It’s a strange thing to witness: a moment of uncertainty in the man that Virgil once thought the world revolved around. Janus’s fingers dance on the table where his wine glass would have been, tracing the blank space as though it were a precious distant memory. “I really am sorry about that one. That sort of thing will not be happening again. He’s one of my favorites.”

The menu creaks under Virgil’s fingers. “Stay away from them.”

“I cannot.”

Virgil’s head snaps up to glare at him, but Janus is already looking at him. There’s a seriousness in his eyes that Virgil doesn’t care for: they don’t glitter the way they’re supposed to, like gemstones that have lost their luster, like gold that’s been tarnished, like diamonds that no longer glimmer in the spotlight. The shining illusion of his carefree nature melted away, but somehow it makes Virgil feel off-kilter.

Virgil’s seen every side of him there is to see, every inch of him there is to see. Fifteen years can’t possibly make him a stranger when Virgil’s second beer always tastes like cheap Miller Lites at a pool party and Janus’s lips on his own.

But who is Janus when he’s not pretending to be human? When he’s not hiding behind an illusion? When the games are over, and the molasses passage of time is suddenly out of control and Virgil is not seventeen, but he still remembers sitting on the cold sidewalk staring at Janus tearing his switchblade out of the corpse for the third time?

Who is Janus at all?

“As much as I would have loved to have called you out here for a date,” Janus says, “and as much as you have arrived looking the part—thank you for that by the way. Ackroyd is an embarrassment to have been seen with. An oriental knot? Does he think this is prom?— I’ve done all this to...request the help of the FBI. Off the books.”

The laugh startles its way out of Virgil’s throat, acrid and vile. When he breathes in, his nostrils are filled with the scent of smoke and burning flesh, and his mouth tastes like the ashes of the building that came down on Remus because Virgil hadn’t been quick enough piecing together that he was walking into a trap even though Virgil had been looking for it.

If Remus hadn’t been the luckiest son of a bitch that Virgil had ever meant, he’d be attending a funeral right now. He’d be wearing this suit to a cemetery to bury the same guy poured a fresh cup of coffee over the FBI agent who’d straight up insulted Virgil to his face on his first day, the same guy who’d invited himself over and spent the night at Virgil’s so he wouldn’t be alone after the first time he had to kill someone to save a hostage, the same guy who jokingly said what’s the worst thing that could be behind this door? right before he’d gotten blown up. If Remus wasn’t in a hospital being cared for by the best doctors, Virgil would be across the table and his knife would be in Janus’s jugular for putting the bomb there.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Virgil says, damn near giddy. “No- please, Jay, really? This was the best you could come up with? Remus is in the fucking hospital in a medically induced coma because you turned him into a life-sized jigsaw puzzle, and you expect that any of us would be willing to help you?”

Janus’s expression doesn’t change. “It wasn’t meant for him.”

As if that made it alright. As if that made it better.

As if Virgil hadn’t felt that icy cold douse of fear when he recognized the set up and shouted for Remus to stop, and had his words drowned out by the explosion. And if it was that bad for Virgil, he can barely imagine how bad it was for Roman to hear his twin brother’s laughter cut off like that. He can hear Roman through the comm in his ear now: his breathing suddenly shaky and dangerous in all the ways that an actor’s breath should not be.

Virgil doesn’t dare meet his eyes across the floor.

“Allow me to speak on behalf of the FBI, Janus,” Virgil says. “Go fuck yourself.”

Janus’s fingernail scratches the tablecloth. “I thought that having a good friend in such a high place would make me eligible for a favor.”

“I hope to fuck you aren’t talking about me.”

“I would simply adore spending the rest of our thirteen minutes going back and forth, but—”

Virgil is almost disappointed that a waiter appears at the same moment, and Janus’s myriad of excuses evaporates. Instead, Janus’s eyes stay locked onto Virgil, ignoring the presence of the waiter entirely even as he places a plate in front of each of them with bruschetta. The silence holds over them both for an extra second as the waiter wordlessly offers a head bow to Janus and takes his leave again.

But instead of continuing, Janus takes his time to roll out his silverware to lay the napkin on his lap, as if he was worried about ruining the suit when he could buy an entire warehouse of the same suit with just his pocket change. Virgil catalogues the way his shoulders slope, the fine lines of his suit crafting a silhouette that takes a breath, two, three, and contemplates how exactly to manipulate Virgil.

Virgil reaches across the table, sliding a hand carefully under Janus’s lukewarm plate and lifting it. Janus watches him boredly as he exchanges their plates, but otherwise doesn’t make a move to stop him.

“Oh dear,” he says sarcastically. “My crafty attempt to poison you. It failed. Whatever will I do, Virgil?”

Virgil ignores him. “You have enough money to have greased the hands of anyone. You could have a dozen teams at your beck and call, Janus. You could have done this over a phone call, or a letter, or a fucking fax. With your connections you could have gotten the president’s guard to be your secretaries. But you threw together this whole charade and made sure that only my team was here tonight. And since I don’t hear a fucking apology, it’s gotta be something else. So, what’s the angle? Why my team? Why me?”

“Would you even believe an apology from me?” Janus muses, resting his chin on his palm. “You don’t have a decent track record for that.”

The air sizzles between them, simmering with all the contempt that Virgil can manage to convey in a glare. His left hand is resting on the table, his right on his hip where his empty concealed holster rests, and Virgil’s chest is burning with a thousand suns and the waiter is refilling waters at the table to their left and the man in the corner is discussing finances for a company buy out and Patton mentions that another man is going to the restroom and Logan forces Roman to sit down and one of the tomatoes on the bruschetta slips off the bread in front of Virgil.

“Perhaps because your team is the only one that can’t be bought?” Janus suggests, finally as though he’d given up information he hadn’t meant to. “I like a stable investment, Virgil. If your team leader won’t accept money from me, I definitely don’t have to worry about him taking money from other less savory people either.”

“Right. Because there are so many people running around with your kind of money,” Virgil says.

Janus doesn’t respond.

He’s calm. Nearly too calm. And Virgil recognizes the wash of panic through him, suddenly, from that night fifteen years ago in the seconds before Janus’s switchblade had found its way into that man’s chest cavity.

“Janus.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that the bomb wasn’t meant for Remus. It was not meant for your team at all. As far as I was aware your team had no reason to be at that location.”

“We got a tip,” Virgil says. “Are you saying that the call didn’t come from you?”

There’s a flicker of anger in his eyes, Virgil notes. His hand on the table is paralyzingly still as though he’s holding himself back from striking. The room around them is cavernous and suffocating all at once and Virgil can’t quite remember if breathing was supposed to be a manual action or not.

“It appears as though I have a…. business competitor,” Janus announces, “Who seems to think themselves my rival. Adorable, really. I entertained their shadow business endeavors at the beginning, allowing them to interfere with a few of my plans just to make life interesting, like playing fetch with a puppy. I’m sure you noticed the fall out of a few of my side projects: a few shell companies that you received the accolades for shutting down, the fencer that you arrested that suddenly needed a decent alibi, not to mention that politician was going to be a nice playing piece before his untimely demise. But of course, all games get boring once they’ve gone on too long.”

Virgil’s teeth grind together. “Janus. Where are your bodyguards.”

Janus’s smile is cold and sharp and he picks up his water glass. “Why Virgil! So kind of you to ask! If you must know, they’re in the morgue right now.”

A woman across the hall drops a glass, laughing in tizzy that speaks to having drunk just a bit too much. Virgil’s chair is the most comfortable thing he’s ever sat in. Virgil’s mouth tastes like beach sand.

“You can imagine my shock,” Janus continues, “when I found myself in some interesting discussions about unsatisfactory payments with people I’ve known since I was a toddler! I’d tell you the details of the amount of money that few of them were offered but it would likely send your shack living camera man into a cardiac arrest. So, I’ll just say that I’ve lost several close friends recently, and I’ve grown tired of attending funerals. I’m sure you can fill in the details yourself, darling.”

“Someone put a hit out on you?” Virgil asks, because he nearly can’t believe it, because it’s Janus with his gold gilded magic and silver tongue and dazzling gemstone eyes, because the type of money that it would take to have people dare go after Janus could fund entire countries, because the world is spinning like a top and Virgil is getting motion sick.

“Mhm, yes, I suppose you could phrase it like that.”

Virgil’s instinctively goes to check the fucking exits, but Janus clicks his tongue boredly.

“Yes, yes, I’m in danger, oh dear, I’m quaking.” He puts down his water glass and rests his head on his hand again. “Do you not think that if someone were going to kill me tonight, they would have chosen the moment the FBI agent put a gun to my head? Imagine, Virgil, the internal investigation, the FBI in a tizzy, your team locked down and suspended from the good work you do, the barking dogs that call themselves reporters biting at any news they could get and selling any story someone feeds them, a power vacuum in my circles…. I’m quite content with the knowledge that my mysterious assassin is not watching right this moment as they would have undoubtedly taken the fucking shot if they had been.”

Virgil forces himself to take a deep breath and let go of the knife in his left hand. He remembers suddenly, the cavalier smiles by which Janus had said I’m in need of a bodyguard, and the chill in the air turns frigid.

“I should have shot you,” Virgil says. “I should have just fucking shot you.”

Janus inclines his head in that infuriating way of his that seems like he’s laughing at him, even though there’s remotely funny about this. Virgil picks up his bruschetta and forces himself to take a bite and Janus does not call him out on the obvious attempt to buy himself more time.

He thinks that Logan is trying to coach him on what to say next, that Missy is ordering another glass of wine for herself, that Roman is resolutely snapping they are not going to get in the middle of this, that Patton is reading all of Janus’s body language to see that he’s telling the truth even though that sort of thing used to make Janus break out in hives.

“Do you know who it is?” Virgil swallows. “This competitor?”

“Do you think I would be resorting to requesting the FBI’s aid if I knew that, Virgil?”

He should feel vindicated: a year of uncertainty, of achingly familiar patterns, of not having a single piece of evidence to show his team, and now Janus is handing him everything on a silver platter.  He should leap on this, milk Janus dry for all that he’s worth, destroy his empire bit by bit and make Janus watch because the ultimatum would be his life or his legacy. He should be happy that this could be Janus’s “converse covered in a stranger’s blood” moment.

But the bitter rage in Virgil’s chest blazes, hot and fiery instead.

“You want my team to be meat shields for you,” Virgil says. “You want my team—”

Janus sneers. “What I want, Virgil, is for the FBI to either provide me with a decent bodyguard, or to get their eyes off my accounts so that I can move my money around enough to fund someone to do something about the problem.In a perfect world, I get both, and the FBI gets a nice easy mission that takes care of an unknown bad guy before the bad guy becomes civilian killing type of problem. I’m willing to put up with having someone watch my every move just to get this resolved—I’m willing to play entirely by the book, if that’s what’s require stop this person!”

But Virgil is shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you put them—”

“Do you really think that your team will be safe if you just stay out of this? I might not be the biggest fan of the FBI and the laws, but at least I have some respect for the balance of society as a whole. Without me in play, who exactly do you think this new player will begin to see as a threat? Hint: it won’t be the local police.”

“Shut up.”

Janus’s lips purse and picks up his water glass again. Virgil watches his hand swirl it on instinct, as if to say a leopard doesn’t change its spots, before he remembers that Virgil took his wine away and the curl of his lips looks pained. He drinks the water, and Virgil almost believes that he’s not trying to shove Roman or Logan or Patton in the way of a sniper for the sake of a business opportunity.

“What will it take, Virgil?” Janus asks, like he can buy his way into Virgil’s good graces. “For you to allow my help in keeping your people safe?”

“Don’t pretend that you care about them.”

“If you’re so concerned about this being a scheme,” Janus says taking a deep breath, “The co-owner of my accounts will be able to access the reports at any point and see exactly where all my money will be moving around to and all previous exchanges. They will be able to reassure the FBI that I’m not doing anything illegal, and that I’m not attempting to set up the FBI in any way. I’ll even give them access to move money how they please if they think I can’t be trusted with it.”

"You don’t have a co-owner."

"I could get one.”

"Yes, I’m sure the person you’d pick would be very trustworthy, Jay," Virgil says.

Janus just smiles at him, as though Virgil had finally said something he was expecting, as though Virgil had stumbled into one of the verbal pitfall traps that Janus loves so dearly. He makes a show suddenly of waving his fingers in the air—nothing up his sleeve— and then he fluidly reaches into the hidden inner pocket of his suit jacket.

((Virgil remembers a switchblade, flicked open and driven upwards into their attacker without room for error. He remembers Janus launching forward, shoving the man away from them both with the force of his knife, and twisting hard before he yanked it out. He remembers flinching and then falling and all the magic in the world disappearing in a spray of red.))

But Janus’s fingers do not bring out a switchblade. Between his pointer finger and middle finger, he holds another cream-colored card, barely bigger than a business card, and he holds it out to Virgil in an amicable manner.

"What’s that?" Virgil asks, stubbornly refusing to actually read any of the lettering on it, refusing to even look down at it when the spark of mischief is back in Janus’s eyes, sparkling like stars he tore from the sky with his selfish greedy hands that wanted everything in the world but Virgil.

"A wedding invitation," Janus says.

"...Why?"

“Because a spouse will be the easiest to add to an account, and the least suspicious thing for anyone who runs in my circles,” Janus says patiently.

“And?”

"Because I'd hope you'd come, Virgil."

Virgil doesn’t respond, chewing resolutely on the piece of bread as he watches Janus’s gaze for answers.

Evidently, Virgil’s quiet for too long, or Janus’s arm gets tired of holding out the card, or he becomes bored waiting for a meteor to crash into the building and kill them both in a hail of fire. Janus places the card on the table in front of Virgil, and withdrawals his limbs back to his side of the table.

"You’re usually much faster on the uptake,” he says. “Must I spell it out, darling? I'm financing a wedding. I intend to get married. I would like you to come. Bring your friends if you must."

"You want to throw a wedding to catch the person who wants you dead. And you want my FBI team there,” Virgil squeezes his bruschetta, until the outside of the bread crunches. “Do I get a heads up on the crime you’ll be committing at this wedding, at least?”

"Ah, yes," Janus says flatly. "The crime of being passionately in love and wanting the bride to show up."

The bread tumbles out of Virgil’s hand and the piece of tomato in his throat grows seven sizes just to lodge itself directly in Virgil’s lungs.

Distantly, Virgil is aware of Janus standing up, his napkin fluttering onto his still full plate, but by the time Virgil manages to breathe again, Janus has already dropped a credit card on the table and buttoned up his suit jacket again.

“Talk it over with your boss,” Janus says, with a fake politeness. “Or don’t. What do I care? If you agree to the terms and conditions, I’ll see you on April 13th.”

“W-wait—” Virgil coughs.

“What is there left to wait for, Virgil?” Janus says, sounding dangerously close to being cheerful. “Either you help me out and we stop this hooligan encroaching on both our lives, or I’m dead by this time next month and you get what you wanted all this time anyway.”

“Janus—!”

“I am out of options and out of time. All I have left is the knowledge that you might be more committed to justice than you are to your hatred of me.” Janus turns around and heads towards the front doors.  His shoes click-click-click on the polished floor, and his blond hair glows in the artificial lighting and the chandeliers sparkle. Virgil’s hands are on the table and he’s standing and there’s an emotion in him that feels like being seventeen years old and seeing a mugger come at his boyfriend with a knife in the middle of the best date of his life. The waiters move around Janus’s unbothered gait, and he tosses a roll of hundred-dollar bills on the table in front of Missy and Virgil should be screaming but he can’t make himself open his mouth again.

“And Virgil,” Janus pauses just once to look back at him, his smile kind and soft and a fucking lie. “If you thought I was even a half decent boyfriend, you should really see what I’m like as a husband.”

[olliewritesometimes]

OC story between my girlfriend & me🥩🤍

- I made this very very VERY late, sorry in advance 👅

- Orsova is my girlfriends character and Rumi is mine

(yes I stole the name Rumi from apotheosis, but it’s not her name anymore so it doesn’t matter anyway💥)

- Orsova is a vampire & Rumi is a cannibal fyi🫶

================================

⚠️⚠️TW!!⚠️⚠️

- Blood

- eating live animals

- dead animals

- vague mention of bodily fluid & guts

- cannibal (?)

- vampire (?)

- mlm gay people!!!!😟⁉️

================================

Blood Lovers🤍🥩

Orsova was out on an empty stomach. The people around him were staring. As if they knew what was happening to him. The beast within him growling and hissing for blood.. for flesh. His features slowly becoming more beastly. But instead of charging for a human he runs in the forest. Falling to crawl like a wild beast. Sprinting as trees rushing by him. Leaving his tracks in the mud. Little animals hide away to small to replenish his vampire self. He gets to a clearing. Tall grass and beautiful flowers.. paradise for the local animals. But a stalking ground for our vampire. (tee-hee😝)

he crouches behind a log. watching the deer. Unnoticing of him. Eating grass to continue the circle of life. He stalks closer. The deer looks up. Pausing his breathing to focus. So does Orsova. Knowing the tactics of his enemy. Orsova drools with anticipation. The deer goes back to eating just as he launches himself towards his pray. Catching it easily by the throat. His teeth pushing into it like eating a juicy steak. Scattering the other deer around him. The deer tries to kick and fight back before bucking one last time and laying helplessly as his blood is drained away becoming one with the earth once more. The beast within still hungry. You stare at the moon. 5hrs till the sun comes out. The field he always hunt in now empty by this outburst. His mouth dripping with blood. His teeth pinging from the force he bit with. Continueing the night hunting for new prey, for Rumi.

Hours pass like seconds.

Somehow ending up back at the old apartment him & Rumi are staying at. Convered in blood but dried now.. the sun is rising slowly. The heat pinging on the back of his neck. Dragging a little to-go box.. walking up the stairs to the apartment. His worn out shoes drag up the concrete. Exhausted from the hunting last night. Stepping onto the last step before knocking on their apartment door. A man he recognizes open even with his drooping eyes. His purple hair tied up into a bun as if waiting for your arrival. “love, you had me worried sick!” He says sighing grabbing Orsova’s arm and leading him in. he tuts his lips “you could’ve been seen, it’s nearly day!” Stealing the box and placing it on the counter. Feeling it slosh back and forth within it. Meat crashing into the sides at each step. Norsova barely replies. Rumi notices this while taking his vampire to their room. Closing the blinds as they enter and getting him cleaned up. Climbing onto the counter looking at his white hair dyed red from the blood and carnage from the animals that were slaughtered. “I appreciate the gesture but,, please my love.. I don’t need to see ash on my doorstep.. (he pauses) though.. you do look very..” he leans into Orsova. Chin almost resting on his shoulder. “…handsome.. my bloody vampire, you have made such a mess.” he talks with a smile dragging out his words with his French accent.

“my beautiful bloody boyfriend.”

is the last thing Orsova remembers him saying before a long kiss on his neck and being taken back to the bedroom. His clothes getting exchanged for new ones. The warmth of them rather than the cold blood on him. A warm blanket on top of him and his lover. A warm human, next to him. continuing to whisper into his ear his sweetness dragging through the voice.

Our vampire barely remembers this before fading out for the day until the next night where this happens all again. 🤍🥩

- I’m aware this is bad this was just for fun and I’m eepy now so I’m probably gonna crash :D🤎

[harudnae]

Roger Pirates Week - Day 6: Connections – Rivals / Allies

Once again @rogerpirateswk gave me a chance to explore some relationships I never wrote about 🙏

Also posted on AO3 on 2023.01.28

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Roger x Rayleigh, Roger x Rouge, mentions of Rayleigh x Shakky

Summary: Allies, rivals, enemies… To Roger, some of those are quite similar.

Content warnings: tiny spoilers for Egghead & Film: Red, feels, family feels, many feels I don't know what got into me this is very bittersweet, rated M for mentions of sex

Word count: 1.8k

🌊 Umi no kotachi

Roger reached Lodestar Island roughly a year ago, and he's been convinced ever since that there's another island somewhere, so the crew puts their best efforts into finding it.

Rayleigh hands him the latest issue of the News Coo, where the front page article details how Rocks made himself an enemy of World Government as he researches forbidden subjects.

Roger is ill-at-ease about this. He never backs down from a challenge he finds worth his time either, so the feeling is quite uncanny.

"Why are you so worried ?", Rayleigh asks.

"He's got too much ambition", Roger simply says, glaring into the sea. "There's fighting amongst his own crew, and serious one at that. Not the kind I'd trust when it comes to unveiling forbidden history, whatever that entails." Rocks is an enemy, he knows it deep down, and he won't let him do as he pleases.

It doesn't take long before the Rocks Pirates launch an attack on a whole bunch of World Nobles.

Roger sees red when he learns that their slaves are at the same location, knowing that Rocks would never let them live. He decides to ally with the Vice-Admiral that regularly cornered him during the last decades, in order to protect whoever they can and fight the infamous crew.

Garp might be a long-time rival, but Roger knows where his interests lays as well as where his loyalty stops, and that's enough for the time being.

The battle rages on for days, but finally the temporary alliance manages to defeat the Rocks Pirates.

Garp lets the Roger Pirates loot all they can before leaving the island.

As they set sail towards better lands, they find a baby in a chest.

While most of the crew wonders who would leave their own kid there, Roger doesn't care whose family the baby was born into, and decides to raise Shanks as his own : whoever left their own child there is as good as dead, and he knows deep down he'll make a great pirate out of him.

It's been five years since the defeat of the Rocks Pirates, and former members of the infamous crew are starting to make waves again.

The Roger Pirates meet Newgate and his new crew at sea and they fight against each other, but it doesn't hold as much venom as when he was a Rocks Pirate.

Roger learns that Newgate's true ambition is to build a huge family, and he respects that. After all, he's raising two kids himself, and though neither of them have his blood, he loves them all the same.

They cross paths sometimes in the Blues, while Roger searches for the island at the end of the Log Pose and Newgate recruits more people.

Every time, Roger happily duels against Newgate, finds funny that they remain almost evenly matched over the years, and truly appreciates that both of their crews can go all out without casualties, too.

Sometimes Shiki, Kaidou or Linlin are on Roger's way too, but they're different : more aggressive, aiming for the top but each of them in a way Roger doesn't trust.

Roger hopes neither of them rises too far and disrupts the fragile sense of balance the world has now, and he's ready to act against them if need be.

Among the few rising pirates in these times, Roger finds a fellow Captain quite stunning. Strong and smart, not to mention breathtakingly hot, not unlike Rayleigh. Maybe he has a thing for cunning blondes, huh ?

His First Mate – partner, lover, and husband of fifteen years – often gently teases him about not going all out against the infamous Portgas D. Rouge and her crew.

Roger doesn't care. He never attacks her crew with the intent to kill, that's true, but that doesn't mean he goes easy on Rouge either, she's damn resourceful and her Haki is strong enough that she can face him head on. Plus, her crew are a nice bunch, and he feels like there's no grudge or anything hidden underneath their rivalry.

Rouge seems to think along the same lines, too : more often than not she calls for a party once they've declared a truce, and her crew happily mingles with Roger's.

Rayleigh sends Roger knowing looks then, as he watches him and Rouge growing on each other. Roger is an open book to him, and he knows better than anyone how he acts whenever he's smitten. And although his teasing becomes more insistent, he doesn't really seem bothered by the situation.

Roger gets payback whenever they meet the Kuja Pirates at sea, anyway.

Apparently Rayleigh has a thing for confident black-haired people...

Another few years pass before Roger recruits the samurai from Newgate's crew, to his rival's mild annoyance.

With Oden's help, he wraps the last leg of his incredible journey within months, and reaches the island of his dream.

Heart content despite having reached Laugh Tale a mite too early, Roger then disbands his crew. He spends his last night aboard the Oro Jackson tangled with Rayleigh, showering him in sweet words and gentle attentions as they make love, telling him that he means to world to him, and that whatever happens next, no one could ever replace him. He disembarks the next day, not sparing a single glance behind him as he walks away from his crew, his home, his kids, his lover, with a tight and proud fist held high despite the streams of tears spilling from his eyes.

A few days pass before Roger visits Newgate one last time, and tells him that his crew will bring Oden back home to join his family.

Newgate is somewhat upset that he won't see his little brother again, but he understands why the samurai would want to go back home. Oden's children were born aboard the Moby Dick, and Newgate knows how much he cares for them, and that he wouldn't want to leave them alone any longer after such a long time apart.

They share sake under blooming cherry trees, where Roger tells him about the people of the D., and their crucial importance in the forgotten history of the world. It's a comfortable conversation, he realizes, not unlike those he had with his crew. Funny that he sees a rival like him as family, now.

Then Roger lays low as he wanders in the South Blue, searching for a quiet place to end his days. He encounters Rouge in a tranquil port town, without her crew. "What are you doing here alone ?", he asks her.

Rouge holds his inquiring gaze. "I should ask you that, Pirate King."

Roger's gaze briefly flickers to the side. "You wanna hear a funny story ?"

Rouge tilts her head to the side, then sighs as a smile curve her lips. "Go for it."

Roger tells her everything. What they found in Laugh Tale, what they learned there, how despite being the first person in known history to reach this island there's still time to wait before his biggest dream can fully come to life, what the "D." that they both share stands for, and that he disbanded his crew for their safety since he hasn't much time left and won't be able to protect them anymore, and that he left the ship first so he wouldn't have to say goodbye more than once.

"That was supposed to be a funny story", Rouge quietly says. "So that's why Rayleigh's alone with the kids... Last I saw him, he was heartbroken."

Roger offers her a weak smile. "Rayleigh will manage, I trust him." Then he huffs a chuckle. "Plus, there's an Empress who's been courting him for years... Hopefully, he will accept her love... Eventually."

"What about you ?"

Roger frowns.

"Are you intending to spend your last days alone ?"

He curiously observes her for a moment, recognizes all too well a stubborn determination in her gaze even as a faint blush creeps under her freckles, and then he cracks a smile. "There's... one last dream that never came true. Wanna help me ?"

Rouge softly grins. "Why do you think I left my crew ?"

And so, they travel to Baterilla and make a home there, focusing on enjoying the moments they have while they can. The medicine Crocus gave him works wonders, and Roger manages to snatch some extra time... Enough to learn that Rouge is pregnant, not enough to meet their child. Yet another dream that slips just out of his grasp : so close, yet so far.

Rouge is strong, he's known that from their first encounter. And she's precious for being so patient and caring, so precious to Roger's battered heart for offering him her love after years of pining rivalry and after he left his husband and their kids behind, and even more now that she's bearing a child of their own.

When Roger learns that the Marines are starting to track and execute or at least imprison everyone who ever was in good terms with him, he decides to do what he can to protect her, too. He doesn't have much time left anyway, and what's another wound to a pirate that always stands proud ?

After leaving Baterilla, heart sinking about leaving his family once more despite knowing it's best for their safety, Roger finally surrenders.

The Marines bring him to Impel Down and lock him up there while he awaits his death sentence.

Just a couple of days before the scheduled execution, Roger gets a visit from Garp, and grins upon his arrival. "Took your sweet time", he teases, "Decades running after me and now that you've finally got me locked up in here you don't even pay me a visit."

"Shut up ! We'll bring you to Loguetown soon enough. What about your crew ? I thought you didn't want to lose any of them."

Roger almost – almost – jabs back that they're strong and perfectly capable. But he knows there's just one that he can't vouch for, not yet, not ever, he doesn't have enough time left. So instead, he grins and tells Garp that he'll be a father, and then he tasks him with keeping Rouge and their soon-to-be-born child safe.

The Vice-Admiral acts outraged at the demand, but Roger knows he'll follow up.

He trusts Garp because he's never really been an enemy – and maybe because he's a D., too.

Roger fought his enemies, and won.

Rivals ? Allies ? Same difference.

Roger knows that those are the only people outside his crew to whom he can entrust the ones he loves.

Fellow children of the sea that earned his respect, that's what they are, nothing more, nothing less.

[sunbeammuhebi]

Bird Of Paradise - Atsuhina

The college life isn’t for everyone. The food, the classes, the stress, the lack of a social life. Being a well regarded assassin makes it even harder for Hinata Shoyo. His next target, assigned to him from an unknown client, Miya Osamu, another student at Rikorisu academy. Shoyo believed this job wouldn’t be too hard for him, he’s had worse jobs than this. There’s just this one thing in his way, Osamu's twin brother, Miya Atsumu. 

dark academia, violence, assassins, friends to enemies to lovers.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43736287

Chapter 1: Carnation

“Could you imagine a world without violence? A world without greed? If you take away the darkest parts of humanity, would you really be left with only the good? There can’t be light without dark. Inside of us all, there’s black and white. It’s impossible to judge people through a lens of good and bad” I take a second to digest what I just read from my anthropology 101 class. Good and bad, black and white, violence, greed. To be honest I can’t imagine a world without these things. There’s good people, yes, but we all do bad things. 

Sigh. I halt my studying and take time to look at the sunset. I have the best view from this rooftop. 

Me Especially. 

My name is Hinata Shoyo, I’m a college sophomore. Honors student here at Rikorisu academy on a full academic scholarship. If you saw me you’d think I was just some basic nerd college student, and that’s exactly what I want. I wouldn’t want you to find out that I’m actually the most wanted assassin in the country. I wouldn’t want you to find out I’ve killed at least 25 people. I wouldn’t want you to find out I’m part of the biggest vigilante association in history, the Birds of Paradise, who’ve been the only family I’ve known. 

If you did find out my identity, then you’d probably ask, “Shoyo, you don’t feel guilty for all of the murder you’ve done?” I would tell you no, but the actual answer is yes, I do feel guilty, although I’ve only killed people whose intentions hurt others. I only kill villains, bad guys, people who’s dark shines brighter than their light. 

I sit on the edge of the roof, and let one leg dangle off. This building, Saisei Hall, has a roof you can’t see from the ground, no one would notice me here. No one would notice if I fell from the top. And no before you think anything, I’m not suicidal, so don’t worry. I just think it’s interesting how the fall can happen so much quicker than the rise. The force of gravity hauls on your wings and suddenly you're plummeting down to a place even shallower from where you started.

And no one would notice. No one would ca-

The rickety sound of the door opening jolts me out of my thoughts. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up here at this time. I hope whoever is here doesn’t notice me, I really don’t feel like coming up with an excuse right now. As I watch from the ledge on the other side of the roof a tall guy with blonde hair. I can tell it’s dyed because his roots are a dark brown. Luckily he stands against the rail on their opposite side of the roof with his back turned to me. His jacket says Rikorisu Red Devils Volleyball. He’s on the volleyball team. I’ve always wanted to play volleyball but I decided not to, I can’t maintain a sport and be an assassin. I decided to stay quiet and not say a word. To be honest I don’t know why I’m staying quiet, it’s not like anything could go wrong if he notices me. But my job here is to stay discrete, I don’t really need friends. 

I hear a phone ring, I don’t feel a buzz in my pocket so it must be his. He finally picks up after a few more rings. 

“Hello.” His voice smooth like butter, not too deep, not too high. 

“Yeah I know captain, it’s just…..So what he’s my brother, what’s wrong with calling a piece of trash a piece of trash.” Damn harsh, I wonder if his brother is actually as bad as he says he is. 

“Why do I have to apologize?! It’s his fault we lost!” Now he’s yelling, its ruining my peace. Granted I can’t hate him for it since he doesn’t know I’m here. I take note of his way of speaking. Kansai dialect? So he’s probably from Hyogo. 

“Fine…fine..I’ll apologize..” He goes quiet for a second, I think the call is over. 

He sighs heavily and looks up. It’s odd he chose that side of the building, it faces towards the campus. The side I’m on has a much better view of the forest and the sky. 

“Damn Samu, he shoulda quit a long time ago if he knew he was gonna play like this.” Why is he talking to himself? Why can’t he just leave?I really hope he doesn't have a temper tantrum up here, if he breaks anything I might get into trouble too. 

I don't know why I feel compelled to speak to him. I’m only the best at reassuring others when it’s in my benefit. It looks like he’s turning to leave and before I can even think my lips move.

“Sounds like a tough match today huh?” I say. I’m such an idiot. 

He turns in my direction and looks for the voice who reached him. 

“Who said that?” he questioned. 

I decide to wave my arm so he can see. 

“I thought I was alone up here, wait…..” He finally finds me and stops in his tracks. 

“Umm….please get away from the ledge…I don’t want you to fall..” Ah he’s worried I’m thinking about jumping. 

“Don't worry, I’m not gonna jump or fall, I actually like my life.I should be the one asking you to stay away from the ledge. You sounded pretty mad over there.” I turn to finally face him, and god I probably shouldn’t have because what the fuck. Why is he so pretty? I show no emotion in my face. I don't want him to assume I think he’s cute or anything. I hate giving people ego boosts. 

“Yeah…about that…”

“You guys lost. You’re mad you lost, it’s okay to be mad. No one likes losing, I get it.” I reassure him. He sits down next to me but not on the ledge. 

“Nah it’s not just that. I got into a fight with my brother about it. It wasn’t the usual fight where we don’t speak to each other and all of a sudden things are fine again. Sigh. I think I actually fucked up this time.” He looks down at the vast forest of trees. It’s easy to get lost in the heat of anger. It’s even harder to amend things after. 

“I’m sure if you talk it out, it’ll be fine. You agreed to apologize anyway.” I say.

“Yeah, I hope your right long orange haired stranger.” he says. Honestly I don’t want to tell him my name and before I say anything he says.

“You don’t have to tell me your name, to be honest I’m gonna forget it.” Well that settles it. 

“If that’s the case then I won’t ask for yours, short piss hair stranger.” I replied. I don’t know where this teasing mood came from.  

“Piss hair?! Haha, okay I’ll admit you have a sense of humor tangerine.” Tangerine? Of course he picked the easiest comparison. 

“What were you reading?” He points at my anthropology 101 book. 

“Anthropology 101: Good vs. Evil. It’s something I have to read for class.”

“You actually read the books? I could never. I just go on sparknotes.” He grabs the book and begins to flip through it.

““It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” I think I count as charming.” He says. 

“No, I think you're more tedious.” I roll my eyes. I can tell this guy has his annoying parts but so far he’s not so bad to be around. He sits there reading for a bit longer. 

“This actually isn’t a bad read.” He hands the book back to me. “I would stay longer tangerine but I have an early morning tomorrow and I like sleep.” He gets up and starts to walk away. 

“And for what it’s worth, you seem pretty good to me. Don’t stay up here too long. I’ll see you around tangerine” He then waves goodbye and leaves through the rickety roof doors. The silence after the doors close pierces my ears. A quiet reminder of my solitude. 

I look down at the book again. Under the quote he read he left a note. “M.A, I know we agreed to not say our names. But I know you’ll get curious, so there’s a hint :).” Sly just like a fox. When did he have the time to write a note?

I close the book and look out at the forest again. It’s starting to get dark. I should probably go to my dorm to sleep too. My hands feel the roughness of the book cover. M.A huh, it won’t be hard to find out your real name, blonde stranger. 

If I really wanted he would never find out about mine. But that’s the weird thing. 

Why do I want him to know?

[ranhaitanisgf]

Hello, can I have “enemies/rivals to lovers” with Ran where reader “gets sick” and Ran is the only one who is there to take care of her because she lives alone most of the time. While she is delirious she reveals some things that make Ran view her in a different light. And then Ran decided to take her on a date when she feels better. Some angst and fluff afterwards. Thank you!

— ran haitani // enemies/rivals to lovers // getting sick

[𖤐] #guess whose back. back again . HIIII ik i was gone for like two weeks but im backkk neow hallo :D idk why but i made this shi SO LONG so i was getting unmotivated to keep writing this but i did it lollll. hope u enjoy my lovelies xoxo !!

[𖤐] disclaimer ; fem!reader

wc ; 2.1k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

ran isn’t sure why he’s even doing this. 

he’s been standing in front of your door for closer to twenty minutes now, trying to figure out how the hell he was going explain his purpose in being at your place. he’s not a man to typically think too hard about things; after all, he’s the elder brother of the infamous haitani brothers who rule roppongi, so why would he ever need to think about his interactions with other people? he typically will just do whatever fits his mood, and others will respond to that; that’s how it’s been ever since him and rindou made a name for themselves. 

so why was he thinking about this so much? 

it was comical to him, the fact that someone like you could be making him question himself so much. ran had found a whole lot of entertainment in teasing you every so often, and would even go so far as to say that you piqued his interest. he always found the expressions you would make were quite cute, and it was even cuter when you would call him your ‘enemy’. he’d even been showing up to school a bit more just to see you, ignoring his brother’s annoyance about it. you were just so interesting.

which is why he began to seek you out when he noticed that you weren’t at school today, going around and asking different classmates if they knew why you were absent. when he’d finally gotten the answer that you were out sick, he’d been a bit disappointed, but he had just decided to move on with his day. he would just come to school and bother you next week, right? 

however, he immediately started to think different when he overheard some of your friends talking, whispering about how you lived alone and how they were worried about you taking care of yourself when you’re sick. of course, as soon as ran heard this, he butted in on their conversation, asking for your address and telling them not to worry because ‘he would take care of it’, (they were even more worried after he said this). 

and so now he was here, a plastic bag in his hand with various items to give to you. he might not look like it, but he was actually pretty adept at taking care of sick people. before their rise to fame, ran and rindou were just two little kids with parents who were never around, which meant that whenever rindou got sick, ran was the only one around to take care of him, (they were bittersweet memories for him). it’s why he was so confident on the way here; he knew what he was doing. 

“you ever gonna ring the damn doorbell?? been sittin’ here for so long my ass is numb.” ran rolled his eyes at his brother's words. 

“yeah yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist.” he could hear rindou scoff at his words, but he ignored it, finally pressing his finger against your doorbell. a minute or two went by as he stood there, wondering if you were maybe asleep. just as he was about to ring the doorbell a second time, the door swung open. 

“the hell’re you doing here?” you grumbled, shivering a bit at the cool outside air. ran merely laughed at your standoffish tone, holding up the bag in his hand. 

“now now, is that any way to greet someone who came to give you dire supplies?” 

“i’m sick, not dying. how did you even find my address?”

“i have my ways~” the look on your face changed from somewhat neutral to grossed out, which just made him laugh again. “mind i come in?” 

“actually i do- ugh…” ran didn’t wait for your answer before stepping into your house, slipping his shoes off and taking a look around. 

“what’re you doing here??” your question pulled him a bit out of his observing, turning to you and seeing the state you were in. he supposed it wasn’t terrible, especially since you could still get out of bed and walk around. 

“well of course, i came here to offer my services~” you only sighed at ran’s words, starting up the stairs to get back into bed. 

“wow i feel so flattered! you took time out of your oh so busy schedule to come and see me, how will i ever recover!” ran chuckled at your sarcasm, following you into your room. you seemed to give him a pointed glare, but you were too tired to argue with him, so you just got back into bed and pulled your covers up. you sighed once again as you saw ran pull your desk chair up to the side of your bed, sitting himself down and plopping the bag next to him. 

there weren’t any words said between the two of you as he started to take things out. the silence in the air was anything but tense; in fact, as much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you felt somewhat comforted by his presence. it was nice to have someone else there with you. 

his fingers moved deftly between everything; you had no idea what in the world he was doing, so your eyes drifted up to his face, watching his calm expression and how every so often, he would chew a bit on his bottom lip. there were some strands of hair that had escaped from his two braids, framing his face more than usual. it gave his face a softer look, and made him seem somehow…softer. 

“see somethin’ you like?” his lilac gaze shifted towards you, a teasing look in his eyes as you promptly looked away, pulling your covers up a bit more. 

“no. i was just thinking about how fuckin’ weird you are.” 

“whew, you sure know how to make an impression, (l/n).” he chuckled. 

you felt slightly perturbed by how casual and chill he was acting; how was it that he was acting so calm while you felt like screaming and had no idea what to say? 

if you weren’t feeling so conflicted, you would have at the very least said something vulgar when ran suddenly grabbed your hand, (why the hell were his hands so soft?). you were suddenly aware of how sweaty and hot your palms were, which merely made them even more sweaty. if he noticed, ran didn’t say anything about it, just carefully dropping two tablets into your palm and handing you a glass of water. 

at your questioning gaze, ran merely chuckled, leaning back in his chair. 

“if you seriously think that i just handed you some mysterious drugs, then i would say that you’re severely mistaken.” holding up the medicine bottle, ran shook it a bit, the pills inside making a rattling noise. 

“hey, i think i have a right to question popping pills from some random dude who just walked into my house.” you muttered, popping the pills into your mouth and taking some gulps of water. “who knows what kind of shady business you’re into, after all.” 

“well darling, i would certainly hope that you don’t let random men into your house aside from me~ i would feel terribly wounded if i saw another man walking out of your house.” the feigned expression of hurt on ran’s face made you giggle a little bit, although the small expression from you embarrassingly turned into a fit of coughs. 

as your coughs started to settle down, you could’ve sworn that you’d seen a hint of something in ran’s eyes, his brows pulled together slightly. was it concern? worry? you could never quite figure out what he was thinking. 

gingerly, ran took the glass of water from your hand and put it on your bedside table, gesturing for you to lay back down. you hadn’t ever thought that you would see ran acting in a way that was gentle, but somehow, seeing this different side of him made you feel like maybe…

“you should get some rest.” the short statement pulled you out of your thoughts, looking back at the boy at your bedside. it was hard to tell whether the heat in your cheeks was due to him or your fever, so you looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed that he’s seeing you this way. never in your wildest imagination had you thought that the first person to care for you when you were sick would ran haitani of all people; after all, hadn’t you considered him somewhat of an enemy? 

so why was he being so nice? why was he getting your hopes up? 

“you better not tell anybody about this.” 

“wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweet cheeks.” 

“you seriously can’t tell anybody. not even your brother. nobody’s ever seen me sick before.” ran quirked an eyebrow at this; a silent indicator that he was wanting more of an explanation as to what you just said. you felt a sigh slip through your lips, wondering if you could even tell him something like this. 

however, with the concern in his gaze, the fever that was most definitely interfering with your decision making skills, and his stupidly handsome face, you decided to tell him. 

“doesn’t this house seem way too big for just one person?” 

“...sure.”

“i didn’t just hate you. i hated all delinquents and gangs ‘cause they took people away from me. but i guess you were able to change that for me or somethin’...anyways. you’re stupid for coming here, and if you tell anybody about this i’ll kill you.” you supposed that it doesn’t seem like much of a threat when you’re bedridden with a fever, especially with how you currently look. 

you were unsure of how ran would react to what you had just told him, and the silence between the two of you made you regret it every passing second. 

“just forget i said anything, and please leave-?!” before you could finish your sentence, ran’s hand rested gently against your forehead, his hands gloveless for once in his life. there was a pensive look in his eyes, his facial expression rather serious as he toyed with locks of your hair, tenderly brushing them away from your face. 

although you were taken aback at first, you slowly started to relax under his gentle touch. your fever was clouding your mind significantly, as you would never ever allow this under normal circumstances. 

you supposed it was okay for now though. 

--

“eek!” 

“didn’t i tell you to hold on tight?” 

“i-i am!!” 

“hold on tighter then~!” you let out another squeal as you felt the bike pick up speed once again, your arms now tightly around the waist of the boy in front of you. your cheek was pressed against his back, your eyes closed as you felt the wind whip against your face. 

“is-is this really necessary?!” 

“i’m feeling quite wounded that you would suggest that i would do something unnecessary-”

“eek!!!” you could feel the rumbling of his laughter at your incessant squeals, but you decided that that wasn’t important at the moment. what was more important was that you made it off this bike alive. 

“calm down doll, we’re almost there.” 

“calm down?! you expect me to calm down?! if i fall off i’m going to die!!” you got no response from him aside from a hearty chuckle, which somehow made you feel (just a little bit) at ease. 

after a few minutes, the motions of the bike slowed until it finally stopped. as soon as it came to a stop, you stumbled off, whipping around to face ran, who seemed rather calm and was moreso giving you a smirk rather than being apologetic. 

“when you said you wanted to go on a date, this is not at all what i expected!!” you yelled, putting your hands on your hips. “do you even feel any remorse for scaring me half to death?” 

“mm, not really. see…” his long arms reached out to wrap around your waist, turning you around and pulling you close, your back against his chest. “...that was just the mode of transportation. i was hoping you were going to enjoy this more~” 

now that you took a moment to look at your surroundings, you realized that in front of you was the most gorgeous view of the city, effectively taking your breath away. when you looked a little closer, you also noticed the picnic table in front of you, the surface holding a wide variety of snacks and foods. 

“...i guess i can forgive you this time.” 

“you guess? wow, you truly wound me, princess.” 

“you use that way too much.” you murmured, glad than ran couldn’t see your embarrassed face at the moment. you were even more glad that he couldn’t see you when he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, somehow making your cheeks heat up more. 

“you forgive me yet?”

“you’re so stupid…” 

“mm, i love you too.”

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Monday, 10 July 2023

Chad and Stephanie are touring the set that will presumably be their new apartment, because there’s absolutely no chance the crew put together this much for a single episode.

It’s been a long-held belief in our household that the property values in Salem are extremely low, what with all the kidnappings, murders, Satanic possessions and general international intrigue. Which kind of explains why we’ve been watching a number of couples and individuals competing for the same rental properties for weeks now — it’s like how competitive New Yorkers get over rent-controlled places. eg, here’s Brady, nipping at the heels of our young lovers, hoping that he could be the first to snatch up this three-bedroom place for himself and his daughter.

Sorry, Brady. You snoozed and so, in accordance with fundamental principles of society, you losed.

Over at the Kirakiseseses, Alex has decided that it would be best for all involved if he moved out. Because seriously, JOHN ANISTON DIED BACK IN NOVEMBER AND WE ARE STILL PRETENDING THAT VICTOR IS JUST OVER THERE IN THE NEXT ROOM. 

Also there’s the whole “Maggie fired him and then became his sworn enemy pretty much out of nowhere” thing, which makes living with her a little uncomfortable. Alex continues to work on his conflict management skills thanks to the tireless efforts of Dr. Marlena Evans and does not rise to any of Maggie’s attempts to reignite the bizarre conflict between the two of them.

He doesn’t actually have a place to live yet, “but how hard could it be to find an apartment in Salem?” he thinks, and heads over to the vacancy he heard about earlier today...

…where Chad and Stephanie have already decided to move in. Which sucks for Alex, but again: by their accounting, this is a three-bedroom place! I realize you’re moving out of a mansion, Alex, but you may have to set your sights a little lower.

Nevertheless, he returns some time later to hand Stephanie the rental agreement for this place. Which he picked up from the landlord. When he signed his own papers for the place right across from them.

Stephanie, Chad and Alex had a pretty intense love triangle happening somewhat recently, but I can’t imagine this will in any way impact them all being neighbors now.

Gwen runs into Kristen in the town square (official motto: you’re probably going to run into someone you know here and if you’re Nicole, that person will definitely be Eric) and they have a chat about Gwen accepting Dimitri’s proposal.

Kristen doesn’t mention her knowledge that Dimitri is just marrying Gwen so he can receive a massive influx of cash from his ill-defined Eurotrash family. But Kristen’s had a lot going on lately, so it probably just slipped her mind?

Kristen returns home and shortly thereafter, witnesses the “secret” passage opening. 

There are easily half a dozen reasons why this is all very stupid, but I cannot deny that I was legitimately excited to see who might emerge from the tunnel. Especially since we’ve accounted for the two people who know of its existence: Megan fled town on her Definitely Real Submarine and Leo is upstairs with Dimitri. (Don’t worry; I’m getting to that.)

But it’s her daughter, Rachel!

Much like how she stole her dad’s cell phone to take an Uber to visit her mom in prison, this time Rachel has ditched camp to come here and confront her mom about why she didn’t come say goodby before she left for camp. Kristen explains that she was tied up in the incredibly secret and secure tunnel (the very same one this eight year old girl knew about and just emerged from) and then they begin scheming about how they can be together permanently.

Yes, that’s little Rachel saying “I thought we were fighting that.” That being custody of her. Which is a privilege currently enjoyed by her father, Brady.

Then Brady shows up, having just received a call from Rachel’s camp informing him that she’s gone missing.

We don’t hear the other side of that conversation, but the fact that it ends very quickly says to me that they just kind of threw their hands up after reporting this to him. “Yep, she’s gone. We told you. We’re off the hook now.” Which probably explains why he looks so pissed.

He confronts Kristen, who insists she hasn’t seen Rachel today.

We’ve seen this attempted kidnapping happen five or six times since we started watching and I root for Kristen every single time. There’s a burgeoning supervillain in that little girl — one that could be even more insanely over-the-top than her Auntie Megan — and the only way it’s ever going to develop further is under her mother’s tutelage.

All of that being said, I can’t imagine “nope, she’s not here” when she is, in fact, here, is going to work for very long. Because, supervillain family or no, Kristen is actually really bad at this.

Over at the Spectator, Xander is lamenting a serious decline in ad revenue when Chloe comes in with this hilarious (?) cactus-based ad for Southwest Airlines.

It’s extremely weird for this show to be so specific about a brand (the only other time I can remember it happening — apart from the clumsy Peacock references — was the above-mentioned Rachel incident where they actually said “Uber” instead of “ride share”), so I can only assume this was paid promotional consideration of some kind.

This will take the paper out of the red and Xander is so pleased by this development that he convinces Chloe that they should fuck right here in the office.

So they do.

And then Gwen walks in.

Naturally there are a couple of cactus/dick jokes. Which is a little odd since Leo isn’t even in this scene. (I told you, I’m getting there! I need like… two more sentences, okay?)

Chloe runs off, Xander gets dressed and he and Gwen discuss her engagement. Xander is jealous, but then they actually kinda talk things through like grown-ups and he ends up expressing a genuine desire for her to be happy with Dimitri.

And we pick up where we left off with Dimitri: he’s entered his room, and discovers Leo, who has himself discovered the paperwork detailing the whole “marry Gwen, get rich” scheme. So Dimitri kisses Leo.

At the end of Friday’s episode, Leo looked terrified, like this was non-consensual and we were about to go someplace truly unpleasant. But Days has absolutely no qualms informing you that you must have been mistaken — our hero did indeed get out of the cockadoodie car in time. And, oh look at that, Leo is now suddenly a lot more into this.

Dimitri then proceeds to convince Leo that he (Dimitri) is not actually straight — the Von Leuschner family insists that he marry a woman to receive his inheritance, but he (Dimitri) is, in fact, gay.

He also insists that he finds Leo irresistible. Which is where the lie breaks down for me, personally.

But Dimitri is extremely committed to this ruse. That, or he really does have awful taste in men.

Either way, this is now where we find ourselves: with Dimitri insisting to Leo that he’s a secret gay and convincing him not to tell Gwen. Which Leo, for all his protestations of being Gwen’s BFF, agrees to.

And this will all probably be fine since they’re the only two who know about any of this. Except…

OH SHIT! Could this be the greatest cliffhanger ending this show has given me so far? I think it might be!

[titan-fodder]

Detonate

Pairing: Pro hero!Bakugou x Reader

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Count: ~7.2k

Tags/Warnings: cis female reader, so much banter, swearing, mentions of bullying, enemies to lovers, honestly just so much banter, not-quite confessions, explicit sexual content, oral sex (male & female receiving), vaginal sex, facials, one joke about small dicks, and more banter

A/N: this was supposed to go in an entirely different direction, but since my friends are indirectly turning me into a bakugou fucker, this is what ended up happening. this has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for literal months, so may as well yeet it out now. will this become a regular thing? doubtful. but who knows what could happen. anyway, enjoy~

As soon as you see him, you roll your eyes, trying not to groan out loud. Smoke billows in the alleyway behind him, his palms still popping with tiny explosions that remind you of sparklers. He always was one for theatrics. 

 "You okay down here, sweetheart?" Bakugou—no, sorry, Great Explosion Murder Go… actually, nevermind—asks in the raspy voice you remember from your high school days. 

 "Yep," you nod, flashing an unconvincing smile as you look up from the perp you're tying up. "Dandy, even."

 "You sure?" His boots are heavy on the pavement when he walks toward you, small rocks and dust getting crushed with every step. "'Cause you missed a few stragglers back there—had, like, four guys tailin' you." 

 The man you're tying hisses when you cinch the rope tight around his wrists, pulling him to his feet at the same time you get to yours. 

 "I was planning on circling back, thanks."

 "Well, they were getting pretty close, probably gonna gang up on you," the blonde muses, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess it's good I showed up."

 And, you'd known the exact moment he had. Even blocks away, you could hear Dynamight, kind of hard not to, and even his quieter attacks carry his signature with them, thick smoke rising above buildings, the sweet smell of a massive campfire permeating the night air. 

 You had hoped he wouldn't actually find and talk to you, but… No such luck. 

 "Guess I was," you say with a click of your tongue. "I'm about to call Tsukauchi. What'd you do with the other guys?" 

 Bakugou nods to the side. "Next alley over."

 "Did you tie 'em up?" 

 He shakes his head, smile widening. "Don't worry. They won't be wakin' up any time soon."

 "Are you—" you stop yourself with a scoff, shoving the criminal in your grasp against the nearest wall before setting off toward the stragglers. "Careless. Just fucking careless."

 "Oi! Where're you goin'? I told you—"

 "I heard you," you wave behind you. "I just prefer a more thorough approach."

 Bakugou is a good hero for the most part. He struggles with his gruff public image and occasional PR disaster, but when it comes to actual on-the-job happenings, he's stellar. It's just that he relies on sheer force and not much else, doesn't care about leaving things pretty. 

 As you can see when you round the corner. 

 Bricks are littered about, dust still kicked up, explosive black marks decorating the nearby buildings. In the midst of it all are four bodies sprawled out, completely unconscious. You spot blood trickling out of a few ears, some facial lacerations, and a broken wrist but not much else. 

 Dynamight must have focused on the structures rather than the perpetrators in terms of targets, knowing a big enough attack would still knock them out, send some debris flying but not leave anyone dead or mortally wounded. It's a good tactic considering how volatile his quirk is, but the business owners who've leased these buildings might argue. Could also be catastrophic if implemented during the day when the buildings are actually packed with people.  

 "Satisfied?" 

 You ignore him in favor of grabbing extra zip-ties from one of your pant pockets, always thankful you chose utility over fashion when deciding on your costume. Of course, being impossible to ignore entirely, Bakugou holds out a still-smoking hand after he watches you immobilize the first man. 

 “Gimme a couple,” he grunts.

 “I can do it myself, it’s fine.” You hope it comes off as a casual shrug-off, but judging by the way he scoffs, you have a feeling there was still a bite to your words. “Fine, whatever, just grab the last guy,” you amend, tossing a couple of the plastic ties in Bakugou’s general direction. 

 “No, no, it’s fine. Wanna act like you did it all yourself, that’s cool,” he says, holding his arms up as he falls to lean against one of the crumbling walls. “Not like I’m surprised.”

 “That’s not even—” You growl and shake your head like it will get rid of your rising irritation. “Whatever.”

 The better part of your teenage years were spent being antagonized by the hero off to your left. Though, that’s not to say you didn’t get a fair few of your own jabs in against him once you actually grew a backbone. From harmless pranks that just made each of you roll your eyes to actual serious injuries while practicing or sparring, you and Bakugou covered the entire spectrum.

 You’ve never gotten along, not when he shouldered into you on your first day at UA and not when you flipped him off after walking for graduation. Having taken a job in the states almost immediately, you haven’t seen much of him over the last few years. Honestly, having several thousand miles separating you from him was pretty nice, no fear of him popping out at you from around the next corner with a palm full of sparks with your name on it. 

 All good things must come to an end, you suppose. 

 The phone call to Tsukauchi is short, just your location, how many perps, and their overall condition. He tells you he’ll be at the scene soon with a few cars and to sit tight until then. 

 “Was that the cat dude?” Bakugou calls from his place on the wall, and you turn to give him the most incredulous look you can muster.

 “The—Are you talking about Tamakawa?”

 He shrugs. “Does Tamakawa have a cat head? Little bell instead of a tie?”

 “You really don’t know their names? After how many times you’ve had to meet with them, like when you got yourself fucking kidna—”

 He’s off the bricks and in your face before you can blink, the smell of burnt sugar wafting through the air as his hands crackle. “Swear to god, if you finish that sentence…” 

 “Aw, still have a little chip on your shoulder about that?” You grin. “It’s a good thing Deku and Riot had your back, otherwise you would’ve been on your own, and well…”

 "Why do you have to be such a bitch all the fucking time?" He finally breaks, and you think this might be a new record for how long the two of you have held out before reverting to name-calling. 

 You snicker to yourself and take one step back, just so that you aren't breathing in that sugar sweet smell that radiates from him. 

 "What, you thought you were just gonna waltz up to me and act like high school never happened?" You muse. "I don't think so, sweetheart."

 "I'm not waltzin' anywhere! You waltzed! You left after school, and this is you waltzing back home, and—"

 "Katsuki Bakugou, don't tell me you missed me," you drawl with a smirk. 

 He squints at you from behind his mask. "Don't flatter yourself." 

 "Well, what am I supposed to think?" You question before pushing your lips out in a pout, batting your eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. "You find me all alone in a dark alley and come to my rescue, make sure these bad men don't beat me up."

 "God, you're annoying," he grumbles, and you let out a genuine laugh. 

 "Right back at ya', bud."

 He does actually help you with lining the criminals up on the wall, a couple of them mumbling incoherently, others limp as rag dolls. Neither of you try to make conversation, knowing it'll only turn into an argument, and you're glad when you see the cop cars pull up because you know it means you can get away from—

 "Wait, both of you are responsible for this?" Tsukauchi asks, speaking away from the phone he's holding. 

 "What?" You look at him then to Bakugou then back and immediately claim, "No, no, this was all Dynamight, it's fine."

 He did take down four out of the five perps anyway, you barely had to lift a finger, so…

 "Nah, I'd say it was a joint effort," Bakugou negates, suddenly slinging an arm around your neck and gritting through a fake smile, "Always so modest, like she can't help it."

 You elbow him in the stomach but are only given the satisfaction of a very small grunt. Tsukauchi glances between the two of you, obviously picking up on the fact that something is off, but doesn't seem to want to dive into it himself. You can't blame him. 

 "Okay, well, uh, both of you will have to fill out reports then. Do you need a ride to the station?" 

 "No, s'fine, I've got my bike around the corner," Bakugou states. "She can catch a ride."

 "Really not neces—"

 Bakugou just cuts you off. "We'll meet you there!" then starts tugging you toward wherever he's parked his stupid little motorcycle. 

 "What is wrong with you?"

 "Nothin' at all," he chuckles, letting go of you when you rip yourself out of his grasp. 

 "Here I was thinking professional hero work and adulthood would have matured you, but nooo."

 "Look who's talkin'."

 The bike is actually pretty nice, not that you'll ever tell him that. It's mostly black with accents the same shade of green as his disgusting grenades. You're glad he kept the orange far away. It's bad enough he walks around the city looking like an explosion personified, no need to take it another step further.

 His costume hasn’t changed much over the years, still as obnoxious as it's always been—spiked mask and headpiece, bright ‘X’ over his chest, bulky gauntlets, and boots that it looks like he’s finally grown into. He always thought he looked so good in high school, and though you may have been mean to him almost as much as he was to you, you just didn’t have the heart to tell him his accessories made him look like a shrimp, too big for his body type at the time.

 At the time.

 He’s gotten taller, though. Taller and broader. It’s irritating, but you’re not about to dwell on it. It’s just fucking Bakugou in a slightly evolved form, still the same snot-nosed bully you went to school with, sporting the same stupid, unruly hair and the same cocky grin. 

 “You’re gonna have to hold on,” he gruffs after you’ve kicked your leg over the bike, no choice but to sit pressed against him, and isn’t he just loving this. Prick.

 “Yeah, yeah, just get us there in one piece.” 

 The air is warm out tonight, but as soon as you start speeding through the streets, the temperature feels to drop by a few degrees. Other cars and buildings whistle past, nothing more than streaks in your peripheral vision. Your fingers tightly grip the material at Bakugou’s waist, but even then, you attempt to keep any and all contact to a minimum, still trying not to lean against him completely. He probably knows, can feel how stiff you are behind him, but if he has anything to say, he doesn’t, knows it’s a lost cause against the roar of the engine.

 Once parked outside of the station, you dismount then smooth your hands over your hair, mumble a quiet, “Give a girl a helmet next time, geez,” to which he rolls his eyes and pushes you toward the entrance of the building. 

 “Not really one for ride-alongs,” he tells you.

 You don’t believe him, letting out a sarcastic, “Okay, sure,” so that he’s made aware. Katsuki Bakugou not giving friends—girls—rides on that bike, yeah right. It’s probably one of many tactics he uses to get into people’s good graces (as well as their pants on some occasions). 

 He didn’t publicly date often at UA, and you don’t hear much about his love life now aside from the occasional tabloid yammering about seeing him walk out of a Boba shop with Uravity or Miruko, but you know it, you feel it in your bones, the dude gets around. With a face like that, you know he does.

 Trudging up the steps, you hear his heavy boots and heavier sighs behind you. You’ve irked him which is only fair since you’ve been stuck in a state of perpetual annoyance since you first started hearing his explosions earlier. At least this way nobody’s happy. 

 Tsukauchi gets some peon to grab the routine paperwork for both of you to fill out, shoving you into a cubicle together before shuffling away. You’re content to just stay silent, let the scratch of the pens fill the quietness, and it works for a while, but—

 “You were really gonna give me full credit just so you could leave?”

 You stop writing and peer up at Bakugou through narrowed eyes. “It was less about leaving and more about getting away from you.”

 “That bad, huh?” He asks, and you can see the corner of his mouth pulling upward, a tell-tale sign that he’s about to say or do something infuriating. “Just can’t control yourself around me, can you? Had to at least try to get away.”

 The face you make is completely unflattering, you can tell, but you’re too lost in trying to figure out exactly what you just heard—control?—can’t around…?

 “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 “Look, I know it’s been a few years, but I was hoping since you’re back in the city, we could just put it all behind us,” he tries, red eyes looking full of sincerity to an amateur but not to you. No, you can still see mischief lurking within. 

 “I’m still at a loss,” you admit. “Put what behind us? The years of back and forth bullying, or—”

 “Dont be fucking stupid,” Bakugou laughs, leaning back in his chair some. His eyebrows raise just a bit, expression morphing to one of casual arrogance. “I know you liked me back then and were embarrassed about it. Probably are now, too.”

 The cackle that bursts from your chest is not cute, and it rings through the station for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

 Blinking at you, Bakugou's eyebrows begin to knit together in confusion. "Jesus Christ, you think I—" you wheeze, "—that I could ever—" tears are gathering in the corners of your eyes, "—like, in what world could you—could you interpret all of that—as infatuation?!" 

 You have to drop your head, shoulders shaking as you try and fail to calm yourself down. This idea that he's formed, that you've just liked him this whole time, too coy to say anything so you simply resorted to flinging insults and inflicting bodily injury. It's too fucking funny, can't even put into words—

 "Alright, alright, chill out, fuck," Bakugou grumbles, but it only makes you laugh harder. "Keep it up, and I'm just gonna assume it's a panic response at bein' caught."

 "Being caught—I cannot believe—" Taking in a few deep breaths, you try to avoid looking at Bakugou (or the few unfamiliar faces that are angled toward you because of your outburst). "You thought I was, what, pulling your pigtails or something?" 

 "Why else would you be such a bitch?" He asks like it's obvious. 

 "Maybe because you're a fucking dick? I wasn't just gonna lay and take it like everyone else. Screw that."

 You'd witnessed it too many times to count, the way he would intimidate his peers, make them feel inadequate or completely useless. He had his tight group of friends, and if you're being honest, he wasn't much nicer to them. They just had thicker skin, it seemed. 

 You weren't about to be one of the "extras" at UA, but you definitely weren't gonna be Bakugou's friend, so the only other real option was to become his enemy. It was a bold move, but look where it's gotten you: fearless in the face of pro hero Dynamight, able to laugh out loud at his expense and not be even a little afraid of him. 

 Because what is he really gonna do? If anything, he's even more restricted now than he was in school, has to keep his reputation in mind before doing anything rash (like murder another pro). 

 "Do you assume criminals wanna fuck you too since you don't get along with them?" You tease, enjoying the way Bakugou grits his teeth and glares. 

 "Keep it up, see what happens," he threatens. 

 He's a little red in the face, so you figure you can afford him some mercy, so after a little more giggling, you turn back to your paperwork, finishing it up with a few little snickers here and there.

 You aren't sure if Bakugou completes his forms at the same time as you or if he's just been waiting, but as soon as you tidy your papers and stand, he does the same. 

 "What are you doing?" There’s that bite to your words again.

 Bakugou snorts. “Getting ready to leave. The fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

 You shrug him off like you’ve been trying to all night, stepping past him to get to Tsukauchi’s desk to drop off your report. 

 “You gonna let me give you a ride back to your place?” 

 “Why,” you smirk. “So, you can find ways to torment me in what’s supposed to be the safety of my own home?”

 “God damn, you really think I’m obsessed with you or something.”

 “Hey, man—” the two of you are walking out of the station at this point, and you don’t mean to follow him to his bike, but your legs carry you there anyway. “—the line between love and hate is very, very thin.”

 “So, you think I’m in love with you now,” he chuckles, sounding a little too smug.

 You round on him, jabbing a finger into what you find is a very toned chest. “I didn’t say that.”

 “Yeah, but you implied it.”

 Rolling your eyes, you mumble a tired, “Insufferable,” because you are tired. The aggressive banter really does take a lot out of you, so paired with the criminal fight from earlier this evening, you’re ready to shower and fall into bed. 

 Bakugou apparently does not notice as he refuses to relent. “Lemme give you a ride.”

 It’s a battle you don’t see yourself winning at the present time, so you wave a hand with another grumbled, “Whatever,” and rattle off your address. Like you realized before, he’s on a tighter leash now. It’s unlikely he’d turn to petty vandalism just to piss you off. 

 The ride is a little longer than the one to the station, and while you’re just as stiff as before when you initially get on the bike behind Bakugou, the constant wind against your face eventually wears you down enough to rest your head against his broad back, just between his shoulder blades. No need to let your skin get chapped and raw, especially since someone decided helmets weren’t a necessity. 

 When he pulls up to your apartment complex, he drives around back and idles as you swing yourself over the seat.

 “Thanks for the ride. It’s been a lovely reunion,” you tell him with a sarcastic salute, but he obviously can’t hear you over the engine, so he turns it off.

 You don’t know how to feel about that. 

 “What?” He gruffs with a squint, street lamps shining right in his ruby eyes. 

 “I said it’s been great,” you repeat, making sure to add, “Sarcasm.”

 “Yeah, figured as much.”

 You stand there, counting the seconds as they tick by, and you should turn around, go up to your apartment, leave him until the next time you inevitably run into each other.

 But, there’s a little voice calling out to you: maybe it is time to let bygones be bygones, put the past behind you, move forward as adults. Maybe both of you have grown enough to have some semblance of a civil, professional relationship.

 It’s why you sigh and make the offer, “You wanna come up for a drink or something?”

 Bakugou blinks at you, obviously surprised. “I don’t really drink.”

 “I have, like, tea too, but if that’s a soft rejection, that’s also fine.”

 He laughs, a gritty rumble that makes you curl your toes in your boots. You’re already regretting the invitation. 

 “Not a soft rejection. Just making sure you’re not trying to get me liquored up.” 

 He kicks the stand out for his motorcycle then slides off of it, gesturing for you to lead the way, and why why why did you think this was a good idea? What fucking possessed you to do this? Are you really so hopeful to believe this won’t turn into another fight?

 “Why, pray tell, would I wanna get you liquored up?” You question as you begin to walk up the stairs. 

 “Dunno. Pictures of a drunk Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight that you can post to make me look bad—”

 “You ever regret choosing that for a name?” You interrupt, genuinely curious as you shove your keys into the lock. 

 “Not even a little bit. No one is ever surprised when they meet me, hero name sums up my entire personality,” he chuckles.

 “For once, I have to agree with you.”

 Your unit is small and sparsely decorated. Most of the time spent at home is for eating and sleeping, more often than not out on the streets patrolling or at some boring fucking hero committee meeting you get invited to. 

 “Boots off, please.”

 Bakugou scoffs. “You know how fuckin’ long it takes me to put these on?”

 “That sounds like a you problem. I don’t need you tracking shit on the carpet.”

 He grumbles something under his breath but bends down to start unlacing the hardcore costume boots. Yours are much easier to unzip and kick off, and you don’t miss the way Bakugou smirks when he straightens and finds that you’ve shrunk a few inches, still considerably shorter than him even without his ridiculous platforms. 

 “Wipe that look off your face. You want tea or not?”

 “Am I gonna need to help you reach the shelf it’s on,” he teases, and yeah, this was a bad idea.

 “I know you’re not making fun of me in my own home.”

 “You’d be wrong then.”

 He’s hot on your heels as you walk the few paces into your kitchenette, posts up against the counter as you retrieve the box of tea from the pantry (on a middle shelf so that you don’t have to stand on your tip-toes, thank you). A pot is filled with water, set on the stove, and like that, you both wait for it to start boiling.

 Leaning against the cabinets opposite of Bakugou, you cross your arms over your chest and stare. He’s just how you remember him but… not. Features are harder, jawline sharper, and his frown is somehow even more pronounced. His headpiece is resting on top of the gauntlets next to his boots, so you can see every spike of his hair with nothing to distract you, and you’re alarmed to find that despite its all-over-the-place nature, it looks soft, like you could easily run your fingers—

 You stop that thought before it can get away from you, shaking your head and sighing.

 “What?” He pries.

 You turn back to the pot to find tiny bubbles rising to the surface. “Nothing.”

 He exhales like he’s put out, but you’re too busy once again thinking about how stupid it was to invite him up here. 

 “Why’ve you always hated me so much?”

 The question hangs in the air between you too, thick, heavy, loaded. How are you supposed to answer something like that? The truth, probably. It’s not like it’s embarrassing, but it will no doubt lead to one of many arguments you’re trying to avoid. 

 Back still turned, you counter, “You want me to start from the beginning when you tripped me on our first day, or…”

 “That was just me being a punk kid.”

 You do twist around at that, expression incredulous. “Uh, newsflash, I was also a punk kid.”

 “Okay, new question then. Why’d it take you so long to retaliate?”

 It was sabotage, you remember almost fondly. Loosening screws in his desk so that you could kick one of the supporting rods in the middle of class and make him topple over. That had been a couple days after he’d sprayed you in the face with the water fountain after quirk training. 

 Good times, good times. 

 “It didn’t take me that long, but if you must know, I wasn’t exactly keen on engaging in a four-year rivalry,” you admit with a click of your tongue. “But, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

 “Like, get her ass kicked every other day.”

 “Um, I do recall almost breaking your arm during sparring third year.”

 The little noise he makes is unimpressed. “Barely even a sprain.”

 “Yeah, that’s why you had to have Recovery Girl kiss it better.”

 The water finally comes to a boil, and you dip two teabags into it then spend the next several minutes reminiscing debating past “pranks” that usually ended with one or both of you in the infirmary. 

 “For two people who hated each other, we were pretty, uh… fixated,” Bakugou muses.

 You raise your eyebrows, glancing away. “You said it, not me.”

 “You’re tellin’ me there was really nothing there on your end?” Another inquiry that catches you off guard, but this time instead of looking somewhere else, your eyes snap to his. “Not even a little curiosity?”

 Your gaze narrows, immediately suspicious. “Did you want there to be? Were you curious back then?” 

 “I was a teenage boy. ‘Course I was.”

 It surprises you for some reason, and if you could take another step back, you would, but the countertop is already digging into the small of your back, and to get out of the kitchenette, you’d have to bypass Bakugou which seems like a… not great idea right now. 

 “Years of torment and it was all just, what, a little boy’s sexual frustration?”

 “Well, that and I wasn’t used to anyone challenging me the way you did.”

 “Oh, so I was just special?” God, you hope you don’t sound as flustered as you feel, but the subject at hand is making your face heat and your stomach flip and your hands tremble which you hope he doesn’t notice as you pull the bags out of the tea to throw away.

 “Guess you could say that,” he only halfway confirms, and why is your heart beating so fast? This is Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou. The guy who made some of your most formative years hell, and you’re, what, getting fucking butterflies?

 “You’re shaking,” he says, much closer than before, so close you can feel his breath ghost over the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver. 

 You're honest when you tell him, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re makin’ me nervous.”

 “Why?”

 You reach forward, fingers clumsy as you turn the burner off, then suck in a deep breath and pivot to face him—a mistake considering you’re nearly chest to chest now.

 “Because, Bakugou, I don’t know what you’re playing at right now.”

 Except you think you do. You think you know exactly where this is leading. 

 “You gonna stop me?”

 Your eyes are too wide in your skull, straining, taking in the set of his face. Determination laced with that curiosity he spoke of earlier. Is this just scratching an itch from forever ago? And, if it is, do you really care?

 No. No to that question, and no to his.

 “Tea’s gonna get cold,” you murmur, as if either of you could give a shit. 

 It’s the last thing you manage to get out before he bends to press his mouth to yours, and it’s exactly how you expect Bakugou’s kiss to be—fierce and unforgiving but also hungry, fiery. Passionate. 

 As soon as your lips part, he’s sliding his tongue into your mouth, warm as it moves with yours. One of his hands, larger now than you previously thought, curls around the back of your head, angling you any and every way he wants which is much hotter than you’d like to admit, but then maybe that’s what Bakugou has always been to you: more appealing than you’d like.

 In a swift motion, he scoops you up to set you on the counter a little too close to the stove than you’d normally like, but you’re too wrapped up to worry much about it. About level with his hips now, he has you just close enough to the edge to be able to grind against you just where he wants, just where you want, and the way you moan into the kiss is mildly horrifying, but the reciprocated grunt that rumbles from his throat is extremely satisfying. 

 “Bedroom?” He huffs.

 “Mm, shower, I was sweating earlier,” you try.

 “Don’t care,” he dismisses before ordering, “Wrap your legs around me.”

 A younger version of yourself would have frothed and spit at him, don’t fucking tell me what to do, but not now. Now, you’re busy fitting yourself to him, arms locked around his neck, thighs hiked high as he grips them hard enough to bruise, walking backwards out of the kitchen then letting you direct him to the small room in the back. 

 You’re tossed on the bed and then abandoned as Bakugou sheds his clothes, heavy thunks of various belts and buckles hitting the floor, and while you have the space, you do the same, lifting your hips to shimmy out of your pants then tearing your top over your head. 

 The thought of a shower crosses your mind again, knowing you could use one and he probably could do, but when Bakugou turns to face you, on full display to you for the first time, you come to the conclusion that bathing would be futile as you probably wouldn’t actually do much washing. 

 “Quit starin’, you’re gonna make me blush or some shit.”

 “Oh, please blush,” you giggle, a little shy yourself as you cover your chest when he begins walking toward you. “Give me something new to tease you about.”

 “I don’t think so.”

 He takes one long stride over, and the bed dips when he places a knee on the edge, your entire body tilting toward him and making it even easier for him to reach down and pry your arm away from your torso. 

 "Fuck, you're just as sexy as I thought you'd be," he says, and by the tone of his voice, you can't tell if he's satisfied or upset by this fact. 

 Raising your free hand, you're able to sink your fingers into that soft, blond hair, urging him down to you as you play, "Think about me like this a lot then?" 

 "Tonight, mostly," he tells you sincerely, and you think that's better than him confessing to a legitimate years-long crush. Curiosity at a young age is understandable, but if he told you he had full blown feelings for you back then, you'd probably call him a liar. 

 "Haven't been able to stop thinkin' about this since I found you in the alley," he elaborates, dipping down to nip at your neck then sucking at the offended skin. 

 "So, you covered it up by calling me a bitch?"

 Any snark is lost to the gasp he pulls from you, back arching in an invitation that he takes when he palms your tits. 

 "Old habits die hard." 

 "Tell me about it."

 He bites and sucks a trail down your neck and to your chest, teeth gently closing around the nipple he isn't pinching between two fingers, and your core aches, legs spreading without thought in a silent plea. 

 You got a glimpse of his cock when he'd walked over to the bed, noted its above average size, and the younger you would have been disappointed, always assuming all that Big Dick Energy™ was due to a comically small dick, but here and now, you're so, so glad of the weight of it in your hand when you reach down to stroke him, that his girth is too much to close your fingers around entirely. He's not intimidating, but you know that in time, your eyes will be rolling into the back of your head when he stretches you. 

 There's a bit of desperate fumbling for a while as Bakugou makes his way down your body, groaning regretfully when you lose your grip on his cock, but he seems to forget about it when he drops between your legs and pulls your thighs even further apart. 

 Some men stare. Some tease. Bakugou does neither, immediately burying his face in your dripping pussy, circling your entrance with his tongue, bumping your clit with his nose. Relying on his shoulders to keep you spread for him, he snakes his hands under your ass, gripping each cheek and using them to move you in gentle little jerks—up and down, side to side, like you're riding his face on his terms. 

 Your spine tingles, gut growing hot, because Bakugou looks and feels ravenous as he eats you out, lapping at your wetness when he pushes a finger inside of you, the tip of his tongue laving over the skin that tightens at the intrusion of a second. 

 He's somehow gentle and rough at the same time, in control while losing it, and all you can do is leak all over his face. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging harder the closer you get, and fuck, is that string pulling tight, threads slowly beginning to snap one by one until it's at its full breaking point, and then—

 "Not just yet, sweetheart," he grins, sitting up on his elbows and aiming a little slap right over your swelling clit. "Wanna draw this out."

 You whine, an honest to God pout tugging your lips downward, but it's only another couple of seconds before you decide there are better things to do with your mouth.

 Slipping out of Bakugou's grasp with limbs like jelly, you slide down to your knees on the floor. He catches on quickly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs for you to kneel between. Up close now, you can really admire his cock, its length and thickness along with its barely-there curve and the vein that runs up the side. 

 That's what you go for first, tracing over the raised skin so lightly it makes Bakugou pant. His fingertips dig into the bedspread for a few moments, but sooner rather than later they're pressing into the back of your skull as he leads you to the head of his cock, flushed with precum beading and dripping from it. 

 "Okay, okay," you laugh airily.

 You don't shake him off when he guides you down, your jaw dropping as you cover your teeth with your lips. He's warm and fat, stretching your mouth as you rub the flat of your tongue back and forth on the underside of his shaft. It's only then that he lets go of you, releasing you as well as a deep groan as he falls back onto the mattress. 

 You drool over his cock, letting spit coat him to make your glide easier, and then you're bobbing your head, taking a little more of him every time. You can't quite get the last inch without pushing yourself too far, so you curl your hand around it, jerking him off as you give what is hopefully the best and sloppiest blowjob he's ever received. 

 His hips jump when your other hand comes up to toy with his balls, massaging and rolling them, giving a slight tug every once in a while. Thighs tense and tighten around you, and even over all your slurping, you can hear the short breaths Bakugou is taking in. He's white-knuckling the sheets again, chest flushed with arousal, and then he's suddenly sitting up and pushing you away. 

 "Alright, stop."

 You bat your eyes up at him. "Why?" 

 "'Cause I'm not about to have you tellin' everyone I’m a quick shot," he answers, then scoots back on the bed and beckons you forward. 

 You go but not before grabbing a condom from the drawer of your nightstand. You're more than happy to fuck Dynamight, but you'll be damned if you end up having his kids. 

 Bakugou takes the foil package from you and tears it open with his canines—of course—then rolls it onto his dick faster than you ever could. 

 "You cool with being on top first?" He asks, and it catches you off guard. So much about him catches you off guard. "Want you to be able to set the pace 'til you're used to me."

 "Yeah, that's—that's fine."

 He helps you climb on top of him, just barely having to tilt his head up to look at you, and with his guiding hands, you slowly begin to lower yourself. 

 Eyebrows going high, you moan just as he hisses, your sore jaw dropping open, and it's just as you thought, that delicious stretch, that satisfying burn that you can feel all the up in your throat. 

 Once fully in his lap, you sit for a few moments, adjusting to the feeling of being this full. You rock your hips, heat flooding you when his cock rubs against the bump that makes your pussy drip, and when he notices, he takes you by the hips and repeats the motion with more force than you allowed yourself. 

 "Ohh fuck—fuck, Bakugou—"

 "Katsuki," he grunts into your ear, nipping at the cartilage in a way that makes goosebumps spring up on your arms and legs. "Just Katsuki now."

 At this point, you'll call him anything he wants you to, unable to think straight as he abuses that spot inside of you so that your eyes begin to water. 

 Fighting against his grip, you raise yourself some before dropping back down, and once that precedent is set, Katsuki assists you with the new rhythm. He lifts his hips to meet yours, fucking up into you while you cream around his cock—fuck, it feels so good, so good—

 "So fucking good, oh my god—"

 "Yeah?" He presses his chest against yours, your sensitive nipples gliding against his slick skin and making you push into him even harder. 

 One hand curled around your back, he flips you both around, on his knees now and tugging you by the legs so that your ass meets his pelvis. 

 The new angle makes you cry out, hands reaching for him, nails scratching down his toned abs so that the muscles jump beneath your touch. 

 "Feel good?" If Katsuki Bakugou were capable of cooing, you think he would be right now, voice a little softer than usual but still full of gravel. 

 "Yeah, fuck yes, right there—"

 He pistons in and out of you, and you can feel wetness coating your inner thighs, dripping down to the curve of your ass. He taps your clit a few times, eliciting a pathetic mewl from you. Katsuki just shushes you, though, soothing the nerves with delicate circles that quickly turn you into a sloppy mess, pussy clenching around him only to loosen again as more fluid trickles out. 

 The sight seems to trap him, fixating on the way you take him, pulsing around his cock, covering him base to tip in slick, gossamer arousal. It prompts him to thrust a little harder, circle a little faster until your eyes bulge and your breath catches. 

 Toes curl, your back arches, and like that you come hard enough to make your head throb. Your orgasm rolls over you in waves, body still sucking Katsuki in every time he fucks into you because he still is, riding out your climax alongside you. 

 And, when it dulls into an easy tide and you sigh, he leans down for a harsh kiss, growling, "So fucking sexy when you come on my cock."

 All you can do is moan in response, meeting his hips weakly, pulling his hair, dragging nails down his chest until he's panting heavier and his rhythm begins to falter. 

 "Can I—can I—' he stutters, and for a moment you think he's asking for permission, but before you can be too surprised (or laugh at him), he finishes, —can I come on your face?"

 In any other state of mind, you'd probably decline, maybe shout a judgmental, what the fuck did you just ask me? but right now you are dazed and pliant. Agreeable. 

 So, all you do is smile lazily and tell him, "Sure."

 Katsuki pulls out almost immediately, tearing the messy condom from his cock and moving forward on his knees to angle himself at your face. You sit up on your elbows to help him out, closing your eyes and bracing yourself as the slick sound of him jerking himself off fills the room. 

 "F-fuck—fuck—"

 It's the last warning you get before warm strings of cum start hitting your face, viscous as it drips downward. A line lands over one of your eyes, all but gluing it shut, while another coats your lips, your neck, the last load hitting just above your tits. 

 His hand slows, milking the last couple drops from his spent cock, and then he sighs and falls forward only to catch himself on the hand that's suddenly planted on the mattress next to you. 

 Opening the eye you can, you're not surprised to find him staring at you, smirking at you. 

 "Take a picture. It'll last longer," you tease after licking some of the cum from your lips. 

 He chuckles, reaching up to thumb away the string across your closed eye, then utters an unsurprising, "Don't tempt me."

 Before he can wipe his seed on your bedspread, you grab his hand and suck it from the coated digit. He blinks at you in what could either be awe or post-orgasm bliss, simply swaying when you leave his side to stand up. 

 "That did not disappoint," you say in a strained voice, arms high above your head as you stretch. "Now, I'm gonna shower 'cause I am filthy, and you're more than welcome to join me."

 He does join you. And, afterwards he joins you for re-warmed tea. Then a movie on the couch. Then falling asleep in your bed. 

 Maybe it was a one-off and you'll be back at each other's throats in a few days, or maybe high school really is just water under the bridge. 

 Whatever the case, once a full twenty-four hours have passed—a few texts sent back and forth—you come to the conclusion that you're gonna have to learn to work with pro hero Dynamight one way or another just as your PR teams are about to have to learn because staring at you on the homepage of your news app is a photo of you, clad in a skimpy robe and slippers, walking Katsuki out to his motorcycle the morning after your escapade. 

 Your phone starts ringing before you even close out of the article, 'Lord Explosion Idiot' displayed in bright letters. 

 You accept the call with a laugh. 

 "You ready for this shitstorm?" He asks without pause. 

 "Ready as I'll ever be."

[cafedanslanuit]

- ̗̀ i chew you up and spit you out, ‘cause that’s what young love it’s all about ̖́-

day twenty-six hate sex ft. takami keigo / hawks [boku no hero academia]

☄  tags/warnings: +18, afab reader + she/her pronouns, college/university au, (soft) hate sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), teasing, hawks is flirty and i want to punch his face, enemies to lovers if you may

☄  words: 1.4k

☄  masterlist

“I fucking hate you.”

Keigo’s sharp eyes lock with yours. He doesn’t move, but you notice his eyebrow rising, completely amused with you.

“Yeah?” he asks, flashing you a wicked smirk. “Then tell me to go away. Say the word and I’m out of here.”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you close your fists tightly. He’s got you, even if he’s the one that’s kneeling on the floor in front of you. The moment he entered your dorm, he had you against the wall, his lips devouring you feverishly while his hands roamed around your body. It wasn’t long until he sunk to the floor and started pressing kisses on your thighs.

At your lack of response, Keigo chuckles, stroking the back of your legs warmly.

“Thought so.” His hands travel to the hem of your panties and slowly pull them down. “But, please, elaborate on that. Honestly, I always wondered why I got on your last nerve so much. No one around seems to hate me as much as you do.”

Keigo loves the flustered expression on your face as you look away from him, stepping out of your underwear. This does nothing but rile him up even more. He lifts your skirt just enough for him to press his lips against your folds, rejoicing at the way you squirm. His hot breath collides against you for a moment before his tongue darts across them, humming at how wet you are.

“I’m serious, cutie. Don’t worry if you see me a bit too preoccupied with something,” he says, and you feel his lips ghosting against your core. “I swear I’m listening.”

If it was anyone else, you’d think they were kidding. But this was Keigo, fucking Takami Keigo, the golden boy of the university, loved by every professor that had had the delight to teach him and ogled by most of your class when he walked around in baggy jeans and a loose white shirt.

While you agreed he was indeed very good looking, you couldn’t stand the guy. He was overly confident, always smirking like he owned the place and getting whatever -and whoever- he wanted with his charm. He spent money lavishly, and you could tell by the different watches, rings and chains he used to wear on campus. You had never liked people who were born with a silver spoon, especially if they were stupid enough to flaunt it.

An assigned partner project forced you to work together, and soon Keigo discovered all his grins could earn were eye rolls and tired sighs from you. Intrigued by the reason you didn’t like him, he took the task to try and befriend you, never losing his motivation even after being rejected countless times. His inherent flirty ways only made you dislike him even more, to the point where you asked your professor if you could do the project on your own.

This, of course, led to a huge fight. Keigo had been asked if there were any problems with the group project since you had tried to drop him. Baffled, he searched for you on campus and demanded answers. A screaming match started, one that you tried to end by walking away, but he wouldn’t budge. The fight continued as he followed to your dorm.

To this day, you still can’t remember what happened. Words like “annoying” and “entitled” left your mouth as you pointed at him, while “prejudiced” and “unnerving” were shot by him. You remember him asking what had he done for you to treat him like shit and then, your next memory is of you too roughly kissing in the middle of your room to them stumble to the bed.

It had been more than six months since the project was finished and you had no reason to keep seeing each other. However, you had opened a door that neither of you were particularly interested in closing. While in public neither of you socialized, you had already memorized his way of knocking on your door, and he could vividly remember the taste of your chapstick during classes when he found himself thinking about you.

“Already told you,” you sigh as you feel Keigo’s tongue lapping on your clit. “You’re obnoxious. You’re a pain to be around and— and you think too highly of yourself. I don’t get why so many people like you. Too— too many people.”

“Are you jealous, baby?” Keigo asks, before closing your lips on your clit and gently sucking. He gets hard at your needy whimper and the way you part your legs even further for him.

“Fuck, no,” you huff, yet your voice is trembling. “Why would I— Why— I don’t care. I just think they’re stupid. You— you’re stupid.”

Keigo continues to suck your clit, his tongue aiding him to give you even more pleasure. You can feel yourself dripping, your entrance clenching around nothing as he works on you. Your hands close on his hair, tugging it as you throw your head back, lips parted and moans falling from them.

“Aw, shit,” he sighs, feigning disappointment as he pulls away from you. A warm feeling swirls inside his chest when you look down at him, desperate because he stopped. “Anything I can do to make you like me?”

He slips two fingers inside you, curling them instantly and you feel your legs weakening. Keigo keeps his eyes on you as you fall apart, holding onto his hair like a lifeline while his finger slowly fuck you.

“I mean,” he continues. “I’d love to take you out on a date one of these days. Somewhere outside your dorm for a change.”

His palm presses against your clit, adding even more stimulation. You curse under your breath, his words and the pleasure you were under mixing inside your brain, making less and less sense the more you thought about them.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Keigo stops his movements, and it suddenly clicks that he’s being honest. You lock eyes with him again, scrutinizing the honey pool for a clue of his lies. However, he looks back at you, open and honest, unlike the previous times he had visited your dorm.

“A date?” you repeat.

“Yeah. There’s this cool place that—”

“No,” you interrupt him. Keigo raises his eyebrows.

“Okay. Why not?”

A part of you thinks you’d be able to come with a better explanation if his fingers weren’t still inside of you. Your walls flutter around them against your will, and you have to muster all your strength not to grind your hips against his hand.

Of course, you have a valid reason for not wanting to go out on a date with him. You do, you know you do. Yet, for some reason, you can’t truly pinpoint anything. All that comes to your mind are the countless times Keigo has made you come with his mouth of his cock, the smell of his fancy cologne and his low chuckle against your ear when he’s kissing down on your neck.

“I don’t like blondes,” you blurt out.

Keigo can’t hold down his laugh and fuck— yeah, it was the same as his chuckles.

“Oof, harsh!” he says, before leaning and giving your folds sloppy kisses, loving the wet sound that filled your room.

His tongue draws circles around your clit as his fingers resume their pace. Your moans are music to his ears and he grabs onto the plush of your thighs, pushing himself even closer to you.

“You’re— annoying. So fucking— annoying,” you hiss, as your fingers close on his hair tighter.

Keigo hums. “And you taste so good.”

After so many months, Keigo knows how to make you come. He knows how fast you want his tongue to move, how deep you need his fingers to be. So, when your body starts trembling and you let out the prettiest moan, he knows, once again, he’s reached his goal.

He holds you in place as you experience the aftershocks of your orgasm, putting out his tongue for you to use as you please as you ride it out. Once he notices your muscles are finally relaxing, he gives your folds one last lick, gathering your release and swallowing contently. The whine he hears due to the overstimulation only makes it taste better.

Keigo stands up and wipes his mouth in front of you, who has the prettiest fucked-out expression he’s ever seen. He grabs both sides of your face and before you can stop him, he presses a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

He pulls away just as quickly, his trademark flirty grin back on his face.

“Pick you up tomorrow at seven, baby.”

You watch him turn on his heel and walk to the door, the most ridiculous happy bounce in each of his steps.

“I hope you die.”

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (One)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: swearing

Notes: Alright here is the first ch to my new story! I am super nervous to post this because it is a completely different vibe. But I hope you guys enjoy! Don’t worry, it turns fluffier later:) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14

© taestefully-in-luv

Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your room is blinding from the soft yet striking sunrise, each beam of light swims through the blinds in piercing waves. The intense glow hits you in your sleepy state, causing you to wake from your glorious slumber. Too bright. You sit up in your bed, attempting to rub away the sleep that crusts your eyes. You begin to slowly open one lid at a time, taking in the neat appearance of your room. Your room looks the same as always—there is a nightstand next to your wooden framed bed, it holds a pale lamp and a photo of mountainous scenery. A dresser sits comfortably in front of you, it is dressed in simple décor and a large mirror. Yup, the same as always. You glance over to your sheer curtained window where the sun very offendedly washes over the room—wait. Hold on a god damn second.

Quickly, you begin to open your eyes just a bit wider—where is your royal purple ottoman? The art that hangs on your walls? Your dresser is brown not black for Christ’s sake! You ball your hand in the sheets…these don’t even feel like your sheets, yours aren’t this silky. This is not your room. Your eyebrows climb to the top of your forehead as you jerk your head around. Where the hell are you? Suddenly, you feel something rustle against your side. No…not something—someone.

Your eyes dart to the right of you, where this someone moves against the sheets. Not just someone. A man. His dark, ruffled hair sticks out between the sheets and pillow below his head. Why is there a man in bed with you? Is it…his bed? Oh god. Immediately, your mind tries to recall the night before. Did you go out and drink too much? Go home with a rando? Super unlike you though. You pull your hair as your mind races.

Sitting up in bed, worry crosses all of your features. You try to face all the possibilities that could maybe end up being your reality. But going out and partying is nowhere in your memories. You begin gnawing on your bottom lip, knowing you stayed home last night. And that you fell asleep in your own bed…alone, you might add. So where the hell are you? And why is there another person? Fear enters the picture now, this is the last place you wanted to go. You know, that horrible, terrible, dark place? The one that says your reality is that some creepy man kidnapped you and plans on doing murder-y type things to you. Yup, that place.

You tug on the end of your hair again, you know, you know, a bad habit. But you can’t help it as anxiety grows deeper within you. Were you really kidnapped? Fuck. You have to think. You’re trying to, at least. But breathing is becoming a chore. Your breaths are quick and sharp like you are on the brink of a panic attack. Shit, maybe you are. You try to eye the room again, taking in its appearance more carefully. You can’t help the shiver that speeds down your spine when you notice how perfect this single bedroom is…it actually almost resembles your guest bedroom at home. Which is creepy in itself. You continue to eye the room curiously, while staying absolutely frozen.

The dresser has more photos of pretty scenery sitting on top, as well as a few small vases that complement the rest of the décor. Anxiety continues to grow within you, shaking you to the core. You hate the way your hands tremble in your lap. You want to do something. You truly do but fuck, you can’t even move a muscle. Your breathing begins to pick up even more. Where are you? Why are you here? Who is this man sleeping so fucking peacefully next to you? Your thoughts are going 100 miles per minute, screaming at you, taunting you, giving you the middle finger.

Before you can think through your many obvious questions and answer them, the man next to you begins to stir in his sleep. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly moves to his back from his side. You stare down at him, too scared to move. Too scared to scream bloody murder. Too scared to do anything. And nothing disappoints you more. That you are nothing but a coward. You look down at your future murderer and wait for him to wake.

Future murderer slowly opens his eyes but he shies away instantly from the beaming sunlight.

“Ahhhh.” He lets go in one long breath, rubbing at his eyes in a sleepy manner. You sit still, your own breath caught in your throat. You want to move but fear has you frozen like an evening in the arctic. The man, or Future Murderer as you seemed to have named him, begins sitting up, stretching his arms out above him and yawns a song of sleep. He finally opens his eyes fully and soaks in the room before him. His head moves around quickly, his expression becoming rather…confused.

“What the fuck?”

Yup, those are his first words. Should have been yours too, if you’re being honest. This guy gets it.

Future Murderer’s facial expression grows bewildered as he looks around the room and when he finally feels your presence, he turns his head your way.

“Uh…” the Murderer narrows his eyes at you, “Hi?”

You don’t even realize the sigh of relief that pushes past your lips, but his confusion seems…genuine. And this allows you to relax your shoulders a little bit. Maybe he is a victim to whatever is going on too? You take in his disheveled appearance; he has brown wavy hair that rests above his brow line, eyes darker than the deepest part of the sea and full pouting lips. You would totally admit he’s attractive as hell but considering the fact you’re trying to convince yourself he isn’t going to murder you and the state you’re in, you’re going to push that thought away.

“Uh, who are you?” His brows knit together as he expectantly waits for an answer.

“No, who are you?” You squint at him. How dare he ask like you aren’t the one totally frazzled here? But somehow it’s comforting that he seems as confused as you are. Mystery man (his new name, since he doesn’t appear to want to murder you) (maybe) raises a single brow at you before answering,

“Taehyung.”

You listen to his name roll off his tongue and absorb it. Taehyung, huh? You hesitate for a second before finally giving your own name.

“y/n.”

Taehyung then, has the audacity to pinch his nose in annoyance. To be fair, it looks like the one he’s annoyed with is himself and not you.

“Look, sorry…” he begins, “If we hooked up last night, I don’t really remember and I—"

Your eyes widen at his words and you begin to frantically shake your head,

“No! We didn’t—we didn’t…”

“Oh?” Taehyung gives you a curious look then has the audacity to scoot several inches away from you. Then you feel his eyes on you, they search you from head to toe. You’re wearing your cat printed PJ shorts and a simple purple t shirt. You admit your hair is probably pretty wild, so you card your fingers through your locks. You start to feel insecure under his gaze as he so shamelessly eyes you.

“I don’t know who you are or where I am…do you know where we are?” you question, looking off to the side.

Taehyung pulls his eyes away from you, his head moving around to look around the room, his arms flailing.

“Does it look like I know where I am?”

You only blink at him and he rolls his eyes, “No, I don’t.” he admits.

Moments of silence pass between the two of you. You don’t know what to say at this point even though you have a million things you would like to say. But you can’t form one, coherent sentence apparently. You don’t know anything. You’re fucking clueless and you hate it. You’re trying to gather your thoughts when you feel Taehyung rise from the bed, startling you like he just committed a crime. God, you are such a coward. What? Do you really think the bed is apparently some super safe place that will protect you from the evils of the world? Taehyung walks toward the dresser and other corners of the room, inspecting it carefully.

“Fucking weird, but nice room, right?” he asks under his breath. Taehyung throws a glance over at you. “You don’t know where you are…I don’t know where I am…we both wake up in a strange room and neither of us have any recollection of how we got here.” Taehyung takes a pause to gather his thoughts. “Have you heard anything? You know, from outside the room? There could be other people.” He waits for you to answer but you stay quiet. Yes, you are on that level of coward.

You stay in the bed, anxiety building up, growing fiercer by the second. While it seems Taehyung’s attention is being stolen by the large window where the sun invites him to come take a peak. He tip toes over to the window, lifting the blinds and exposes something you imagine takes his breath way due to his audible gasp.

“Where…the fuck are we?” he asks breathlessly.

Instead of looking for yourself, you stay seated. But are we surprised? You study Taehyung’s expressions, watching for his reactions. His face falls into one of awe but after only a few moments in settles back into confusion. He reaches for the bottom of the window sill and lifts upwards, opening the window and releasing the sound of…is that waves? You continue to observe him, too afraid to see for yourself. He stands there for several long moments before turning your way and he clears his throat.

“I—I don’t…I don’t know where we are, like, really.” He takes a hesitant step towards the bed. “But something tells me neither of us are from here.”

You need a minute. Yeah, you need a minute to process his words. Because what the fuck does he mean by that? You aren’t ‘from here’? Are you on another planet or some shit? This man needs to work on his wording, for Christ’s sake. You feel your hand move just the slightest. Then your other hand. Your toes curl in and out. Seems you aren’t so frozen anymore. Things are, yes things as in waking up with a total stranger and him saying you are in an unknown place, are starting to wake you up. You’re so ashamed your solution to all of this was to stay seated in bed…but for some reason a rushing sensation of bravery washes over you.

You rise from the sheets and step one foot on to the floor. It’s not lava. So you step down with both feet and make your way over to Taehyung. You stop in front of him, tilting your head up since he has several inches over you—but nothing too intimidating, you decide. His eyes find yours and you lock eyes for a few moments. Both of you trying to search the other for answers. You break contact to face the window and wow. Your eyes animatedly widen at the sight. Palm trees and water for miles and miles it seems. No other buildings or sign of life. An island? But not the kind of island where this room is a part of some fancy resort, no, not that kind. Instead the kind where a plane crashes and a group of people have to survive.

You blink down at your new reality. First of all, you live nowhere near an island, so there’s that. You feel the anxiety and frustrations begin to surface again and you can’t help that your eyes begin to gloss over. You snap your head back to get a look at your fellow victim and he looks just as lost as you feel.

“We need to find out what’s going on.” Taehyung takes a deep breath, lifting his head up. He locks his eyes with yours again but you break contact to look at your feet.

“We don’t know anything…would if it’s not safe?” you quietly try to reason.

“Exactly, we don’t know anything and that’s a problem. You don’t expect us to stay in this room forever, do you?”

He has a point and you know it. You want to follow him out of this room but your feet seem to be glued to the floor.

“Well, no. But—”

“Didn’t think so.” He turns away from you, his body shuffling towards the bedrooms door but before he can become out of reach your hand flies to his shirt sleeve, tugging it softly.

“Wait! Just hold on—” Your voice wavers and Taehyung rolls his eyes. Rolls his fucking eyes at you!

“Listen, come. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” Taehyung releases your hold on his shirt, unsticking your fingers and throwing your hand towards your body. “Decide.” He states before swiftly turning around to head towards the door.

Oh. So this guy is a fucking asshole. Noted.

You end up following him because although he was rude about it, feeling someone’s touch when you feel so scared was slightly comforting and yes, you are aware of how fucking pathetic that is.

Taehyung stands in front of the door, his hand reaching for the knob when he turns his head to say, “Just trust me.”

And now you are the one rolling your eyes. Trust him? You just met the dude! 10 minutes ago his name was Future Murderer. How could you possibly trust this asshole?

“How can I trust you? I literally just met you.” The scowl on your face deepens when he smirks.

“Are you always such a fucking baby?”

“Are you always such a fucking baby?” you mock, eyes rolling so far into the back of your head. Okay, you admit you aren’t being the most mature here. But Taehyung doesn’t seem to take offense to it by the way he gasps and throws a hand over his heart as if wounded.

“Oh? She’s got some sass?” His question and raised brows only piss you off.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” You aren’t entirely sure where the confidence comes from but you don’t question it. You’re breezing past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you approach the door.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes on you and hear him mumble a lame, ‘that’s the spirit’ from behind you. And with that, in one swift action you are opening the door.

You stand in the open doorway, once again frozen in place. Not feeling as confident as you were 15 second ago—maybe you just need this dude to piss you off again. Speak of the devil, Taehyung steps besides you, poking his head out into the hallway searching for any sign of life.

“It’s quiet.” He takes a few steps forward, now in the middle of the hall. You glance around, the hallway has walls full of beautiful artwork, and to the right is 3 doors and to the left is a wide staircase. An exit. Bingo.

“Let’s check each room.” And of course he wants to do the opposite.

“No, let’s just get out of here.”

You turn on your feet towards the stairs and stop at the first step and raise a brow over your shoulder, “Aren’t you coming?”

Taehyung looks conflicted to say the least. He exhales deeply, looking between you and the 3 doors.

“Shouldn’t we just—”

“No! come on…” You must sound pleading and convincing because you can see him falter, just a bit. “I just want to go home…” You say, averting his gaze. Taehyung only stares at you for what feels like an eternity before he’s finally agreeing with the nod of his head.

The two of you very cautiously step down the stairs, each foot that follows the other slightly trembles in the fear of the unknown. You two finally reach the bottom and your eyes go wide at the sight. This is basically your fucking dream house. The floor plan is very open. At the center is a gorgeous grand piano, you don’t play but it’s aesthetically pleasing you guess? To the right is a long table with picture frames and décor and down the hall there seems to be more rooms.

You scan the downstairs as you slide your fingers along the edge of this table and stop when you come across a framed photo. What the actual fuck. Your eyebrows rise and your eyes grow twice their size. You very hesitantly pick up the picture as your eyes blink down at the frame in hand when your breathing begins to pick up again. It’s a framed photo of you and your sister . Now why the hell would this be here? Why is there a picture of you and your sister?? Why would someone have this? The framed photo sits in your trembling hands as you stare down at it. Taehyung notices your shaky grip on this picture and takes it from you to take a look himself. His eyes also go wide…you look between him and the picture.

“Why…why the hell is this here?” your voice betrays you as it shakes with every word.

Taehyung glances down at the table and notices his own photos with friends and family that are disgustingly and proudly displayed.

“What the actual fuck?” Taehyung whispers to no one but himself. What the hell is going on? Why does this house have pictures of the two of you? Who is doing this? Is this some sort of sick joke?

“What’s happening Taehyung?” you step closer to him feeling entirely…creeped out.

“Does it look like I fucking know?” he snaps. He sees you flinch and his eyes soften, “Sorry…Its just… this is going too far.” He finally looks as disturbed as you feel. The two of you stay quiet for a few moments, neither of you knowing how to react to this eerie discovery.

You shudder at how ominous this all is. This is becoming way too much. How much more of this can you handle? You almost want to jump into this assholes arms and sob into his navy blue t shirt.

“We should…” Taehyung wipes his sweaty hands on his sweats, “keep going.”

The two of you nod your heads in unison and turn to your left where there is an entry way to the kitchen and living room. Taehyung stops before stepping through while you join him at his side. You two glance around to soak in your surroundings—it’s also an open space, the two open areas sharing a space. The kitchen is covered in black granite and wooden cabinets with a door that probably leads outside. The living room has two matching sofas, a wide screen TV that hangs on the wall over a fireplace and built in shelves on either side, full of books, movies and games.

Taehyung and you share a look before walking through to the kitchen and living room. You approach the rooms slowly and carefully, afraid of what you might find. What surprises could be lurking. Suddenly the white glow of the TV can be seen, making you jump with its sudden brightness. Why the hell did the TV just turn on? Is this like, a haunted house? Are you being fucking haunted? Okay, maybe that’s dramatic.

The screen is bright white with nothing else on it. You turn to face Taehyung who is already staring at you with brows pinched together in confusion. Same Taehyung, same. The two of you decide to walk closer to the TV when dark, bold numbers appear.

“10….9…8…..”

The sound of soft music can be heard playing from the TV, similar to the music that’s played in an elevator, as numbers counting down from 10 begins. You feel your insides twist and turn.

“….7….6…..”

Panicked, the two of you inch closer and closer. You two stand here waiting for something, anything to occur because these might be the longest 10 seconds of your life. The millions of questions you have only multiplying. With the seconds counting down and getting closer to zero, your breathing about fucking stops. What is going to happen? You can feel your palms grow sweaty as your heart beats out of your chest. It feels like the countdown to the end of the world.

“….5….4….3…”

You don’t think Taehyung realizes just how close he is to you, his shoulders bumping into yours. You guess fear does funny things even between strangers.

“….2…..1…….”

And then it finally happens. The timer finally reaches fucking zero. And it is safe to safe your attention has been caught…anyone’s would be if a screen greets them with their god damn names.

“Welcome Kim Taehyung and Y/N Y/LN”

Your names on the screen has you automatically feeling nauseas. What sort of sick game is this? Is someone setting you up? Pranking you? If so, shits not funny. But also, why is Taehyung here? Your eyes focus on the screen as it moves to the next slide.

“It is a great honor that you two have made it this far. You have been carefully selected in this company’s project. After a lot of consideration and impressive results—we have decided to move you to the next phase.”

Naturally, very naturally you become even more confused than you fucking started. What projects? What company? You can hear Taehyung swallow hard, his nerves spiking with each word he reads. Then the slides continue.

“To put it simply, we are in the business of love.”

Huh? Huh?

Taehyung and you break your focus on the screen to steal a glance as one another very briefly before turning your heads back to the TV. What the hell they mean love? What is this absolute nonsense?

“Our use of science, technology and logic has got us here today. We test and heavily observe our chosen subjects and decide if they are the perfect match. We then move them to the final phase: The Island. This is where the two subjects meet and get along for the first time. The place they will undoubtedly fall in love.”

You can’t help that your mouth falls open, you are sure your eyes are bulging out of your head. You dare to turn to look at Taehyung and he isn’t looking much better.

Before you can really gather any thoughts the slides continue.

“Our success rate is 99%. You WILL fall in love here, it is most probable. Other subjects will come to fall in love quickly, other will take their time. BUT don’t take too long~ If two subjects are taking too long to make progress we will send a ‘Request’ to move things along and if you fail to meet said request there will be a penalty. And you have 24 hours to complete the request. This is to help you.”

You shiver while reading the words before you. You are now too anxious to even look at Taehyung right now…you don’t want to even see his reaction to all of this. Is he anxious like you? Is he laughing because there’s no way this is real? Is he nodding along taking notes because he believes it? You don’t want to fucking know!

“We give soulmates the opportunity to meet and thrive. This particular project has been in the works for well over a year.”

You blink lazily at that. Well over a year? WELL OVER A YEAR? They’ve been watching you for over a year?!

“We have carefully observed each one of you in great detail. There is nothing we don’t know. We have matched you two to be most compatible.”

Nothing they don’t know? What the hell does that mean? How exactly did they fucking observe you two? You stand here with eyes wide open and mouth agape. Taehyung mirrors your expression. He doesn’t want to believe this either.

“And you two are finally ready to proceed with The Island.”

The two of you stand in the living room, dumbstruck. Absolutely dumbstruck. You aren’t even able to look at one another for more than a hot second. A harsh blush creeping on your face and you cringe because there’s no way you could blush for this asshole.

You just…you cannot believe any of this. You refuse to. This is ridiculous. Insane.

“This island is only for the two of you. Designed specifically for you. You are being constantly monitored. Hidden cameras are placed all around the house. Minus the bedrooms and bathrooms. The décor and food is to each of your likings, we want you to feel at home as possible. Everything including books, movies, games and rooms are to your likings and match your hobbies.”

Wait a minute. You frantically shake your head, blinking furiously. Constantly being monitored? AKA you’re being fucked spied on? How are you supposed to do anything knowing you’re being watched?

“Your families have already been notified of your absence.”

You feel your heart drop. You didn’t even consider how they might feel.

“You will return safely once we feel we are satisfied with the results. This can be 3 months, 6 months, a year or even more.”

You feel Taehyung spin to face you in complete shock.

“We understand this may seem awkward at first but things will evolve naturally. So you should not worry.”

These words do not bring the least bit of comfort.

“Besides the ‘Requests’ we will not interfere. This is YOUR time to fall in love.”

“Thank you so much for your ongoing participation and please enjoy your new home and of course, each other. <3”

The added heart at the end of the last slide has both of you scrunching your faces in disgust. With that, the TV shuts off, showing nothing but the dark black screen and the reflection of two ghosts. What. The. Fuck.

You’re sure your expression is as clear as day; a mix between anger and hopelessness. You don’t want to look at Taehyung, not after everything you just read but you know you should. So you tip your head to the side to get a good look at him. Worry. All you see is worry. Look, he might be hot as hell but there ain’t no way you can fall in love with this dude. But also, you don’t know anything. You gulp, there is one thing you know. You’re going to be sick.

Your nausea is so built up, it’s at the entrance of your throat begging for release. You stand here, running a clammy hand through your hair. You are going to puke, you know it.

Without any further thinking, you run towards the back door in the kitchen that thankfully leads to outside. You run down a path that you pray to the God’s that this path does lead to the ocean so you can drown yourself in some good ol’ waves. Your anxiety has you out of breath before the run does. You finally reach sand that is warm and grainy under your bare feet and follow it to the shore.

It’s beautiful actually. The view. You wish you could really take it all in and let the calmness of the waves relax you but you are seconds away from upchucking last night’s pizza rolls. But it never comes. Your guts never make it out of your body but the anxiety remains. Falling to the ground, you pull your knees into your chest, trying to breathe and most importantly trying not to cry. This is no use though and to be honest you don’t try very hard because tears are cascading down your face within seconds. You can feel the burning in your chest as hot tears fall onto the warmth of your cheeks and it breaks you further. You sit here and wonder if you are really stuck here in this place and with a complete and total stranger. The same thought stays with you as you ball into yourself.

You sit here, indulging in quiet sobs until they finally ease into soft sniffles. You reach up to wipe your eyes, ridding yourself of tears and the thoughts that came along with them. You need to think more clearly. Okay, positive thoughts. Come on y/n, you can do this. Positive thoughts. First off, you’re not alone. You are not the only victim here. You have an acquaintance here who you are sure isn’t very pleased about this either. But wait—would if this guy is a total weirdo? A psycho? Okay, maybe being positive is harder than you thought. Plus he was a total asshole to you earlier. But maybe that will change?

You stand to your feet, feeling more determined than before. You are going to try to make the best out of this shitty situation. You brush away the annoying leftover grains of sand from your legs and your behind and turn around to make your journey back to the house, your ‘home’. Ew, you did not just call it that, you shudder at the thought. Before you start walking, you spot Taehyung aka your ‘soulmate’ ew, you did not just him call him that— sitting, leaning against a tree. Yup, right next to where you just had snot running down your nose. Before spiraling into embarrassment, you take a good look at him and oh. You step towards him and his eyes follow your movements until you are seated next to him. He’s tense, that’s for sure. But you can’t really blame him, now can you? You are a little bit selfish, aren’t you? He is clearly freaking out too yet you ran out on him. You can see his expressions now: confused, anger, upset. And something you can’t quite figure out.

Taehyung looks your way and offers you a small, tense smile and then turns his head away from you to face the ocean again, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

You really don’t want to feel offended because hey, that’s fair. But still, this asshole doesn’t even know you so you roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you dude.”

Taehyung glances at you and gives you a look, like he knows that’s impossible.

“Sure.” He says.

“You don’t fall in love with me.” You snap back, feeling like you won something.

“Yeah, that won’t be a problem.” He deadpans.

“Listen…you’re not a psycho, are you?” You narrow your eyes at him. Taehyung stares at you for a second before he dramatically rolls his eyes at you, then he narrows his own eyes.

“I’m not a psycho,” he defends, a serious expression drawn on his face. “But how do I know you’re not?”

You bite down on your lip as if really contemplating,

“Fair point.” You smile cheekily but then your face falls into a frown. “This isn’t…real, right?” you try to brush back your hair behind your ear but the wind makes it difficult. “The TV…this is a joke, right?”

Taehyung looks on towards the ocean, the big blue waves crashing in the distance. He is silent for several long, annoyingly long moments. You can’t help but wonder what goes inside his head, what is he thinking? What is he feeling? It’s got to be similar to you, right?

“Let’s say it is real. There’s a company who…who…spied on us for a year. What does that mean? They hacked our phones? Hacked our homes? How far did they go? They said they know everything…” Taehyung pauses, flinching at his own words. “So, say they do. They believe after all their research we make a good match…the perfect match, apparently.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt that.” You cut in. “We couldn’t even get along in the first 10 minutes—”

“That’s because you were being a baby.”

“That’s because you were being a—Shut up.” You huff.

“Who’s being rude now?” Taehyung smirks. “Listen, I think it’s best if we just play it safe. But I am serious…I won’t be falling in love with you. And I am not a psycho.”

“And I am serious too, I won’t.” you remind him, annoyed. “It’s you who should be careful.” You poke your tongue out and Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“So do you like pancakes? Mister Not Psycho.” You look at him with a playful smirk and he wastes no time to curve his lips downwards.

“Pancakes?” he lifts his brows but then a scowl takes over, “I’m not falling in love with you even if you make me pancakes. I still can’t get over this…they spied on us for a year y/n. Invaded our privacy…this is too much. Too much to be thinking about god damn pancakes”

“Yeah but it seems like we’re stuck together,” you reason, “Whether we like it or not. So you can maybe try not to be such an asshole to me? When I’m just as much of a victim as you are. And we still have to eat.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops a little, then he closes it, screwing his eyes shut. “You’re right…I’m sorry,” he stands to his feet. “This is all just so crazy and a lot to take in…”

“I know…” you pause, “It’s sort of like being on a vacation—”

“Just stop.”

Taehyung walks past you, heading back inside the house. Leaving you alone with nothing but the ocean.

You stare off into the wide unknown, the oceans blue emptiness swallowing you whole. This looks like a dream vacation spot, if you’re being honest. But this? This was about to be the vacation from Hell.

~~~~~~~~

You and Taehyung walk through the door back into the kitchen, a look of grimace on his face while you frown. You two decide to check out what this place has to offer. You’re both clearly skeptical of this whole entire situation, well at least he is. He feels like the only one who is acting appropriately. But he can safely assume you probably are feeling a bit skeptical yourself. You two check to see is there is anything safe to eat—if there even is food. He doesn’t know what to believe. Was this situation, he doesn’t know…real? True? Every word he read, is a loud echo in his mind screaming at him. How could he even take this seriously? How could you take this seriously? This is fucking insane! He looks over at you, who is rummaging through cabinets, you look the same as a few minutes ago—calm with an unsure expression painting your features. He hates how calm you look, he can’t help but feel so annoyed by you.

He takes a look in the large, silver fridge and is pleasantly surprised to see many foods that he likes; lots of fresh fruits, juices, milk, sandwich meats, so on. It is fully stocked. He reaches inside the fridge for a bowl a fresh fruit, his other hand grabbing for a can of whipped cream. He gives you a look and nods towards the bowl.

“Should we test them? See if we die from poison or some shit?” he half jokes, his bitter tone shining through. You try to ignore his bad attitude and smile.

“We’re testing them with a can of whipped cream?” you go for a lighter approach but he just rolls his eyes.

“Go big or go home, am I right ladies?”

You snort. Real life snort. And you consider being embarrassed but you see Taehyung’s eyes light up in amusement before they’re darkening again.

You reach for a strawberry and pop that thang in your mouth, so he does the same. You two chew cautiously, the flavor and juices bursting. These might be the best god damn strawberries either of you have ever had. Such a shame they are being enjoyed in such a situation. He turns to face you, the you who is now stuffing your face with strawberry after strawberry, he can’t help but let a chuckle slip between his lips.

“What? Go big or go home…” you pause, a smirk playing at your lips. “Right ladies?” Taehyung only rolls his eyes at your smart mouth, he won’t allow himself to laugh.

Taehyung is still trying to gather his impression of you. When you first met you were a total cry baby, then you were just annoying and now you’re trying your best to be calm. He recalls how you ugly cried just outside—god, you have been a roller coaster of a person but considering your situation he understands why.

He believes he was more unbothered and brave after having first woken up…but after seeing those framed photos he got freaked the fuck out, to put it simply. Then the TV…everything just went downhill from there. And he sees what you’re doing…you’re trying to be strong. And he hates you for it. Why is he being the weak one here? How are you doing it with such ease? He’s spiraling. His whole life just got put on pause. His dreams and aspirations? Pause. Friends and family? Pause. His love life? P-Pause? He can’t help but worry over every detail, not to mention…is any of this the truth? Are you two just supposed to believe the god forsaken words that you read on the TV screen? And you went on about this being like a damn vacation. Unbelievable! But all he can do right now is breathe in and breathe out and try to be himself. Which at the moment is a really unhappy person.

You and Taehyung continue reaching into the bowl for more refreshing fruit, your fingers brushing against one another like this is a god damn Hallmark movie, but you don’t seem to be fazed by it so he won’t either. Even though it’s driving him crazy, he doesn’t want to touch you. He wonders what your thoughts are on the whole ‘love’ thing? It’s ridiculous. Don’t get him wrong, in a different situation he could see himself getting along with someone like you, maybe even hook up…but fall in love? Not likely. Plus he already has someone. Sort of.

“Ah, wait…” He pauses mid bite.

“Hm?” you hum, mouth full.

“Aren’t we like, supposed to be finding pancake mix or whatever shit you wanted to find?”

With a roll of your eyes, you lick your fingers clean while the other hand lays rest on you hip. (And no, his eyes did not linger when you sucked on your fingers and no, they did not travel down to your hand that rest comfortably on your nice hips.)(And no, he did not just think your hips are nice.)

“Couldn’t find any!” you dramatically yell out, “You guys FAILED us!” you then look over at him with a smirk, “So much for being experts right?” you scoff, he almost wants to laugh at your dramatics but he just stares at you blankly.

But soon that blank stare is changing into a sour one when he realizes just who you are talking to…the very company that trapped you here. The one that’s watching over you right now. Or so they say.

“We should inspect the whole house.” He says seriously, “You know, get to know this ‘vacation home’ or whatever bullshit you said.”

You look down at your feet, feeling fucking embarrassed.

“Sorry for calling it that I—”

“I know,” Taehyung kind of smiles, “You were just trying to make us feel better. I get it.” His tone is softer than even he intended.

“It didn’t really help, did it?” you scratch the top of your head, feeling sheepish.

“Not really.” He answers honestly, with hard eyes. “Now come on, let’s check things out.”

You nod your head with an eye roll, he still chooses to be dickish.

The two of you walk into the living room to the entertainment center. The TV is surrounded by shelves of books, movies, and games. Apparently all to your liking, so you guess you will see how true that is.

“Woah, there’s Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” You comment, the game case in your hand.

“Woah, I can kick your ass at Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” Taehyung plainly responds while shuffling other games between his hands.

“Don’t even. I will play you right now.” You try lightening the mood but he just rolls his eyes.

“We have other important things to do, need I remind you?” he begins lecturing you and you scoff.

“You don’t need to remind me our shitty situation. Your stupid face is reminder enough.” You bite.

“Oh?” Taehyung continues to look through cases, barely paying attention to you.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “There’s tons of movies here and TV shows as well,” you gesture toward the bottom of the shelf. “Some I have never seen before,” you squat down, your fingers brushing against DVD cases until you stop at one in particular, pulling it out. “Like, what the hell is ‘Castaway on the Moon’?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, “UH, only my most favorite movie ever?” he says, taking the case from you.

“Looks weird.” You comment plainly.

“Weird—it’s not weird! It’s actually really good I swear, actually you know what?” Taehyung huffs out, it’s the first time you’re seeing him get so worked up. It’s amusing. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He pouts, clearly wounded you would think to call his favorite movie ‘weird’.

“Plus, who’s weird?” he asks, “What’s with all this anime? I know it ain’t mine.”

You jut out your bottom lip in guilt, your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Well, well…”

“Well, well…” he mocks, feeling satisfied.

You raise your eyes to meet his and walk an inch towards him, never breaking contact.

“I’ll give yours a shot, if you give mine a shot?” you challenge, sticking out your hand. He guesses you want him to shake it.

He takes a moment to let his eyes linger on yours. They’re dark. Plain. Boring. Nothing special. He looks away and scoffs but the idea of sharing his favorite movie with someone does pique his interest.

“Deal.” He says, going in for the handshake. He feels your hand in his and doesn’t expect your skin to be so soft.

“Deal.” You say with an evil glint in your eye. “I’m going to make you watch so much good shit.” You continue to hold on to his hand, you look down at them and become slightly shy. You just remembered your situation. You keep staring for an odd amount of time before you drop his hand and shake your head.

“Should we check out the other rooms?” you start walking towards the entry way back into the main area of the house, but stop to turn and look at him.

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that.” He answers back, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

The two of you walk back into the main area where the rooms are located. He hesitantly creaks open the first door. He’s met with a room so fitting. A room full of art supplies. Drawing boards, brushes, paint, etc. He feels his palms pool with sweat.

“Do you make art?” you question, looking up at him.

“Yeah.” He gulps, feeling creeped out all over again. “They really did their research, huh?” he whispers to himself.

You two stand in the doorway, taking it all in. Taking in what this could really mean for you two. It begs the question: Were they really spying on you for over a year? Do they really know everything there is to know about you two?

You softly nudge Taehyung, “Why don’t we move on to the next room?” you suggest. He turns his head to face you as he swallows hard, nodding his head in agreement.

The next room is nothing spectacular, just a home gym.

“You work out?” he asks.

“Barely,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I always have the excuse of not having time or not wanting to go all the way to a gym. Guess I have no excuse now.” You look up at him with a sheepish grin. It’s hard to believe you don’t work out, Taehyung thinks. You have great legs.

“I see.” He turns his back to you, exiting the room.

The next room really wows Taehyung. He doesn’t mean for it to. He wants to hate this place.

It’s a room full of musical instruments and recording equipment.

“Holy shit.” He accidentally lets out. He walks around the room, touching things with just his fingertips. “This is like grade A equipment, I could only dream of owning shit like this.” He truly does not mean to be in awe of the music room, you know, because the enemies gave it to him but holy shit!

There’s only one room left and you swear to god it better be for you. You two slowly open the door together to reveal an interests of yours.

“Is this…? Like, a dance studio or something?” He questions, glancing around the room, “Are you a dancer?” he finally looks at you and he seems quite impressed.

You look…surprised, to say the least. Your brows shooting up all the way toward your hairline, your eyes darting all around the room.

“N-Not exactly…I mean, kind of?” you admit, your eyes falling to your hands. He tilts his head in confusion.

“I…I just have a serious interest I guess you could say,” you look all around the room again, “But I,” you play with your fingers. “I have never said it out loud to anyone.”

“Oh.” Taehyung breathes out in understanding. So, these fuckers really did spy on you guys. In depth. You both feel goosebumps rise on your arms, making you both feel a chill.

“Let’s head upstairs. Shall we?”

The upstairs has 4 doors in total. You both know the door closest to the staircase is the bedroom you woke up in.

“There’s no bathroom in this room,” he motions towards the door. “And the closet was empty. So, it’s not the master and that—”

“That means there’s multiple bedrooms.” you finish for him, and you both sigh in relief.

He means, this place has a goal of getting you together, so he wouldn’t be surprised if they only offered you one bedroom, but thank the God that he doesn’t believe in that there’s more than one bedroom.

“Yeah exactly,” he breathes out. “I’m willing to bet the door at the end of the hall is the master. Wanna just skip ahead?”

“Sure,” you agree, walking past him to beat him to the door at the end of hall. But you wait for him to reach the door as well before you’re reaching for the knob and slowly turning it, swinging the door open.

The room is big, a huge king size bed in the center of the back wall. Thankfully, the drapes are dark so not a lot of natural sunlight enters the room, Taehyung thinks.

“Hell yeah, dark curtains.” You say excitedly. Obviously reading his mind.

He follows behind you, keeping his comments to himself as you ooh and aah at your surroundings. He is impressed by the rooms simple yet he guesses you could say intriguing décor. Definitely fits his style, but he won’t say that out loud. As an artist himself, the paintings on the walls are very pleasing to the eye. He wonders if they suit you as well. If you’re his ‘soulmate’ they would, he thinks bitterly. He could see himself adding his own artwork to this room. He wonders if you would be okay with that as well—wait. What is he saying? It’s not like you two will be sharing this room!

You drag your fingers across the comforter on the bed.

“Soft.” You mumble to yourself.

He chews on his lips for a moment before speaking, “You can have it…” he shifts from one foot to the other. “The room, I mean. I’ll just take the other bedroom.”

“Really? You sure?” The excitement is evident in your voice. “Wait no—that’s not very fair. We could thumb wrestle for it or—”

He raises a brow, “Thumb wrestle? Really?”

“Mortal Kombat?” you offer.

“That just wouldn’t be fair, I would win too easily.” He says, not impressed. “Just take the room. I’m sure.”

“Fine…thank you.” you bow your head down in defeat.

The two of you walk towards the master bath and your eyes come close to popping out of your heads. It is huge! And super fancy! He’s not good at fancy words but he’ll put it simply, the countertop is long with two sinks. Two sinks. The shower has one of those rain shower head things and woah. That’s for like, rich people. The way you are gawking at this bathroom tells him you’re having the same thoughts as him. Yours are probably fancy like, “This extravagant marble bathtub looks exquisite against these cream colored walls. Very…dashing.” Or some wild shit like that.

The closet is next, He’ll be completely honest. He forgot you would need clothes and shit. But holy moly, there are rows and rows of clothes, both yours and his. There is jewelry (Not really sure why that’s necessary but like, okay) and shoes on shelves against the walls. It was more than he owned himself back at home.

“Honestly I forgot about needing clothes…since we like…live here now.” The words are sour leaving your mouth, he can tell. But also, you are obviously reading his mind again.

“What? You thought you would be wearing your cute little PJ’s 24/7 or what? Wear nothing at all maybe?” he asks, shuffling from one foot to the other. He’s uncomfortable.

“ha-ha.” you deadpan. “I just haven’t really thought about what this all entails is all.”

He frowns at your words,

“We should probably talk about it, right? What this all means, I mean.” His questions causes a shift in the atmosphere. The air becoming a little thicker.

You only nod and turn on your feet to head back into the bedroom. He quickly follows behind you, both of you stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Let’s talk then.” You bite your lip, swaying side to side.

He needs to be honest. He is clearly so confused about all this. Fucking puzzled. He means, what if just what if this company was real? And this company was…right? Are you really a match made in heaven? No, that can’t be. That would be fucking ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous for even considering it. But you two obviously need to talk. Have a fucking chit chat.

You plop down on the edge of the bed and he follows your lead, finding a spot right next to you. Your knee shakes up and down quickly while you play with the hem of your shirt. You’re obviously nervous as fuck, which he can’t really blame you. He watches you for a few moments before hesitantly placing a hand over your shaking knee, trying to stop the anxious movement and hoping to God he is not crossing any serious lines, he’s just really getting annoyed by your shaking knee and needs that shit to stop. You turn your head to face him and he is met with a look of frustration. He turns his head to face straight ahead and with a heavy sigh he says, “I feel that way too.” Because it’s true, you both must feel the same. It’s not like you want to be stuck here with him either. Right?

You finally let out a long breath, “How long?” you whisper. “How long will we be stuck here?” you begin to sniffle as your eyes become wet. Shit. He brings his hands to his lap and interlocks his fingers together.

“I…I don’t know.” He answers honestly. “But what are your thoughts? On what we read…” he clears his throat, clarifying as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You suck in a sharp breath, “I don’t know what to believe.” You admit. “But we are…” you gesture between you two, “This is—This is not happening.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as if that wasn't the most obvious statement in the world. He. Could. Not. Agree. More.

You continue, “Someone deciding for me? On this part of my life? That doesn’t sit right with me. No fucking thank you.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“I mean,” you turn to face him, “You seem decent and all, when you’re not being an ass, but this is all insane. Just insane.” You wear an annoyed expression, shaking your head in disbelief. He breathes out of his nose in attempt to laugh.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“But…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully…you have to be careful with this next part. “But if it’s real? What are we—” and yup, just as expected, you are cut off with just a look. He furrows his brows together and pushes his head back in surprise.

“This can’t be forced y/n.” he states firmly. You raise your hands up in surrender.

“Oh my god, Taehyung. I know that! I fucking know, jeez. But we have to talk about all the possibilities.” You say firmly, “We’re stuck here for who knows how long and you read the same thing as me, right?” you push on, “3 months? 6 months? A fucking year?” you drag a heavy hand down your tired face. “And don’t even get me started on these damn ‘Requests’ and whatever they are!” You are clearly very frustrated…Taehyung looks at you with the same pity you’re sure he feels for himself.

“Okay, okay.” For the first time Taehyung speaks to you much more softly. “Listen, they can’t keep us here forever? We are going to prove we are that 1%. We just got to stay out of one another’s way and just wait it out until they return us home.” Then his frown deepens, “But wait, what about the ‘Requests’?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You strum your fingers on your thigh, staring down at your lap, in deep thought.

“I know this is weird but…” Taehyung starts.

“I know, we have to talk about it.” You finally look up at him and your entire face has gone pink.

“If the ‘Requests’ are, I don’t know, “pure” enough, we could just like do them?” you look at him with doe eyes, “Or like, if the penalty isn’t that bad…. I don’t know.” You ramble on.

The thing is, neither of you know what to expect from these ‘Requests’ and their penalties. It’s one huge mystery. And neither you nor Taehyung are a fan of mysteries. Taehyung watches as you begin shaking your knee in total panic again when he clears his throat.

“Hey…I think we can worry about that when or if the time comes, okay?”

“When or if…” you repeat slowly. “Okay.”

He stands from his place at the bed and begins walking towards the bedroom door.

“As long as we stay out of each other’s way, we should be good.”

“Stay out of each other’s way…” you nibble on your lips, “Like, we don’t talk or anything?”

“Precisely. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

“But—”

“That’s just the way it’s got to be.”

“Fine.” You speak bitterly, “Fine by me.”

Stuck on a beautiful island in a beautiful house with a beau—with a man. What could possibly go wrong? Vacation from hell, here we go.

[americasass91]

The Shield and the Sweater

Hello lovelies! This little fic came to me when the lovely, beautiful, talented @stargazingfangirl18​ asked a very important question on her blog. Would you rather be enemies to lovers with Steve Rogers or friends with benefits with Ransom Drysdale. Well my greedy ass wanted both. Thus the birth of this story. I also turned it around a little to make it fit into Siri’s 5k Soft Dark Challenge! I’ve never written anything dark before. Also not sure if this classifies as soft!dark or if it’s more dark. But it’s one of those! If that makes you uncomfortable, then please don’t read it. This is also my first time writing a threesome, so let me know if it sucks! I hope you enjoy it! 😘

General prompts:

8)The town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

Dialogue prompts:

3)”Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

11)”I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

Rating: Explicit(if you’re under 18, please leave)

Words: 6.2k(this one got away from me, sorry)

Warnings: soft!dark/dark themes, unprotected sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, threesome(M/M/F), manipulation, language, model!Ransom being an asshole, Steve not being who you think he is

“And I really think if everyone pitches in to make these changes, it’ll really make a difference in the long run.”

Wow, so this is how you were going to die. In your whole 20 something years of existence, you never thought boredom would be your cause of death.

Sure, you were the lead Accountant at Stark Tower and these monthly meetings were mandatory. But did you really have to be here to listen to Rogers go on and on about how we can ‘improve our working environment’? Why did he even care anyway? He was barely ever here as it is.

You must have been zoning out worse than you thought because next thing you know your coworker, Janet, is poking you in the side and pointing towards Steve.

With a quick glare sent her way, you move your gaze to the Captain. He is giving you the same look he always does. Like he’s disgusted with you. “I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N. Am I boring you?”

A scoff escapes your mouth. “No, not at all Captain Rogers. I just love when people who are never here seem to always have an opinion on how things are run and how they could be better.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Do you have a problem with me, Y/N? Cause if you do, I’m sure there’s a way to solve that.”

You stand up and match his expression. You lean forward with your hands resting on the table. You can’t help but notice the Captain drops his gaze to your cleavage that’s now on more display than before. But just as quick as it was there, his gaze rises back up to meet your face. “Is that a threat, Captain Rogers?”

“Oh, it’s more than a-“

Tony quickly stands up and claps his hands together. “Okay! Meeting adjourned! You two, come here!”

You quickly straighten yourself up and make your way over to Tony. You always try to make sure you show him as much respect as you can. He’s your boss after all.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. My emotions got the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

He nods to you. “Thank you, Y/N. I accept your apology. But what I’m not understanding is why Steve here wanted to fire you?”

You both turn to look at Steve who has a sheepish expression on his face. “Yeah, sorry about that, Tony. She just seems to bring out this ugly side of me. I’ll try to keep it more contained next time.” He then moves his gaze to you. “Sorry, Y/N. I promise to be more professional moving forward.”

He makes a quick exit, leaving you shocked that he apologized at all. Ever since you started here almost a year ago now, you’ve been at each other’s throats. It was your fault really.

It was your first week and you were in the break room grabbing some coffee when you overheard a few of your coworkers making fun of Steve for being a virgin. Now, you weren’t sure if it was true but you wanted to fit in so you made your way over to the group and asked if anyone calls him Captain Virgin. That earned you some big laughs. But the laughter died down quickly as Steve entered the room to grab some coffee. Judging by the glare he gave you, he heard what you had called him.

You went straight to Tony after that to apologize. You really didn’t want to get fired. But you wanted to make sure Tony heard the story from you before Steve got the chance to talk to him. To your utter surprise, Tony found the name hilarious and gave you a high five, saying you were going to fit right in.

Well long story short, it’s almost a year later and Steve is still getting called Captain Virgin. Oh but don’t worry, he has names of his own for you. His favorite is Tony’s Pet. For some reason, it really eats at you when he calls you that.

But the one thing you hate the most about Steve?

Is how utterly, hopelessly, and desperately attracted you are to the son of a bitch.

That happened in your second week when you went to use the complimentary gym and saw him beating the shit out of some poor punching bag. Your panties and your workout were definitely ruined after that.

The more you fought with Steve, the more you just wanted him to bend you over any surface and have his way with you.  

It was despicable how horny you were for him. You were pretty sure all he’d have to do is snap his fingers and point to the floor in front of him and you’d happily drop to your knees and take him down your throat.

So that left you leaving work every day in a horny state. You started by taking care of it yourself when you got home. But after a while even that wasn’t cutting it. Then you started bringing home one night stands. But after the 4th disappointing non-orgasm, you gave up and just learned to live with it.

Sure, you could attempt to start being nice to Steve and maybe ask him out. But you were pretty sure he hated you. Plus you have way too much pride to actually do that.

So that leads to now. It’s Friday night and your workday is almost over. You’re inputting the last few numbers from the last expense report in your pile.

You get the last number put in when Janet approaches you. She sits on the corner of your desk. “So, you coming tonight?”

You take your glasses off and lean back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. “Coming where?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Oh, come on Y/N! You know we go out almost every Friday night. You never come and you always say you will!”

You start to clear off your desk and put things back in their place. “Yeah well I could. Or I could go home and sit on my ass and do nothing.”

“Well, that explains why it’s looking a bit bigger lately.”

Janet’s jaw drops as she directs her gaze at Steve, who is now standing in front of your desk.

You smirk and lean on your elbows towards him. “You like looking at my ass, Rogers?”

He scoffs. “Well when it takes up that much space, it’s hard not to notice. But here, I came to give you this.”

He hands you what looks to be a 10 page expense report. “Sorry it’s late, I’ve been busy, you know. Saving the world.”

You ungraciously take it from him and throw it in your to-do pile. “That can wait until Monday. I’ve got plans. We’re going to-” you look towards Janet for clarification. “Lavo.” You turn your gaze back to Steve. “Yeah, we’re going to Lavo. So this will wait til Monday if that’s okay with you, sir.”

Steve does his best to move his bag and jacket subtly towards the front of his pants so you won’t notice his growing hard-on. He hates how turned on he gets when you guys get into it. And then you call him sir? Jesus. He clears his throat. “Of course, I'm the one who turned it in at the last minute.”

Janet speaks up quickly. “You could always come with us! It’ll be fun!”

You grin widely at him. “Yeah! You could finally get your cherry popped, Captain Virgin.”

Steve can’t help the blush that covers his cheeks. “Uh, I can assure you my cherry has been popped since the 40’s. But thank you for your concern. And thank you for the invite, Janet. But i think I’ll stay in tonight.” He takes out his phone and sends a quick text before turning around and walking towards the elevators.

Wow. He didn’t even try to retaliate. You shrug your shoulders and grab your purse before standing up. “Alright, I’ll go! But on one condition!”

Janet claps her hands in excitement and starts walking with you towards the elevators. “Sure, anything!”

You press the button for the lobby. “You are going to be my wingwoman. Cause this girl definitely needs to get laid.”

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Lavo is super packed by the time you guys arrive. Of course you all had to go home and change.

You decided to go with a simple, yet effective, little black dress that showed off just enough to get men’s attention.

Thankfully you are able to score the last table. The waiter comes over and gets everyone’s drink order. You decide to stick with your favorite. You don’t want to get too drunk on the off chance you find someone to take home.

About a half hour into hot office gossip, Lucy, who is sitting across from you, taps your arm. You raise your eyebrows in question towards her.

She subtly nods her head towards the bar. “Okay I’m pretty sure the hottest guy I have ever seen is checking you out.”

You can’t help the smirk that crosses your face. “Yeah? Which one?”

“You can’t miss him. He’s fucking hot. Like no comparison to any of the other dudes sitting up there.”

You glance down at your drink and quickly finish the remainder. You stand up and adjust your dress, pushing up your breasts in the process. “Well, then I guess it’s time for a refill.” You wink and turn to make your way towards the bar.

It doesn’t take long for you to spot him. And boy was Lucy not kidding. He was fucking hot. Brown hair, blue eyes, and a smug smirk that would normally turn you off. But on him it worked. And who even looks that good in a fucking cream colored cable knit?

You go up to the bar, not too close to Mr. Hottie of course, and patiently wait for the bartender.

Hottie McHothot not so subtly moves his gaze up and down your body. He must like what he sees. “Hey honey, have you ever raised chickens?”

Uh. That’s definitely not the first thing you expected to come out of his mouth. You look over at him with confusion on your face. “Uh, no. Why do you ask?”

He just shrugs his shoulders. “Just kinda figured you might. Cause you sure can raise a cock.”

Okay, you’ve definitely never heard that line before. You crack up. You’re pretty sure you even snorted on accident. Once you collect yourself you ask, “Has that line ever worked for you?”

The bartender makes his way over to take your order. After reordering what you had before, you turn towards Hottie and wait for his answer.

“Not sure, my buddy told it to me yesterday so this is the first time I’m using it. Did it work?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. It was pretty cheesy.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it got you to laugh. So I’d say mission accomplished. Name’s Ransom. What’s yours, pretty girl?” He holds out his hand for you to shake.

Ransom. Now where have you heard that name before? You accept his hand shake. You can’t help but notice how much bigger his hands are than yours. Jesus. You could already feel your panties getting wet.

“My name’s Y/N. Ransom, that sounds familiar. Do I know you?”

He releases your hand and goes to take a sip of his bourbon. “Well, I guess that depends. Do you read magazines or have you seen the side of the city bus lately?”

You quickly wrack your brain. You don’t read many magazines. But the bus drives by you everyday on your walk to work. Holy shit! That’s it! He’s in his underwear on the side of the bus. You’ve drooled over that picture plenty of times.

“Oh, yeah! I remember now! I’ve seen you on the bus! What’s it an ad for? I can never really get past the almost naked man. A bit distracting on my way to work.”

He smirks as he briefly glances down at your breasts. “I’m glad you know my work. It’s an ad for Calvin Klein. For their new line of men’s briefs. Sorry I’ve been a distraction.” He sends you a wink.

Fuck. He was a model. And a popular one at that if he’s in an ad for Calvin Klein.

“I didn’t say I minded. You can make it up to me you know.” You wink back. Holy shit. Were you really flirting with a model?

“Yeah? Well, how about we get out of here and I’ll show you a fully naked man.”

Okay. Cheesy line number 2. Was that really going to work on you?

Yes.

Yes it was.

“Let me just go grab my purse.”

Drink forgotten, you go back to your table as quickly as you can without looking desperate. “Sorry, girls. But this is where I leave you.”

Janet glances down at her phone. “We haven’t even been here an hour yet! Where are you going?”

You send her a wink. “I’m leaving with that guy! You guys know him! Remember that ad on the side of the bus?”

They all turn their gaze to him. And they all make it very obvious. He just waves and sends them a smirk.

“Holy fucking shit! That’s the new Calvin Klein guy! Oh my god you lucky bitch!”

“Wait! Listen. We’ll let you go on one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Okay?”

Janet gives you a naughty smirk. “On Monday I’ll need a report on if they had to stuff his briefs to get that delicious looking bulge or not.”

You give her a naughty smirk of your own. “I can totally do that.”

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Monday morning you were all smiles as you stepped off the elevator and headed towards your desk. You give Janet a wink as you pass by her. She quickly makes her way over just as you sit down. “Um, excuse me hoe. But is that the same dress you were wearing Friday night?”

You quickly grab the cardigan you always keep in your desk out and put it on and button it up, attempting to look a little more professional. “Maybe.”

Janet opens her mouth in shock. “You stayed the whole weekend with him? You little slut! How was it?”

You turn on your computer and grab for the expense report of Steve’s you left in your to-do pile. Then you turn towards your nosy coworker. “Well, if you must know, yes. I did stay the whole weekend with him. And I’m pretty sure I was in an orgasm-induced coma the whole time. It’s all kind of a rough, sticky, mind-blowing blur.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

You shrug your shoulders as you put in your login information on the computer. “I haven’t decided yet. While the sex was the best I’ve ever had, he’s kind of an ass. Talked about himself and all the famous people he’s hooked up with since becoming a model. I honestly kept initiating sex just to make him shut up.”

She gives you a look like you’re stupid. “I’m not seeing the issue here. So what if he talks about himself a lot? The sex was amazing. You need to lock that down girl.”

You roll your eyes at her. “That’s the thing, Janet. He doesn’t do relationships. He told me so multiple times. Plus I’m pretty sure he was texting another chick in between our ‘sessions’. I suppose if I’m desperate, I’ll get a hold of him.”

“You know you could always just have him on backup for sex. Like a friends with benefits situation.”

“Janet, I’m in my late 20s. I’m too old for that kind of relationship.”

“Exactly, you’re in your late 20s! This is the perfect time for that kind of relationship before you settle down and get married! Have one last final hoorah!”

“I can’t have this conversation before caffeine. I’m going to get coffee. You act like I’m dying soon or something.” You turn to walk away but then remember you were supposed to tell her something. “Oh yeah and by the way. The bulge is definitely not stuffed.”

You give her a wink and then head to the break room for some much needed coffee. When you see who’s in there, you almost contemplate going downstairs to a different break room.

Steve is standing at the counter, preparing his coffee. He turns when he hears you come in and gives you a once over. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

You grab a mug out of the cabinet beside him. “Sorry my appearance isn’t up to your standards today, Rogers. I was a little...busy this weekend.”

He takes a sip of his coffee to make sure it’s right. Then he moves out of your way so you can get to the coffee, but still staying close. “Busy getting run over by a truck? Cause that’s kind of what you look like.”

You pour yourself a generous amount of coffee and take a long sip, letting the bitter liquid slowly make you human. “Yeah, well. I was busy getting fucked all weekend, Rogers. But I know your little innocent mind wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

That wipes the stupid little smirk right off his face. He almost looks pissed. He moves even closer to you. Almost pressing himself right up against you. So close that you can smell his coffee-scented breath. If you were wearing panties, they’d be ruined.

“Not all of us feel the need to sleep around. Some of us are looking for a real connection. Not just a one night stand of meaningless, mediocre sex.”

You press yourself just a little closer to him, his chest now touching yours. “Oh, it was anything but mediocre. Maybe if you actually got some, you’d know what that feels like.”

He leans his head down until his mouth is next to your ear, his left hand now resting on your hip. “You really need to stop insinuating that I’m a virgin sweetheart. If you were nicer to me, I’d show you that I know how to fuck.” With that he backs up and heads out of the break room.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Jesus Christ. You swear you almost came.

And if you were nicer to him? Fuck him. He’s not nice to you either. That’s okay. You have someone who can scratch this itch.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text.

To: Fuckboi

You busy tonight? I could really use a release.

The reply came almost immediately.

From: Fuckboi

Didn’t get enough of my cock this weekend huh? I suppose I could make myself available.

You roll your eyes and quickly reply with your address and what time to be over.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. It takes you half the day to enter Steve’s expense report. God he’s descriptive. At least it’s completed. You can’t really say that much for the other Avengers. They usually half assed them and made them barely acceptable.

You are shutting down for the day when Steve approaches your desk. You remove your glasses and look at him expectantly. “Is there something I can help you with, Steve?”

A blush creeps it’s way across his cheeks. “Um, I was actually just wondering if you had time to go over the new expense report forms? They should be a lot easier to fill out.”

You glance down at the clock on your computer. Ransom is going to be at your place in about 20 minutes.“Can we do it tomorrow? I have company that’ll be showing up at my apartment in like 20 minutes.”

His hopeful smile falls. His face is now unreadable. “Would your company happen to be whoever you spent the weekend with?”

Confused, you grab for your purse after getting your computer shut down. “Actually, yes. Should I have asked your permission first?” You attempt a joke to ease the sudden tension.

He pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously. Wow. You weren’t aware he knew how to text. You hear it ping with a reply before he angrily puts it back in his pocket. “Sure, we can do this tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your whoreing around.”

Your jaw drops in surprise. Sure you guys were always throwing jabs at each other. But he’d never said anything like this before. And in such a mean tone.

You round your desk and stand right in front of him. “Fuck you, Steve.”

You hurry towards the elevators before he can see the tears that have welled up. You couldn’t let him know he had that power over you. Asshole. Thank god Ransom was coming over. Hopefully he could fuck what Steve just said right out of your head.

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You’ve lost count of how many orgasms Ransom has pulled from you with his mouth when there’s a knock on your door.

Ransom looks up at you from his kneeling position on your living room floor. “Did you invite someone else to join us, pretty girl?”

You scoff and push him away so you can stand up. You pull your dress down as you make your way towards the door. “Yeah. I can barely handle just you. I’m pretty sure if we added someone else, I’d actually die.”

You open the door and gasp in surprise. “Steve? What are you doing here?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Look, I know you probably already have company but I felt really bad about what I said to you earlier today and wanted to apologize.”

You have so many questions. “How did you know where I lived?”

That sheepish smile makes its appearance again. “I may or may not have looked in your employee file.”

You shake your head. “And you felt the need to come all the way here and apologize? Why not just text me?”

“It would only have felt right to me to do it in person. I really am sor-”

You feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. “Well, who do we have here? Why is Captain America at your door?”

You turn your head to address Ransom. “He just came by to apologize to me. I think he was just leaving.”

Steve has a disappointed look on his face. “Yeah, I suppose I was.”

“Awe, what a shame. I thought you were gonna ask him to join us, pretty girl.”

Steve’s eyes grow wide at the thought. You quickly speak up. “No, I don’t think he’d be comfortable with that. He’s a little old fashioned.” You give him a sincere smile. You didn't think that was a bad thing.

Steve looks back towards the elevators and then back to you. He clears his throat. “What if I wanted to join you?” Seeing your wide eyed look, he quickly adds, “Only if Y/N would be comfortable with that of course.”

You contemplate what the consequences could be in your head. But then you get distracted when Ransom starts grinding his hard on against your ass. “Come on, pretty girl. Make a decision.”

The next word comes out of your mouth faster than what your brain can process. “Okay.”

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Now you were standing awkwardly in your bedroom with Steve and Ransom looking at you expectantly.

You’ve never done this before so you’re not sure how this is supposed to go. “So, um. How do we start exactly?”

Ransom smirks and comes up behind you. “I think you should call the shots, pretty girl. If you’re okay with that, Steve?”

With the mention of his name, he walks towards you and places his hands on your hips. “I think that’s a great idea. Can I kiss you now?” He places his hand under your chin and raises your face up to meet his. “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” With that, his lips meet yours. It’s explosive. You quickly wrap your hands around his neck and press yourself up against him.

You get so lost in the kiss, you forget that Ransom is there. That is until he presses his lips against your neck and presses himself against your ass. It presses you even further against Steve, making you feel his excitement against your lower belly.

You’re so overwhelmed already and you’d barely started. You may not survive this evening.

As you move your hands down to remove Steve’s shirt, Ransom is unzipping your dress, pressing kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve moves his hands around to unhook your bra so he can get his hands on your breasts. He pinches your nipples, causing you to moan into his mouth. He moves his lips to your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

After successfully removing your dress, Ransom stands back up and turns your head to connect your lips. He starts rutting his clothed hard on against your naked ass. His left hand reaches around to bat one of Steve’s away so he can squeeze your breast.

Steve takes the hand that had been swatted away and moves it down to your soaking wet core. He starts lightly circling your clit. Just enough pressure to make you mewl.

You reach behind you with your left hand and tug at the waistband of Ransom’s briefs. “Off.” You moan out as you take your right hand and start attempting to take off Steve’s jeans. He smirks into your neck and helps you out. He barely gets them unbuttoned and unzipped before you’re reaching your hand into them and his boxers to grab his cock. It feels big.

Ransom grabs your left hand and places it on his now free cock. You wrap your hand around it and give it a squeeze before you start pumping your hand up and down. You do the same to Steve’s, making the both of them let out grunts against both sides of your neck. Steve increases the pressure on your clit a little. Still not enough.

“Nee-need, you. Please.” You weakly moan out. Ransom moves his mouth up to your ear. “How do you want us, pretty girl?”

You reluctantly pull away from both of them so you can think. You decide to be greedy. You point to Steve. “I want you to lay on the bed, please.”

He does as you ask. Putting his hands behind his head as he awaits further instructions.

You get on the bed and straddle him. You turn around and reach your arm out for Ransom. “Want you behind me.” You lean over and open your bedside drawer to grab the lube and toss it at Ransom. He smirks as he straddles Steve’s legs and gets behind you. He uncaps the lube and starts coating his cock with a generous amount. “Need my cock in that ass, pretty girl?”

You hold up your hand. “Wait.” You lean down towards Steve and give him a quick kiss. “Are you okay with this?”

He nods his head. “As long as you are.” You raise back up and smile at him. You turn your head and look at Ransom. “I’m assuming you're okay with this?”

He just smirks and squeezes some lube out so that it slides down the crack of your ass. “More than okay, pretty girl. Need me to stretch you out first?”

You smirk and pull him in for a quick, filthy kiss. “I think it got plenty stretched out this weekend.”

He matches your smirk. “You little slut. Wanting both of our cocks stuffing you full.”

You whimper as he lands a smack on your ass. Leaning up on your knees, you grab a hold of Steve’s cock and start running his tip up and down your folds. He places his left hand on your right hip and his right hand on your left thigh. “Condom?”

You quickly shake your head and pause your actions. “On the pill. Unless of course you’d be more comfortable with one.”

He shakes his head. “No, just making sure.”

You turn back to Ransom. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”

He nods and places his hands on your shoulders, waiting somewhat patiently.

You slowly sink down on Steve’s cock. He’s stretching you out so deliciously. It burns in just the right way. Ransom may be longer, but Steve is definitely thicker.

After you get fully seated on him, you take a minute to adjust. It only takes a few seconds. You turn your head towards Ransom. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He removes his right hand from your shoulder and grabs the base of his cock and starts pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He’d been in there a lot over the weekend. But it was still a tight fit regardless. He doesn’t go as slow and sheaths himself to the hilt, causing you to moan out in slight pain and pleasure.

Holy fuck. You feel so full. You think you might die. That is until Ransom removes his cock until just the tip remains and then forcefully thrust back in, causing you to grind on Steve’s dick.

Steve grunts out from the movement and starts thrusting up into you the best he can from his position. Ransom wraps his left arm around you and continues his thrusts, not letting up his pace. You don’t even really have to move, the both of them doing it for you. They somehow find the perfect rhythm. Each of them pulling out and pushing in at the same time. One of your hands is behind you, resting on the back of Ransom’s head while the other is resting on Steve’s chest.

Steve sits up suddenly and pulls you in for a kiss. “Like being stuffed with both of our cocks, pretty girl?” You hear from behind you. “Yes. So good. So full. Gonna cum.”

Ransom removes his arm from around you and reaches down and starts circling your clit. “Do it. Cum all over us. Make a mess.”

Steve can feel you squeezing him. “Please, sweetheart. Need to feel you cum on my cock. You’re gripping me so good.”

You explode. You clamp your eyes shut, seeing stars behind your eyelids. You let the both of them fuck you through it.

Ransom’s hips stutter. The fluttering around his cock is too good. He cums with a shout of your name, filling up your ass to the brim. He gives you a few more thrusts before he pulls out and collapses beside you two.

Steve’s been patient while you come down from your high. He lays back down, pulling you with him so that your chest to chest. He bends his knees and grabs onto your hips. “You ready, sweetheart?” You raise up, both of your hands on each side of his head. You give him a nod.

That’s all he needs. He starts fucking you, hard and fast, chasing his release. He can feel it building. He just needs to feel you come undone around him again. He moves one of his hands and starts circling your clit with his thumb. “Need you to cum for me again, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “Can’t. Too much.”

Ransom sits up beside you. “I know what she needs.” He reaches over with his left hand and wraps it around your throat, squeezing gently.

It makes you clench down on Steve’s cock. “Yeah? That all you needed, sweetheart? A hand wrapped around your pretty throat? I know you like it. Can feel you squeezing me.” He picks up his pace. The only sounds that can be heard are his grunts, your breathy monas, and skin slapping against skin.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to hit you. This one is somehow even more intense than the last.

You must’ve blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing you know, you’re waking up in between Steve and Ransom.

Steve smiles down at you. “There she is. We lost you for a second, sweetheart.”

You feel drunk. You smile goofily up at him. “Did you cum?”

Just as you ask that, you can feel his release seeping out of your overused cunt. Then you feel cum leaking out of your ass. You hide your face behind your hands in embarrassment. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

Ransom removes one hand while Steve removes the other. “Nuh uh uh. No hiding allowed, pretty girl. I have no regrets.” He looks at Steve. “Do you?”

Steve smiles down at you and leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “None from me. You tired, sweetheart?”

You let out a big yawn and nod your head, slowly closing your eyes. “Get some rest, pretty girl.” That’s the last thing you hear before sleep takes you.

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You wake up sometime in the early morning, stretching out your sore limbs. You know you have a dumb smile on your face. But you can’t help but notice your empty bed.

You sit up and hiss at the deliciously sore feeling between your legs. You grab your robe and slip it on. You can smell coffee coming from the kitchen. You giddily make your way out of the room and down the hallway. They both barely just come into view, still unaware you’re there, when you hear Steve speak.

“I thought you were going to be an asshole to her? Make her see I’m not that bad.”

You hear Ransom next. “I was an asshole to her. I’m sorry I dicked her down so good that she wanted more.”

Steve scoffs. “I never gave you the okay to fuck her!���

“You also didn’t tell me it was off limits. Look you got what you wanted right?”

“No, actually I didn’t. I didn’t pay you so we could have a threesome together.”

What the fuck? Steve paid Ransom to help him get in your pants?

“Ok, how about this? I’ll give you all of your money back if I can fuck her one more time before I go? Then we’ll be squared away.”

Steve seems to be conflicted. “Fine! But this is the last time Ransom. I have to get to work anyway. After this, she’s mine. And make sure she’s not late for work herself.”

Before you have time to react, Steve rounds the corner and sees you standing there. He has a deer caught in headlights look. Ransom comes up beside him and sees you. “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

You slowly start backing up towards your bedroom. Steve moves towards you, stopping once you put your hands up. “Stay away from me! Both of you! I want nothing to do with either of you!”

Ransom moves past Steve and grabs onto your arms. “Oh, please. You’d fuck us again if we wanted. Wouldn’t you?”

You spit in his face. “Fuck you, Hugh.”

He gets a sinister look on his face. “Wrong move, pretty girl.” He looks toward Steve. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck the brat out of her. You better tell her boss she won’t be in today.”

Your eyes go wide at his words. You start thrashing against him, trying your best to get away. Steve has had enough. He comes over and yanks you away from him and presses you against the wall. “You better calm down, sweetheart. I’ll treat you like a princess if you can be my good girl. Can you do that?”

You shake your head. “Why would you think I’d want anything to do with you after finding out you paid someone to help get into my pants?”

He gives you an evil smirk. “Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to release the tape of last night on the internet. Let everyone see how much of a slut you actually are.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re bluffing.”

He smirks and turns his head towards Ransom. “Show her.”

Ransom gets his phone out of his pocket and swipes at the screen for a second before turning it in your direction.

Holy shit. They weren’t bluffing. There you were, getting fucked by the both of them. That would ruin you if it got out. Not only would you get fired, but your parents would probably disown you. You’d never have a normal relationship again. You’re fucked. Even more than you were last night. How had you not noticed they were recording it?

Ransom must have read your mind. “I set my phone up while you were busy with Steve’s fingers on your cunt and his tongue down your throat. I think you need to ask her again Steve.”

Steve grabs your chin and moves your gaze onto his face. “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to be my good girl? Let Ransom fuck you one more time and then it’ll just be me and you?”

You drop your gaze to the floor. You feel a tear run down your cheek as you whisper out, “I’ll be your good girl.”

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @lllols @patzammit​ @quxxnxfhxll​

Steve Taglist: @donutloverxo​

[lauralestrange7]

Library Pt. 1

@ avengersonly made a request (On my Wattpad) hi,  hope ur ok love ur writing its incredible! Please could you do one where     it’s like enemies to lovers with a Gryffindor reader who’s bsf w Sirius     but falls for Regulus, and it’s like a love triangle thingy - no worries     if you don’t like I don’t want to pressure you! : ))

Thank you for requesting! .

Hope you enjoy it!

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It was a Saturday, and despite your brain telling you to have a sleep in here you were in the Great Hall. You were having a lovely breakfast, and since there weren’t many people up this early it was very peaceful. After another half an hour of lazily reading and stirring your breakfast, your friends had come down for their breakfast too. You smiled at them and out of habit checked your watch, but then realized you needed to hurry. You finished your breakfast hurriedly and stood up.

3rd person POV

 Sirius looked at his best friend “What’s the rush, doll?”,. Y/n gulped “The library,” she said her cheeks heating up. The others turned to look too, James smirked “You’ve been sneaking off to the Library a lot lately.”. Y/n cleared her throat in an attempt to get rid of the colour rising to her cheeks “I’m not sneaking off James, I just need to use the library as we have our OWLs coming up.”  she explained. Remus looked at her raising an eyebrow “You’ve never really been too crazy about exams.” he said. “People change Remus,” she said and before they could say something else Y/n excused herself and left. 

“That was weird,” Peter said and everyone else nodded, Sirius took a bite of his toast, it was indeed weird. Y/n never kept anything from Sirius. They had been best friends since their first year. This had been going on for almost two months now, had he said something or done something? Sirius couldn’t think of anything.

Regulus was as usual waiting for Y/n in a corner of the library, Y/n dropped her bag and sat down beside him. “You look like you swallowed a particularly slimy bug,” Regulus joked, Y/n glared at him. Regulus smiled “You know there’s a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow,” he said looking at her hopefully. Y/n’s cheeks flushed again, “Yes?” she asked looking at her hands. “I’d like to take you out, like last time,” he said. Y/n looked at him “Like last time” she muttered, they had gone out on the previous trip to Hogsmeade. But they had to stay out of The Marauder’s sight, Y/n didn’t want them to know. As she didn’t know how they’d take it, Sirius was her best friend she didn’t want to lose him. 

Regulus took her hand, “I want to hold your hand and walk past everyone, letting them know you’re my.” he muttered in her ear “I don’t want to worry about who sees it or not, I want to kiss you in the great hall, not caring what people will think.” he whispered again. This made the caged butterflies in Y/n’s stomach fly out in noisy flutters, she grabbed his face pressing her lips against his.

Somewhere close to them someone dropped a book loudly. They pulled away, and that’s when Y/n saw him, Sirius. He was the one who had dropped the book, out of shock, he stood there his mouth hung open. Sirius had thought when he had left the great hall, that if he had unintentionally done something to upset Y/n. He’s going to make up for it, by asking her out for Hogsmeade tomorrow. When they were younger they used to do that a lot, and he’d let Y/n buy all she wanted from Honeydukes. Sirius loved seeing her pick out her favourite candies, and after they’d leave the shop. Y/n would thank him with a small kiss on his cheek, it was innocent but it was the best part of the whole trip. He hated the fact that he felt that way, he felt guilty and he kept telling himself that he couldn’t feel that way, she was his best friend.

Now he stood seeing Y/n kiss his brother, Regulus has always been his parents favourite. And they took no hesitation in reminding him that, they kept comparing Sirius to his brother. How Regulus was the perfect son and Sirius a disappointment. Now he saw the one person who had always been by his side also being taken from him. Sirius saw the shock and guilt on Y/n’s face when she saw him standing. His mind was buzzing it was too much to take, he ran out and without thinking much Y/n followed. As he ran out of the library Y/n called after him “Sirius please, come back!” but Sirius didn’t, he did not look back nor stop but continued running. He ran out of the castle, through the fields to the tree near the Black Lake, that was when he stopped. Y/n was panting as she caught up with him. “Sirius please,” she pleaded. He turned around to look at her, “How long?” he asked her “Two months,” she said. “Do you-do you love him?” he asked Y/n couldn’t meet his gaze, “I-“ she started but stopped “Do you?!” he asked again louder harsher this time “I don’t know,” she said running a hand through her hair. “Have you- have you two?” he asked this time he made her hold his gaze, “No,” she said. Sirius took a step back, he couldn’t wrap his head around it all, his knees felt weak and he sat down shakily.

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[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fianc�� and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[gyusbambi]

humph; han seojun (pt 4)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

click here for humph masterlist!

story: frenemies to enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis: seojun and you have known each other since kindergarten. you’re neighbors and even attended the same singing and piano classes. despite knowing each other for such a long time, you don’t enjoy spending time with seojun. even though you are aware of his unfairness, you keep spending time with him. when will you finally leave your childhood frenemy?

note: humph! is a story inspired by pentagon’s “humph! / 접근금지”. originally, this is a seungyeon fanfiction, which i posted on my wattpad. words: 3.8k

to claim that the cupid-team is surprised to witness han seojun getting along with his long term frenemy would be an absolute understatement. in fact, they seem completely and utterly dumbfounded as they watch you both laugh at a joke seojun pulled in the middle of the bus ride back home. needless to say, the childhood friends tease each other now and then like they’re used to it, this time without hurting any feelings. all of these observations, including the fact that you decided to sit next to each other in the bus, lead to several assumptions and without you knowing, rumors start to develop. 

for whatever reason, neither you nor seojun are aware of the gossip regarding both of you. perhaps it’s thanks to kim chorong, who’s apparently really skilled at being inconspicuous. 

_

it’s been one day since you arrived home and you find yourself sleeping in till two pm on a saturday. 

seriously, you should fix your chaotic sleeping schedule.

when you finally leave your room to get some food into your stomach, dressed in your favorite hoodie and sweatpants, your mum and juyeong are already eating lunch. like expected, they give you a quick judging look without interrupting their conversation. while you’re putting some rice in a bowl they talk about juyeong’s crush on some girl. soon their conversation moves to something related to seojun, and that's when you suddenly pay attention instead of playing with the cold food on your plate.

"y/n, is seojun’s mother in a better condition now?"

instantly you look up to react to your mum’s question. instead of looking at you, she puts more vegetables on juyeong’s table,

"it's been a few days since i last visited her, maybe i should do it again soon. i really hope she gets better."

"what are you talking about?"

"seojun hyung's mum is in hospital." juyeong answers, his mouth stuffed with food while pushing the vegetables away with a scrunched face.

"what?"

"hasn't he told you about his mum? i thought you guys would tell each other everything." my mum questioned with a small pout forming on her lips, finally meeting your worried eyes.

"they broke up.", your annoying brother fails the attempt to whisper.

"we're not together!"

displeased, you hiss at your brother, voice getting higher.

"you guys act like a married couple sometimes. it's annoying."

"shut up!"

"both of you stop now." your mother sighs while her hands move in the air in attempt to stop you from attacking your own brother.

"seojun’s mum is seriously sick and i'm going to visit her tomorrow morning. y/n, maybe you should do too? or talk to him a little since he's probably not doing so well."

"i will."

feeling upset that you’re just finding out about seojun’s mother’s condition, you can’t stop thinking about it for the whole day. besides that, you are worried and consider visiting them the next day.

even though their house is quite near to yours, you have to go through the dangerous part of your quarter. as you make your way to the han’s, your hand moves to your right pocket to grab the pocketknife, which seojun gifted you in your freshman year of high school. for defense reasons, he said.

"you need to be careful when you're walking down this street. here, have this."

however, instead of seeing a group of dangerous men, you spot han seojun himself, walking towards your direction with hands in his pocket. thinking of a casual way of greeting him, you clear your throat before taking a few steps forwards in order to greet him,

"hey!”

"hey, what are you doing here?"

surprised to see you in this area, seojun raises his eyebrows.

"well, i actually wanted to visit- what the hell happened to your face?"

rapidly, you interrupt yourself when the boy is finally close enough for you to spot the multiple bruises on his pale skin. this causes you take a few steps forward and reach for his cheek instantly, worry written all over your face.

he looks horrible. bruises all over his face, lip bleeding, knuckles visibly red.

seojun catches glimpse of your worried eyes and feels embarrassed for you to find him at this state. instead of making the attempt to explain the situation, he grabs your hand which rests on his cheek. the touch of your warm and soft hand causes a pressure building in this chest. seojun doesn’t dare to take his eyes off of yours.

suddenly your cheeks feel like they’re turning into the shade of a tomato. besides that, your heart starts acting all weird when you catch glimpse of his intense eyes.

"what happened?" you question once again, this time with even more concern.

"it's not important-"

"did you get into a fight?"

"that bastard lee seungyong was getting on my nerves again, it's not important." he sighs after running his hand through his hair.

"alright. come on, we need to clean those bruises before they get worse." you mutter after grabbing his right arm and pulling him towards your house.

_

seojun hisses with a painful expression as you attempt to clean the awful wounds on his cheeks. with a concentrated look crossing over your face, you focus on the terrible cut. however, you impatiently drop your hand on your lap when seojun can’t seem to stop moving, an annoyed sigh followed after. 

“could you stop moving the whole time? i’m trying to do something here.”,

positioning yourself closer to the boy sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re ready to treat his wounds for the third time. seojun only grins playfully despite the painful bruises,

“look at you acting like a doctor.”

ignoring his comment, you raise your hand once again to reach for his chin. fingers brushing on his skin, you are able to focus. this time seojun doesn’t flinch. quite the contrary, he’s like frozen on spot. the only thing he seems to be able to focus on are your features. 

nothing but silence dominates your room as you decide to clean the cut on his bottom lip. you fingers brushing over his soft lip, eyes completely focused on them, the poor boy’s heart is about to explode in front of you. he internally thanks to god that you don’t notice his chest rising up and down or his ears turning into a darker shade of red. breath taken away, his eyes linger on your lips, blinking frequently.

yet, his relief only lasts for a couple seconds when the silence eventually makes you look up to seojun, only to find him already staring at you, eyes gazing at your lips.

not aware of your slightly surprised eyes, he continues staring. clearly, your bodies are almost attached to each other. not to mention, you leaned in a little earlier, grip on his shoulder to prevent him from moving. the young boy practically prays that you won’t hear his heart racing in his chest.

aren’t you even a little nervous? it almost makes him annoyed how the closeness doesn’t seem to bother you at all.

little does he know that you feel the exact same way. in fact, you’re so bothered by the butterflies in your stomach that you suddenly wish that he would just continue making dumb jokes or rude comments.

pulling your hand away from his shoulder in a swift move, you blink. still, you’re not able to look away which seems so stupid and unbelievably odd. 

seconds after you catch glimpse of his hand getting closer to yours but that isn’t enough for you to look away.

why would someone look attractive with a beaten face? that doesn't make any sense.

seeing him in this state, bruises, messy hair, intense gaze, flushed face, makes you want to hug him, ask him what was wrong, tell him you were here for him.

however, right when you think he is going to say something or reach for your hand and hold it...

"guess who just ate two big delicious menus-"

juyeong.

the second your brother lays eyes on seojun sitting super close to you, his eyes widen in horror.

"o-oh adult business, i get it. i'll leave now. bye, hyung!"

yet, of course, before leaving your room he doesn’t miss the chance to make gagging noises.

"and y/n, sadly, there wasn't enough food for you."

his fake pout makes you want to throw your slipper at him but you just close your eyes for a second and exhale, trying to remain calm.

seojun only chuckles with amusement.

"mum! y/n and seojun hyung are a couple again. can she move out now?"

juyeong’s annoying voice can be heard all the way too my room. embarrassed, you glance at seojun, who is obviously trying to hold in his laugh.

"i'm sorry for my brother."

"you don't need to be."

"a-anyways, are you better now? i mean your bruises?" you stammer while pointing at his face, wanting to ignore what just happened.

"yeah, a lot better. thank you."

he trails off, eyes darting through the room,

"i-i should probably leave now."

right, your stupid self forgot to ask him about his mum.

"i heard about your mum. i hope she's doing better?"

“thankfully, she is. it's a little difficult for us but we’re going through this."

“hopefully she’ll feel better soon. i’m sure you’re taking good care of her,”

you’re always like that. caring about others more than yourself.

“if you need anything, i’m here.”

he smiles genuinely, “thank you.“

and that's when he leaves.

_

the sun shines outside the next day. but instead of going out and enjoying the nice weather like other normal people, you lay on your bed while thinking about the previous day. strangely, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way seojun made you feel. 

why did your heart race? why were you left speechless?

in the corner of your mind, there’s been an explanation for your weird feelings for your childhood friend. although, you’ve always tried to ignore it and distract yourself.

but now, thinking about all the times seojun made your heart flutter, it just made sense.

you like him.

“no!”

with widen eyes you swiftly stand up, not believing yourself.

it couldn’t be, right? everyone feels this way to their friend at some point of their friendship, no?

but the thing is: you’ve been feeling like this the whole time. 

letting yourself fall on your bed, you scream into your pillow.

you like han seojun.

and there’s no way your former frenemy likes you back.

_

it’s another school morning as you walk into your class. this time however, you’re nervous to enter the room. after all, you’ll have to be around the one person you now feel nervous talking to. what if he notices your odd behavior. praying that he won’t approach you in a way that made your heart flutter, you eventually enter the classroom.

however, it seems like the universe is making fun of you when you’re met with something hundred times worse the moment you step into the room. instantly, all eyes land on you and all you hear are cheers and screams from your classmates,

“congratulations on dating, y/n and seojun!”

“you’re so cute together!”

“y/n and seojun sitting on a tree!”

at the sight of chorong and his group wearing t-shirts with your shipname printed on them, your eyes widen in horror. they think you’re dating han seojun?!

“why didn’t you tell me anything? i’m your close friend after all!”

sua pouts, hitting your arm playfully while your eyes are still glued on the ridiculous t-shirts.

“is it true, y/n?”,

from the corner of your eye you see soojin giving you a teasing smile.

“listen, guys. there has been a huge misunderstanding.”,

when you can finally focus on your friends, who surround you with curious looks, han seojun enters the classroom, completely unaware of what’s happening right now.

the young boy frowns at chorong after setting his bag on his table. yet soon his confused face changes to a shocked one, as he eventually notices the t-shirts, everyone congratulating him with cheerful laughter.

turning his head to you, he notices your helpless look while you tilt your head to the side. totally surprised by everything, seojun has no clue how to act at the beginning. 

finally, both of you manage to stand in front of the class, facing your classmates as they continue asking several questions,

“since when have you been dating?”

“no way! did anything happen during the school trip?”

“tell us the truth!”

frustrated, you move your hands in the air, trying to speak with a loud tone so that everyone can understand you,

“i don’t know how you came up with this rumor but seojun and me are only friends, okay?”

hearing your statement, everyone groans at the same time, not believing you at all,

“it’s so obvious! just tell us the truth.”

letting out a sigh, you turn your head to face seojun with an annoyed look,

“could you at least say something?”

however, seojun only raises his eyebrows before taking his hands out of his pockets,

“would you hate it that much?”

his sentence makes you frown and multiple questions appear in your head. not quite understanding his point, you continue staring at him with furrowed eyebrows before he finally slams his hand on the desk in front of him, catching everyone’s attention,

“you guys better stop spreading all those rumors around. she’s only my friend...,”

disappointed, many students groan before going back to their seats while others still don’t seem to believe seojun and shake their heads in denial.

seojun bends down to your height so that his face is only a few inches apart from yours before whispering with one eyebrow raised,

“...right?”

nervously you blink, sadness starting to grow inside you after hearing his words. of course, he only considers you as his friend. there’s no way he would see you as something more.

_

friday nights are always the same for you: watching your current favorite tv show while snacking on whatever you have at home. whereas other people from your grade probably club somewhere.

that night your phone rings and an unknown number appears on the screen. thinking it’s a stupid prank, you pick it up with an annoyed sigh.

"hello?"

"hello. is this y/n?"

"yes. who am i talking to?"

there is a short silence before the unknown person starts talking again,

"look, i work at this club near your neighborhood and this dude randomly passed out here. i found your number on his phone so i thought of calling you. can you maybe come and get him? he's seriously wasted a– dude, what the hell, stop spilling all the drinks!"

"i'm sorry but who are you talking about?"

you heard the unknown man mumble before answering, "seojung? seung- seojun?"

"han seojun?"

"yes! that's his name."

a short silence takes over when you sit up in shock.

"so, are you coming?"

you sigh before replying, "i need the adress.”

_

the moment you enter that club, you want to return to your house. many people dance on the dance floor, totally wasted. everyone is pressing their bodies against each other's. the loud music makes you feel even more uncomfortable. you look around and let out a relieved sigh when you find a bartender with a phone on his hand.

"hello, i'm here for seojun. the guy who–"

"hey, finally! he's right here."

you follow the man to the other side of the club, where people are sitting on the couches and drinks were sold every minute. it doesn’t take you long to spot seojun sitting on the couch. his eyes are closed but his head is swinging from left to right. you can’t believe your eyes. you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen him in a state like this ever before.

"don't worry. your boyfriend didn't hook up with anyone." the bartender next to you said.

"he's not my boyfriend."

"what are you then?"

"i'm his..." you trail off before answering,

"neighbor! i’m his neighbor!"

seojun shouldn't know that you came to pick him up at this time.

without waiting any longer, you help seojun getting up and wrap his arm around your shoulder. before leaving the club, the bartender reaches you seojun’s phone and makes sure to call a taxi. after thanking him you leave with seojun’s heavy body.

while waiting for the taxi to arrive, seojun keeps rambling stupid things you can’t understand. it’s getting harder for you to stand with him by yourself every minute, so you decide to sit on the bench with him, which is a couple steps away from the bus station.

you let out an exhausted sigh after sitting down and then turn your head towards him. suddenly you grab his face and make him look at you. he smiles like an idiot after you brush his bangs away from his forehead. his cheeks are extremely red, his lips pouting slightly and his eyes struggling not to close. your cold hands hold his warm, soft cheeks while you analyze his expressions. you have to admit: seojun looks cute.

after a few seconds he suddenly frowns. he narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side slightly, looks you up and down considerately before asking,

"who are you?"

“you don't know who i am?"

"hmmm..." he rubs his chin carefully, acting like he’s solving a mystery,

"no."

"good."

"you're telling me that that's fine?" seojun giggles and covers his mouth.

"yes, absolutely."

"alright! i'm han seojun. who are you?" he stretches his hand out for you to shake.

"does that matter?”

“of course! who are you, young lady?”

"that's not important right now. what matters is that you're extremely drunk. what were you doing here?"

"you're rude!" he pouts and crosses his arms,

"you won't even tell me your name."

"why are you acting so childish?"

"i-i don't know."

"never mind. that's fine."

"really?!"

"yeah, you're good."

you notice how his lips form a small smile,

"you're nice and then rude and then nice and then- you remind me of someone you know?"

yes, that's you.

"my friend y/n."

"oh, really?" you sarcastically laugh.

"yeah! she's like you. but prettier. like so much prettier. she’s pretty."

"that doesn't even make sense."

"huh?" seojun asks confused.

oh no, why do you have to be so cute.

"actually, it’s hard for me to be her friend." suddenly he’s all sad,

"sometimes i cross the line and don’t know my limits. but she's so dumb and stubborn!"

"and why is that?” frowning, you cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting for his response. 

he only sighs with tiredness, "never mind–"

and then he falls asleep on your shoulder.

_

finally you arrive at seojun’s house and fortunately all the lights are out. with his heavy body pressing to your small one, you struggle to carry him up the stairs. quietly, the door is opened by you before seojun falls into his bed. your head starts hurting, which makes you sit down next to him and massage your temples. however, you help seojun standing up and carry him to the bathroom carefully, in order to wash his face. he lets you take off his jacket and his shoes. finally he lays down on his back, with his face facing the ceiling.

"don't lie on your back." you demand.

"hm?" seojun’s eyes are firmly closed when he mutters with tiredness.

"lie on your side." you pull his body to the side, so that he could face you.

definitely, his facials expressions change. his lips are no longer pouted, his eyes extremely tired, his cheeks pale. from analyzing his face once again, you fail to notice him staring at you with his eyebrows drawn together. soon his confused expression changes to a sad one when you cover his body with his bed sheets.

"i'm sorry." seojun mutters suddenly. you expect him to continue, as he grabs both of your hands and slightly pulls you closer to him. a shiver goes down your spine.

"y/n, you deserve better."

he knows it’s you? 

"i know i treated badly but i need you."

his eyes are barely opened, his words barely understandable. your hands start shivering as his grip tightens.

"i-i should go."

"no! please stay here." he rambles drunkly.

you decide to stay a little longer, just until he would fall asleep and hopefully forget everything that has happened this night.

“i mi..."

you aren’t able to understand his quiet mumbling, so you lean in a little,

“what did you say?"

“i miss y/n."

silence takes over the room before you finally reply,

“i missed you too, seojun-ah.”

your words make him open his eyes immediately. with a surprised face he tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes,

"y/n?"

instead of saying anything, you hold his hand while he’s still questioning your identity. all of the sudden his hands leave yours to grab your face. without waiting too long he pulls your face closer to his. instantly, your eyes widen when you notice the small gap between your noses. intensively, he looks into your eyes. so many emotions can be read from his look, yet you can’t figure out what he‘s feeling exactly. they have the most beautiful brown color you have ever seen. so deep, that you could get lost in them. only seconds pass, but it still feels like you were staring at each other for an eternity. you can even feel his soft breath on your face, which causes your ears to turn a dark shade of crimson.

seojun then glances at your lips before looking back into your eyes again. without waiting any longer he presses your lips together, one hand holding your cheek while the other grabs your waist. you let out a small gasp, your eyes remain closed, your whole body frozen. is this really happening?

when you’re finally able to kiss him back and hold firmly into his shoulders, he tilts your head, deepening the kiss. you feel your heart beating thousand times faster, almost exploding in your chest, as his soft lips press against yours. your face is glowing when you eventually wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, unable to resist the warm feeling. without doubt, you are sure that you've never felt something like this before.

seojun slowly pulls back when he feels your fingers softly tugging at his hair, leaving a small gap between your lips. you feel his breath on your face when he hums something before his lips meet yours for the second time, not giving you enough time to open your eyes,

“hmm, strawberries.”

feeling his lips forming a small smile, your heart is about to explode in your chest. seojun was insanly drunk but clearly enjoys the taste of strawberry lip balm, brushing his thumb over your cheek softly.

soon you break the kiss only to find seojun falling asleep on his bed seconds later. not believing what just happened you stare at him, admiring his features before panic takes over you and you rush out of his house.

would he remember any of this tomorrow?

_

to be continued...

(p.s: sorry for making you wait for so long🥺)