#could just be a pattern that comes in small cups only? unclear

[marzipanandminutiae]

so I went antiquing today

“Is that the-”

“The Royal Crown Derby ‘Old Imari’ 2451 china as seen in Guillermo Del Toro’s Gothic masterpiece ‘Crimson Peak?’”

“Yeah. It is.”

(slightly different from the cups in the movie, because I suspect it’s a different era of the pattern, which has had many iterations since the early 19th century. but still- same pattern!)

[aufucker]

Patch Job

Law/BJ

Law POV

CW: decomp work/talk

Things had been so quiet upstairs.

Mr. Davidson had started to bloom in your ceiling, tiny patterns of rusted browns spread out through the white plaster of your ceiling. Saccharine odors of decay cradled your head as you sunk into your pillow, letting the still silence pull you to into sleep.

The three weeks of silence, of not being scolded by your neighbor, of feeling at least somewhat free from vitriol, were cut still much too short.

It was supposed to be your day off.

With a shock from your heart, you were awoken by the sounds of heavy footsteps and heavy machinery. Or. Heavy enough to hear through the thin ceiling. The buzzing of saws and pounding of hammers and drills accompanied by muffled barking of muted discussions above you.

It was 1 P.M., according to the cyan light on your stove.

It was so loud. So, so loud. You expected death to be much more silent than this. Wasn't it? Your tea would need to be strong if you hoped to survive the assault to your senses.

The growing smell of warmed wood intertwined with the sickly sweet aroma of whatever remained of Mr. Davidson, complimented by the floral tones that brewed in your cup.

…wood?

The silence was sudden, but short. Bickering upstairs caught your ear, but sounded so unclear.

"Are you serious? Shit soaked all the way down?"

"Yeah, looks like the bio caught a gap in the laminate."

"Spread out and soaked deep. If we keep going, we're going to be sawing into someone's ceiling."

"What's the unit under this one? I'll pop in and check out the damage. Chat with the tenant about it. Should be able to patch up anything that's gotta be done…"

The silence felt more like an on-going alarm set only for your torment. The tea was just almost too hot, but you could hardly find it in you to care. The burn kept your mind from wandering too far off, kept your thoughts preoccupied. The scald on your tongue barely registered from the pounding at the door that plummeted into the pit of your stomach.

No. No no no, you already told the police you didn't know anything. You didn't. You swore. They said Mr. Davidson slipped. That was all. That was all. That was all you knew, that was

||The voice on the other side was familiar. Why.

"Re-Nu Decon," the mold people. You remembered that name. You remembered that voice. "May I come in? We're working on cleaning a unit above yours and are concerned about possible ceiling damage."

No, no, no. The beautiful blooms of decay that lulled you to sleep above your head. The patterns that stained and pulled at the off white plaster were as beautiful as the darkest night sky that overflowed with stars and nebulae. You didn't want it to be removed, you didn't, you didn't, you

Another knock. You peeked through the peephole, greeted by tired, fish-eye warped face of the woman who sniffed and scraped around your hovel for mold from months ago. Why her, why her, she towered over you - you felt so small, so paralyzed, so

Another knock. You opened the door. Why.

She looked almost through you, a lack of recognition evident on her face. Maybe that was good. Maybe? Her greeting was warmer than her body.

"He-e-ey, good afternoon. I'm Billie Jean, with Re-Nu Deco--"

"You were here for mold. In the spring." You said autonomously.

She blinked a bit, and then stared at you. Mismatched, living and dead. You didn't really notice the first time. You didn't want to. You still didn't.

Recognition came slowly to her face, her deep brown eye darting briefly to the plants behind you. They seemed to register more memory to her than you did. A spark of pride was felt inside.

"Right, right! I remember now, tea guy! See your plants are still doing great!" Her grin was wide. Too much teeth. Too familiar.

"Thank you. Uhm. You said something about… my ceiling?"

"Yeah, yeah! Ah… so, uh. We're cleaning up the apartment above yours. Unfortunately, we're having to take out parts of the floor due to decontamination, and we're worried it may have gone down to your ceiling."

It had.

"May I come in?"

You nodded. You felt small. You didn't have a choice, really. Your only comfort was surely you weren't alone.

Her heavy steps were careful. You watched her scoping and scanning every inch of your confines, almost admirably. She seemed to like your plants, that gave you at least a modicum of peace.

Your ears picked up a pleasant whistle that left her lips as she peeked at your ceiling stained with browns and reds and blacks. She seemed almost… pleased with the sight.

"Well, that's not too bad at all." She spoke softly. "I should be able to get that part cut out and patched up in a few."

Cut out. Separated. Like when you'd clip off festering leaves.

"What do you do with them?"

"Hm?"

"With the pieces you cut off."

"Oh. Well, ah, if it's contaminated, like your ceiling bit there, we put those in bio-hazard bins and bags."

Bio-hazard. Something so natural, so beautiful, the ideal of the end, seen as something to be split away and disposed of. It was heartbreaking.

"Why?" You feebly asked. She looked more taken aback than you expected. You were starting to think you didn't sound as soft-spoken as you had hoped.

"Well, contaminated things can make people sick. Like… we don't how what kind of life your neighbor led, or what diseases he had." She waved her hand. Clearly she has had this conversation time and time and time again.

||You felt your stomach turn to knots. You were being an annoyance. Stupid and ignorant. You wanted to sink into the floor. Why didn't you just shut up and let her do her job? Why didn't you just

"Not usually a problem out and about, though. Like in the woods and all that." She added, motioning to your simple bed. "Mind if I move this? Don't think you want drywall all over your sheets."

You perked up a touch. Why? "Go ahead." You replied.

You buried your wringing hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, hoping she wouldn't notice. Despite her focus on all other things, your bed, your ceiling, the fact the eye that even could see you was dead, you still felt watched by her.

She moved your bed away with ease. Not like it was particularly heavy, but you still felt a touch of… you weren't sure what you felt. Warm. Sweaty. Cold.

"Uh… you don't clean up outside? Like when… someone dies?"

"Nah." She answered plainly, reaching with a gloved hand towards the ceiling. You figured she was admiring it as you did. You hoped. "Well. We'll clean up stuff like… benches. Had a poor old dude die on a park bench. No one noticed for days. It was metal, so just a spray and wipe, really. Figured that's more for public comfort than anything."

"Oh." Oh? Just "oh"? "… that sounds peaceful."

Her gaze finally turned to you. Half lifeless. Unmoving. Despite the details painted into the unmoving eye, its nature to you was true. Nothing was behind it. You wanted to see it, still, curious about the living hollowness.

"Peaceful? I can see that. Park isn't the worst place to pass away in your sleep, yeah?" She answered you with a smile. Warm. It burned you. Grounded you like the scald of the tea you took comfort in. That you drowned in.

You wanted to drown her, too.

Carefully, quietly, she carved away the rot. You offered her tea. She politely declined, again. Gets too hot, she told you.

Your rot was peeled away. Replaced. Sealed. Like it never existed in the first place. You couldn't even tell where it began and ended in the first place. Why weren't you mourning its loss? So fascinated, so enraptured by it that you found yourself wondering if you could ever sleep without it hovering above you like a doting mother.

"That outta get you set!" She chimed. Everything was so warm. You felt like you were festering from the inside out. Burning, tingling, consumed by the vibrating heat of maggots eating away at your core. You wanted more.

"Sorry about the barge in, I can make sure you get documented for your leasing company in case anything happens." She spoke, taking off the contaminated gloves. You frowned slightly as she disposed of them, no longer available to you.

"I… mmh… I appreciate. That. Thank you." You wanted to keep talking. To keep her here. To talk about the decay she had seen. You would listen to her for hours. Maybe you were being bold.

"Just need you to sign off here for our records. Lawrence, yeah?"

"Yeah? Uh, yeah!" Hearing your name felt like a surge. Melodic tones that vibrated in your skull, interrupted by the cacophonous drone of her phone.

For once, she looked frustrated. Brow furrowed, annoyed. You felt like it was your fault. The smile that followed quickly after didn't.

"Give me just a second. I gotta take this. Just sign anything highlighted, okay?" She winked at you before stepping away, leaving you with the leaving warmth of her hand on the clipboard and pen.

The walls were thin. Her voice carried. You weren't eavesdropping. Not technically.

"Hey, baby! I'm still at work."

Baby? Baby? Who was she talking to like that? Every brief moment she had ever checked her phone, she told you it was a coworker. Was this her coworker? Baby?

"Should be getting off soon. Think I'll be home about… 5, 5:30?"

Home. Someone at home. Someone else.

"Yeah, sounds good! I can pick up some chicken for it? Got'cha. Love you, too, baby. Bye-bye."

You were supposed to sign things. Your name was so damn long. The pen felt so heavy, so wet in your white knuckled grip. No. No? No. No. You could hear her boots trudging back to you. You wanted to lock the door, keep her out. Away. It wasn't fair. Your name wasn't legible, a mad scrawling of blotting ink in spaces much too small. Closing in. Running out. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

You just barely finished the last of the boxes she asked you to sign, practically shoving the clipboard to her before she could speak again.

"Thank you for fixing my ceiling. Please go away."

She looked taken aback by your request, but tucked the paperwork away breath her arm without a fuss, "Yes sir - well if you need anything, just give us a call--"

"Yes. Thank you. Bye." The door was loud. The locks were heavy. It wasn't fair. She should have been angrier. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

[lale-txt]

I'm also sending a second one but you don't have to do both my darling xx

Could I please have soft sweet headcanons about waking up in the morning with Rosinante? Thank you xx

you can always ask soft sweet headcanons about your mans from me, my love x (this has also been sitting in my inbox for far too long, i apologize!)

sweet and soft mornings w/ Rosinante & gn!reader (no pronouns)

oh, to have a day off with your lover, doing everything and nothing, only the things your hearts desire

you find yourself waking up tangled in his arms, maybe he also has one of his long legs thrown over your figure, holding onto you like a body pillow (not his fault that you’re coming just in just the right size for that)

even in his dreams he craves to be close to you, only finding peace when he can feel your skin on his

it’s unclear who of you wakes up first since you’ve both perfectioned the art of finding each others lips no matter how sleepdrunk you still are

there’s an unspoken rule that no one is allowed to leave the bed before you haven’t exchanged at least a hundred kisses

but also who wants to leave the bed anyway when it’s the warmest, softest place on Earth (right after in Rosinante’s arms)?

he’ll whisper the sweetest things in your ear and call you by your favorite pet names, letting you run your fingers through his golden hair while you’re lying next to each other, forehead on forehead, your eyes fluttering open to greet each other, slowly blinking “I love you” in morse code

if you remember them, you tell each others about the dreams you had – only the sweet ones though, the bad ones are getting shooed away with many kisses and back rubs

Rosinante will insist on bringing you your favorite drinks in the morning to bed, no matter how often you offer that you can do it too (there’s a 50/50 chance that he will stumble upon his own two legs and send himself and the drinks flying while in his heart-patterned underwear)

while you fluff up the pillows again and let some fresh air in, your lover is rummaging around in the kitchen, preparing a small breakfast for you as surprise, carrying the big tablet in slow motion and as careful as he can into bed to you

with a cup of coffee in his hands he’ll lean against the open window, smoking his first cigarette while watching you with bedroom eyes, his heart so full of you (if it’s cold outside he has either a blanket around his shoulder or his big coat)

praise him for the lovely breakfast and watch his cheeks blush slightly, acting like it was nothing, but in reality your words make him the happiest in the world. this and knowing you had so many more mornings like this to look forward too

he can’t let you be in bed alone for too long though, which is why he will smoke only half of his cigarette and puts it out before he crawls back under the sheets with you, both of you giggling as he wraps his arms around you once again, hungry for your body heat

he might suggest taking a nice warm bath together to start your day right or think out loud about all the movies you still have on your watch list; he will also read you something if you ask him to. every activity is welcome as long as you can spend precious time together

it’s so easy to slip back into sleep again when you’re snuggled like this to each other, although no dream could be as sweet as the reality of you holding each other, a love tucked under fresh and warm sheets, safe and sound.

[willowworkswithwords]

Ah! Willow is taking requests! This is not a drill! 🤍

“Lured into a trap” with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, maybe featuring our underutilized villain Xanatos? I trust your writer’s instincts entirely.

*peeks out from behind computer* This is very, very belated, and I extend my deepest apologies to you, Jo. I appreciate your patience very much and I hope you enjoy it!!

Read previous BTHB fills here

Note: BTHB prompts are now closed!!

read on ao3 here

~~~

“I have a bad feeling about this, Master.”

Qui-Gon sighed for the hundredth time that day, setting his teacup down with as little force as he could, not truly angry, just annoyed. Obi-Wan may be sensitive to aspects of the Force that Qui-Gon was not, but that did not mean his padawan’s pessimism was called for.

“My dear padawan, I hear you, as I have the last ten times you voiced your thoughts,” he said, turning to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “We must trust in the Force. These people have given us no reason to doubt them.”

Obi-Wan scowled and looked away. Qui-Gon sighed.

“Eat your breakfast, please Obi-Wan.” He paused, thought for a moment, running his fingers along the rim of his caf cup before bringing it halfway to his mouth.

A small concession was called for.

“As you keep saying, we don’t know what this day has in store for us. It’d be best to be ready for anything.”

Obi-Wan turned back to his toast and jam, the smallest flash of victory crossing his face before his stony look returned, deep in thought no doubt, of every way the day could go wrong.

Qui-Gon smiled nonetheless, hiding it behind his caf cup as he drank slowly, savoring the blend. Every step back towards trust was a good step to him, no matter how small. Who knows, maybe by the end of this mission, things would have smoothed over for them more than ever.

---

The three suns glowed green and red, catching the gold of the banquet plates where they weren’t covered by food and glinting in shimmering patterns across the attendees’ faces.

Obi-Wan sat beside him, restless to Qui-Gon’s knowing eyes, perfectly even-keeled to anyone else there. The longer they sat and politely ate small plates of the celebratory food, the more tense Qui-Gon became. He had finally begun to feel the quivers in the Force that Obi-Wan had been feeling, though they’d only begun once the peace treaty between the extremist groups and the main governing body had been struck.

Somebody there was seeding unease in the other attendees, from near or afar. Through the laughter and cheers of the townspeople as they watched the performances of the extremist groups’ acrobats, a line of tension had been strung through them.

One didn’t have to be Force sensitive to know they were all on thin ice.

It seemed the only reason the celebrations hadn’t already been cut short were to keep up appearances for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, which they both secretly wished was not the case, but for now they would save face and go along with it.

---

Qui-Gon wonders, in the detached, floaty way he’s come to associate with concussions, if Obi-Wan had known in that eerie way he was prone to that the child was a trap.

The boy had been an undersized humanoid, somewhere under the age of ten, who’d been creeping closer and closer to Obi-Wan all night during the celebrations. As much as Obi-Wan tried to hide it (for some reason Qui-Gon was still unclear on, though he had suspicion along the lines of Melida-Daan) he was very good with children, and quite enjoyed being with them. He was most relaxed when he was thinking about them and not worrying about the next mission or the nudges of the Force.

The child had led Obi-Wan to watch the acrobats, leaving Qui-Gon to watch from his seat on the outskirts of the long table, back open and vulnerable to the attack he should have seen coming.

But Obi-Wan was still very clever, and Qui-Gon was counting on that. He wouldn’t be of much use to his padawan now. His thoughts were starting to slip, liquid and painful as they passed through his aching mind and head. In addition to being knocked out with one of the gold dinner plates, they’d chained him, wrist ankle and neck, with Force suppressing cuffs.

Who the ‘they’ was, Qui-Gon was unsure, but that thread of unease was back, and with time, even without the Force to guide him, Qui-Gon began to realize that it was not a what that he was feeling, but rather a who.

---

Qui-Gon wished he knew more. The next moments, hours days weeks, that he can recall are flashing blinks of pain-confusion-whereareyouObi-Wan? It’s as if his body is hurting, and then his mind is hurting, but somehow the two have been separated. His hurting mind floats above his cell and he knows that his body is fevered and sick, he does, but it’s not until cool hands are holding his cheeks that his mind is thudding back into his body and he truly feelsthe sickness for the first time.

His ears are straining to decipher the words that must be coming from the person attached to the hands on his face, but no matter how hard he tries, even when he cracks open swollen eyes and sees Obi-Wan (ohthose are Obi-Wan’s hands) unharmed and with too many emotions playing out across his face, he cannot make out what his padawan is desperately repeating.

He gasps, feels the rattle in his chest, and gasps again and again the one name he knows Obi-Wan never wanted to hear again, that he wished he never had to utter again.

"Xanatos."

[hollyxqx]

LOVER, LEAVER  //  JIMIN  //  04

↪ PAIRING: Reader/Park Jimin (initally reader/Jungkook) ↪ SUMMARY: There’s only so much cheating you can take from your boyfriend when he’s on tour before you take matters in to your own hands. ↪ WORD COUNT: 8.4k

↪ WARNINGS: mentions of addiction/drugs | smut w/ premature ejaculation lol | there’s a DUI (don’t yell at me these are the laws where i live) | angsty people being messy

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | FINAL

Namjoon has become a semi-permanent feature around the apartment lately. It's a good thing, even if at times there's an awkward passing of each other in the hallway or moments of slightly uncomfortable silence.

There's been no apologies exchanged between the two of you since whatever that was one month ago in Hyerin's living room. Not that you wanted to give one or particularly receive one, but you would settle for the stiff politeness you exchange for Hyerin's benefit.  He was meeting you halfway, effort equal to yours.

Not much else had changed in those thirty days, aside from your renewed contact with Jimin. It's tentative, hesitant, almost shy even like you don't know each other as well as you do but it's truly a welcome intrusion into your days. Perhaps Jimin's slowness is because he doesn't want to scare you away again.

The topic of Jungkook has yet to come up. You feel as if it's inevitable and dread it.

Jungkook is on your mind nearly daily, whether you like it or not. Since the night Hyerin had told you he was in one of the most inebriated states of his life he had barely been in contact with any one of his regular group of friends, occasionally you'd hear dribbles from Hyerin that he was okay but you were familiar with this pattern. You were worried. An underlying sense of doom twisted your insides whenever his face appeared in your thoughts.

You're not made of stone, even if you wish you were. Two years of affection don't vanish in the blink of an eye, and you always will want him to be happy. He might be telling his friends he's doing (and Hyerin quoted) fucking amazingly right now, but you know that's a lie he's telling himself.

When you see Hyerin for the first time that day you practically all but squeal with excitement, her tiny bump protrudes her slim figure now, nearly five months gone. It's been a few days since you'd last seen her in person and you swear she's grown already. She walks slowly into your shared place after staying with Namjoon for the last few days. He follows behind her.

The first thing you do is bombard her in the doorway, hands instantly going straight to her bump. "God y/n, you're obsessed." She laughs, playfully annoyed but her hand joins yours when there's a flutter as the baby rolls as you coo.

"I swear you've literally grown in the last 5 or whatever days." You tell her, marvelling at her stomach. It's the first time a close friend of yours has been with child and keeping up with her progress has been exciting.

"Well, all we mostly did was eat, didn't we?." She looks to Namjoon who nods silently. "That might be me growing, not baby."

They come inside and you make yourself scarce, disappearing to your own room to give them some space, and well, avoid Namjoon.

Lately much of your time has been spent looking for graduate work. It's unfulfilling and you've yet to find anything substantial but it keeps you occupied. You sit at your laptop and scroll endlessly. Eventually your eyes start to burn and water with the strain of staring at a bright screen to long, followed by an accompanying rumble of your stomach, which means it's definitely time for a break.

You open your bedroom door and listen for a few minutes. It's silent which means you'll likely be undisturbed. The faint sound of a television can be heard but you're sure it must be the one in Hyerin's room, so you head to the kitchen.

As you pass the living area you see Hyerin sleeping on the sofa, head resting on Namjoon's shoulder while his arm drapes lazily over her. You can only see the back of his head so you have no idea if he is awake or not. You don't hang around to find out.

The kitchen is pretty bare these days since your roommate has entered the nausea phase of her pregnancy and is still deciding what makes her sick and what doesn't. You settle for toast. It's not exciting but it's quick.

"Y/n?"

You look to the sound of your name, surprised to find Namjoon standing behind you. He looks as uncomfortable as you feel. "Hey..." You saw slowly. You sound awkward trying to pretend to be chill. "Um. Do you want some food?"

"No." He says. "Thanks."

The silence hangs like a lead weight. You silently scream at him just go away, neither of us wants this!

"I wanted to," He begins. Then coughs. You wait. His eyes look at anything but you when he tries again. "I wanted to apologise to you."

Oh. You're not sure if this is much better than the awkward silence. "That's alright, honestly." You dismiss.

"It isn't. I've been thinking a lot about what you said." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at his shoes. You feel like you're on a hidden camera show or something. You've never seen him act like this before. He's practically shy at this point. "About this baby not wanting me."

"Namjoon," You sigh. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, I was just upset and feeling protective about my friend."

"No, that's not what I mean." He shakes his head. "You did mean it. But it's okay, I fuckin' need to hear it."

You just stare silently at him.

"I mean, you could have said it a bit more kindly." He jokes, trying to relieve the tension. You offer him a small smile. "The sentiment was true, and I had never thought about it like that until you laid that truth bomb on me."

"Oh." You hear yourself say.

"I had a dad who didn't give a fuck about me, y'know?" He scratches the back of his neck and looks away. You could swear he was blushing. "Didn't want me and bailed on mom the second he could. If he were to come into my life now, I'd tell him to get lost. Hated that guy my whole life, yknow. I don't want a kid to feel that way about me, ever. Wasting their entire life resenting me." He takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thanks, I guess."

You guess your words were part of the impact on the recent change in his behaviour. You hadn't intended them to be but you're glad they did. The toast you were making pops and both you and Namjoon jump a little.

"You don't have to thank me." You leave the bread where it is. "I'm sorry I was so rude about it."

"I'm sorry I called you a bitch."

"I kind of was."

You both laugh a little.  Tension relieves slightly and the awkwardness isn't as palpable anymore.

"Things are going well," He states, referring to Hyerin. "I don't know what's going to happen with me and her, but I'll be here for that kid no matter what, which I guess is the important thing."

"This might sound insincere and I promise it isn't, but I think that's really honourable of you Namjoon."

He shrugs the compliment off, but looks a little happy nonetheless. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your food."

Just as he's about to leave you want to take advantage of the moment and ask about Jungkook. You call out to him and he freezes looking at you expectantly. You almost bottle it and lose your nerve. "Is...is Jungkook okay?"

His entire face changes, expression unreadable. "He's alive, if that's what you mean."

"That's not what I mean."

"Y/n," He lets out a long breath. "No. No he's not okay."

"Is there anything I can do?" God, you feel so guilty and so helpless.

"I don't think there's anything any of us can do right now." Namjoon says sadly. "You can't help someone who won't help themselves."

On that note, he leaves the room.

***

The latest job interview feels like it went well, but so did the last three. You don't pin any hope on it as you walk to the subway, portfolio under one arm, empty paper coffee cup in the other. It gets tossed in the bin at the station. You learned your lesson the first few times; don't get too excited. Although it's hard not to when you want something so badly and it feels within your grasp.

At this point you don't mind working for free, you still have your job at the restaurant. Some money for your hard earned degree wouldn't be unwelcome however.

You sit on the platform waiting for your train, feeling uncomfortable in your outfit. It's very corporate - heels, pencil skirt, blouse. Not very you at all but the interviews require it. According to the electronic information board your train will be here in 4 minutes. Your leg shakes impatiently.

You happen to turn your head at the exact moment Jimin steps on to the platform. His painting studio is nearby which you conveniently forgot, it makes sense for him to be here. You're the one on strange territory, not him. Still, it's a shock to the system. It's been three months since you've seen him in person. His hair is darker, the sandy blonde gone and he's a little leaner; but it's Jimin.

He spots you and slows down momentarily. He's as surprised as you are.

"Hey." He breathes when he reaches you.

"Hi." You smile.

He gestures to your portfolio with a nod of his head. "How'd it go?" Earlier you'd told him through text your plan for that day.

"We'll see." You say as you shrug. "I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it went well." He assures with a warm smile. You think he looks as good as ever. "Are you headed home?"

"Yeah." You say. "I can't wait to get out of these clothes. I'm done being secretary barbie for today."

Jimin laughs. "I kind of like it." You give him a sceptical look. "What?" He grins, shooting his best innocent glance. You shake your head. "Listen, y/n, do you want to grab a cup of coffee?"

"Now?"

He nods.

You have nothing better to do, so you agree.

***

It's not strange being with Jimin like this. Which is strange in itself. You anticipated some awkward tension after so many things were unsaid, uncertain and unclear but there was none. He was just Jimin. The same sweet, kind man you'd met two years ago, let into your bed and then proceeded to break his heart. You're not sure if he's selfless or just a glutton for punishment.

He tells you work is great, better than it's ever been which makes you happy. He's talented so it's not a shock but a welcome surprise. He's recently moved to a bigger apartment that he loves. He even thinks he's ready for a pet, although you're sure that last part is said slightly in jest.

You fill him in a little more on your life, texts exchanged you can only say so much. Jimin gets an update on Hyerin which makes him smile. You tell him about Namjoon -  the argument and subsequent apology. The only topic left is Jungkook. It feels like Jimin senses it too because a tension seems to form.

"So..." He says.

"So." You mimic.

He licks his lips. "How is everything...else? Are you still single?"

"Yes, I am." You almost want to laugh at the way he asks the question.

"Me too."

"Are you prying about Jungkook?" You tease.

"Kinda." He laughs. "I didn't know how to bring it up since we were having a good time."

"It's ok." You offer him an encouraging smile. "I haven't seen or heard from him. You?"

"Actually yeah." says Jimin. You raise a brow in surprise. That was unexpected. "A few texts here and there that are erratic to say the least. Sometimes he hates me, sometimes he's sorry. It's kind of worrying actually."

"Namjoon kind of alluded to the same sort of thing. He's worried too."

Jimin nods solemnly. "I always try to reply as best I can, just so if something - touch wood - bad, happens Jungkook knows that door of communication is still open. But he never really responds to me. Just texted more incoherent thoughts." He lets out a long sigh. "Even though we were both shitty friends to each other, I've known him too many years. I have to be there for him no matter what."

A few moments of contemplative silence pass. The coffee shop is rather quiet at the moment, the only other people in the small cafe is a teenager, nose buried in a laptop and a couple in the corner. The boy has shaggy black hair, and is holding onto his girl like she's a prized possession. Sadly, it reminds you of Jungkook during happier times, he always was a little possessive but in a charming way that made your heart swell when you saw him.

You're not entirely sure what to make of the information you've just received. At the very, very, very least, you're glad that Jimin is still there for his friend regardless.

"In spite of all that I'm glad we ran into each other today." You say as lightly as possible. It makes Jimin smile.

"I am also. I've wanted to ask you to meet up so many times but I knew you wanted space." He blushes a little. "I'm glad fate intervened."

"I think it was better this way, actually."

You finish your coffees and Jimin walks you home. His arm occasionally brushes against yours as you walk. When you reach your building the two of you pause in front of it. You wonder if he's going to kiss you and it makes your heart thud wildly. The jury's still out on whether you even want that or not.

"Thanks for walking me home."

"No problem."

He stares at you for a beat. "Can we do this again?"

"Coffee? Uh sure." You reply, slightly confused. He shakes his head.

"No. Or yeah, whatever you want. I just want to see you again. Maybe...like a date?" He gives you such a hopeful yet promising look that's so endearing it almost physically hurts. You open your mouth to reply and as if he anticipates that your about to refuse him he hurries out, "We can take it really slow. No pressure. Just spending time together."

"Alright," You agree, softening. "I'd like that."

Jimin leaves, looking as if he just won a prize of his own.

***

You smile as you remove your jacket and shoes at the front door, mind still entirely occupied with thoughts of Jimin. Your quickly brought back to earth by the voices of Namjoon and Hyerin. At first glance it doesn't appear as if they're arguing but one look at Hyerin's face and you can see something is most definitely up.

"Hey..." You begin cautiously, looking between them.

"Hi." Hyerin strains a smile. "I expected you much earlier. How'd it go?"

She means the interview. "Good I think." You look hesitantly at Namjoon. "I ended up bumping into Jimin, actually."

You wait for judgement to pass across his face but he remains stoically blank. Thank god.

"Oh," Hyerin seems surprised. "Ok."

"What's going on? There's a weird mood in here guys." You ask after a tense moment and silence.

"Jungkook." Namjoon answers with a sigh. You tense immediately.

"What's happened?" You ask, fearing the worst.

Namjoon shakes his head. "He keeps showing up to recording sessions drunk. Or worse. I'm worried."

You're worried too.

***

Inexplicably, the first official date with Jimin is a little awkward. Which is odd, because the accidental crossing of paths a week earlier wasn't in the slightest. Maybe it's because it's officially labelled as a date now, you don't know. Either way, you know he feels it too, stretched silences drawing on a little too long between you.

At the end of the night you allow him to kiss you. It's brief but familiar. You knew you missed the physical side of a romantic relationship but kissing him showed you just how much. As you lay in bed that night, the sensation of the kiss not entirely gone yet, you have to sternly remind yourself that you're taking it slow. You're too used to giving into your desires when you're around him.

The second date is far better, both of you overcome whatever hurdle caused the uncomfortableness in the first one. Jimin treats you to an over priced but amazing meal at a top end restaurant. It feels so grown up, you're not used to dates like this. Jungkook was the first real boyfriend you'd ever had, and his dating style was a lot more casual.

You never exactly had an official first date with Jungkook. Most of the time you spent together involved getting naked together in his apartment enough times that you became a couple. Sure, you went out together but it was mostly to parties or bars. That's just who he was and you accepted that.

The third date Jimin brings you to his art studio. It's an unusual setting for a date, but you go along with it when Jimin promises there's a surprise in store. His eyes twinkle and you can't help but feel a little excitement spark in you. It's an intimate, private piece of him to share with you and it feels special. Different.

His studio is where he does his creating. It's a reasonably large white space that's littered with paint splashes, tarp that protects most of the floor, and works in progress propped up on easels. Although Jimin looks out of place now dressed smartly in slacks and a button up shirt, you can completely imagine him hard at work in here.

"Stop being so coy," You whine impatiently and Jimin chuckles as he strides determinedly across the vast space. You watch, unsure what you're allowed to touch or not touch. "I like surprises but I'm too impatient for the suspense."

"Well, you're just going to have to deal with it." He informs you, before disappearing inside a door on the opposite side of the room.

You gaze around the room as you wait for him to return, absorbing all the visible artwork. There's a lot of rustling before the sound of a crash resonates and Jimin swears.

He truly is talented. No wonder he's been so successful as of late. Your eyes land on a particular work. It's a brightly coloured butterfly, except it's done in watercolour and he's allowed the rainbow paint to drip and run down the canvas. It's beautiful and you wonder why he hasn't sold it yet. An egotistical part of you speculates that it might be inspired by you, given the affectionate nickname he has for you.

When Jimin returns he's holding a canvas against his body but the painted side is facing away from you. You wonder what on earth he's up to.

"Sit." He instructs, pointing to the chrome stool at his desk. You give him a puzzled look but comply anyway. "Close your eyes."

"Jimin - "

"Shush. Now close your eyes."

You sigh and do as he asked, clasping your hands in your lap whilst simultaneously feeling a little ridiculous. There's some shuffling and scraping of metal on the floor and even with your eyes closed you can sense that he's switched some of the lights off. "What are you up to Jiminie?" You ponder aloud.

"You'll see."

You sense some movement behind you and you can tell Jimin is close to you. His hands rest on your shoulders as he leans down to whisper, hot breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. "Okay. Open your eyes butterfly."

You're met with an image that sucks the air out of your lungs. It's you. Jimin has painted you.

Except it's not you. Not regular, every day, flesh and blood you. Painting you is bold and vibrant, he's captured you in a way you've never viewed yourself. The image is clearly based on your face, except you appear more like some mythical fairy. There's flowers woven into your flowing hair that's much longer than yours, covering your naked chest. The only colours on the canvas are red and some pink.

"Jimin..." You begin, attempting to search for the right words that convey just how overwhelmed you feel. His eyes bore into you expectantly. "This is incredible. You're so talented! It's me right?"

He laughs. "Of course its you."

"You made me look beautiful, I almost didn't recognise myself." You admit, blushing. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Why did you paint this?"

"You've kind of been a muse to me for a while now." He confesses.

"A muse? Me?"

He nods. "Yeah...it's kind of embarrassing. Ever since the first time we met you've always been a source of inspiration. So thank you, I guess."

"Why me?" You blurt. "I'm just so ordinary, I wish I looked like this." You gesture to the canvas.

"It's more than just how you look, you know. You're beautiful, of course, but you're strong and tough yet still somehow soft enough to be kind, even when people don't deserve it. Not all strong people have that in them y/n but you do."

"I don't know what to say." You whisper, swivelling round to face him.

"That's why I chose the colours I did. Red for the passion and fire within you, and pink because you're sensitive and compassionate. I felt that it suited you."

"I don't deserve you, Park Jimin." You tell him as you pull him in for a kiss. "You might be the sweetest boy I've ever met."

"You do deserve me."

He kisses you fiercely, cupping your face with his hands. The angle is a bit uncomfortable as you're still sitting whilst he's standing but you don't care. The rush of affection you feel for him right now is the only thing on your mind.

"I love the painting." You breathe against his lips. "Thank you."

You separate, albeit reluctantly but he locks your hands together.  "This is my one creation I won't ever sell. I'm going to hang it somewhere, maybe my gallery so everyone can see it. I just needed the inspirations approval first." He smiles.

"You more than have it. I'm so lucky I have someone so talented in my life."

Standing now you lock arms around his neck and kiss him slower and deeper than before. Jimin's hand at the small of your back presses you flush against him. His hand slides lower and lower until he's giving the plump flesh of your ass a rough squeeze. It's too easy to get carried away and you badly want him to take you then and there.

He groans pulling away, biting your lip as he does so. "Taking it slow, yeah?" He asks breathlessly. "Does that mean no sex right away?"

"That's probably for the best..." You can't help but kiss him again. You remember how good it felt and it takes everything not to say fuck me against the wall. "There's time."

He presses his forehead against yours and smiles. "Whatever you want, butterfly."

***

Hyerin is at the point of her pregnancy now where her maternity leave has began and days are spent nesting and preparing for the upcoming baby. Preparations unfortunately (and sadly, for you) include her moving into Namjoon's apartment with him. This means two things. One; things are still on a good track for the couple and you're glad and two; you now need to find a roommate, short of getting a fabulously paying job within the next few days.

The painful silence on the employment front is enough to make you uneasy but you're always sure to wear a brave for your friend. She has enough to worry about, you think, and you know the decision to move out wasn't done lightly or with malice either. Hyerin even offered to help you find a new roommate but you waved her off. Read: enough to worry about.

You continue with the job search and fruitless interviews and plough forward, facing no other choice. On the last day Hyerin and you will be living together you both agree to go shopping together. She needs a few more items for the baby and you well, you need a distraction from life for a few hours.

Aimlessly you stroll around a mall that's a forty minute drive away, Hyerin's recommendation because she wanted somewhere with aircon since lately she's been uncomfortable almost all the time. Even though she complains multiple times about her size on the journey you still she thinks she looks great.

She shows you pictures of the newly decorated nursery and your heart warms. Hyerin doesn't have to verbalise it outright, you know she's extremely excited. When you enter a baby clothing store she's cooing and aw'ing over every tiny item and ends up buying more than she wanted to. She looks at you at the checkout and shrugs, as if to say oh well.

"How's Jimin...?" She asks coyly, peering at you out of the corner of her eye. You hold the door for the makeup store open for her and she waddles through. She's aware you've been seeing him, but neither of you have had much time to catch up on details.

"Good. Great." You can't help the smile that stretches your lips.

"You're happy." She informs you and you nod. "I wouldn't put you two together but now that i've seen you with him, it makes sense you know."

"I like him." You cock your head. A year ago you might agreed with her but the more time you spend with him the more you enjoy his company.

"I've never spent much time with him, but I trust your judgement. Would it be strange for the four of us to spend time together?" She hums, swatching a lipstick on the back of her palm, before frowning at the color.

Your stomach twists at the thought. "Maybe in ten years when everyone's forgotten what I've done." You joke. "Namjoon is Jungkook's bestfriend. I wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable."

"It's a shame you started like that."

"Nothing's official."

"Yet." She counters.

You offer a non-committal hum, still unsure if that is exactly the route you want to go down with Jimin. It's easy now, just to see where it goes and take things slowly.

Bored of shopping and after only buying one dress for yourself (that you weren't particularly excited about, but felt the urge to treat yourself regardless) the two of you make the mutual decision to grab a bite to eat. You're more than happy to let Hyerin choose the venue.

She scrolls lazily through her phone while you wait for the food to arrive. You have a text from Jimin sent forty five minutes earlier telling you to have a nice day and you smile at your phone, warmth radiating in your chest.

"Oh my God."

You look up at Hyerin's voice. She has a hand over her mouth and her eyes are wide as she stares at the screen. Instantly you know something is wrong. Fear immediately prickles at your skin, anticipating a problem with the baby.

"What?" Panic is at the edge of your voice. "What's wrong?"

She hesitates and it only serves to worry you further. "I hate that I am the one to show you this but..." Nothing more is said when she slides her phone across the table to you. Frowning you squint at the device, open to a webpage.

Jungkook has been arrested.

Time feels completely frozen as you scroll, reading as fast as your eyes will allow. Your heartbeat is thrumming, uncomfortable and loud in your ears as you try and absorb as much of the information as the article had written. In the middle of the page their was a tacky tabloid picture of him being roughly escorted by police, hands linked behind his back with cuffs. It's even more unfortunate that this was such a public affair.

You swear under your breath at the reason he's in this position, the glaring words taunting you. Drunk driving and disorderly behaviour.

"Are you ok y/n?" Hyerin asks cautiously.

"No." A hot tear splashes on her phone and you wipe it away quickly. "This is bad. It says he's in hospital. Right there at the bottom."

"What for?"

"Apparently he caused an accident and ended up injured. It doesn't give details."

You share a look across the table of fear mixed with worry. Silently you slide her phone back to her. You had anticipated something bad happening as a result of his drinking but not this. Jungkook was a public figure and it pained you to see him immortalised like this. It pained you to know he had taken his recklessness to a new level. It pained you that all of this was happening.

"Let's eat quickly and then go home. I'll call Namjoon and see if there's anything we can do." You friend tells you gently, knowing you well enough to know you won't be able to sit still for the rest of the day. Maybe there was nothing you could do but you could try.

***

"He asked for you."

You stare at Namjoon, astonished. Those were the last words you expected to leave his lips. Standing at your doorway, looking as worried as you felt he patiently waited for your reaction.

"He hates me." The first thought that enters your mind slips out before you can stop it. Namjoon shrugs.

"I'm just the messenger."

Everything about this feels like a bad idea. Your entire body tenses, as if on high alert. Jungkook wants to see you. He could have called you but he didn't, which makes you feel apprehensive. He wants a face to face, which to you, feels like a horrible scenario waiting to be played out. The last time you met in person did not go well.

"I'm on my way now, if you want to join me." Namjoon jingles his car keys at you for emphasis. The idea of not being entirely alone with Jungkook feels slightly more tolerable.

"Fine." You offer reluctantly. He spares you a few minutes to get ready and gather your things before the two of you head to the hospital together.

When you had phoned Jimin a few days prior to share the news it was no surprise to you that he was already aware. You wondered if he had been to visit Jungkook or had plans to, or if Jungkook even wanted that. You don't voice this aloud to Namjoon.

It's mostly quiet in the car and you stare out the window, hoping Namjoon doesn't feel uncomfortable. There's no tension between you anymore but you're not exactly best buds forever. He puts the radio on and you're thankful it eases the silence.

"What do you think about rehab?" You ask, still looking out the window. "For 'Kook. Do you think he needs it?" You clarify.

"I would love it if he went." Namjoon sighs, out of the corner of your eye he grips the wheel a little tighter. "Maybe this will be a wake-up call for him."

Hyerin had told you that Namjoon had been completely sober since they had agreed to try and be together for the sake of their unborn child. It had surprised you to an extent but Namjoon had never been as bad as Jungkook, never appeared as if anything was a problem (not infront of you anyway) and apparently he had no issue maintaining a sober life these days. Jungkook always did do everything better than everyone else.

Anticipation brings a slight tremble to your body as you trail behind Namjoon on your way to Jungkook's hospital suite. He agrees to go in first to tell Jungkook you're here. Your knee shakes when you sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the room.

Every second that passes as you wait feels achingly slow. The low voices of the two men rumble through the thin wall but you can't make out exactly what is being said. You're not sure if you want to. Maybe you could run, it's not too late.

The door clicks open and Namjoon gestures for you to go inside. He doesn't follow.

Jungkook lies in a white bed in the center of the room, propped up on a few large soft pillows. The first thing you think when your eyes land on him is that he doesn't look good. He's thinner and bruised from the accident. "Hi." You whisper for some reason. The room feels too quiet.

"Hey, come sit." He croaks hoarsely, gesturing to a chair next to the bed. His eyes follow you as you cross the room and you feel awkward.

You don't know where to start. "How are you?" It feels redundant but it's the best you've got.

"Battered n' bruised." He smiles but it's clearly forced. "Thanks for coming."

"I was surprised you asked for me. But I'm glad you're okay. Pictures of your car were online. It looked wrecked."

He shrugs. "It's worse than it looks. Modern cars are actually pretty safe. Just a few broken ribs but I'm golden."

Jungkook rubs tiredly at his face, stifling a yawn. There's a new tattoo on his hand. You wonder if there's more. "Don't take this the wrong way but I thought you would be in jail."

"I was injured so they took me here. I have a trial in a few weeks. Probably will just get a DUI." He explains. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this but I've wanted to for a long time. Thought you'd take pity on me and visit."

"It's not pity that brings me here. " You say quietly. He's staring at you so intently you can't meet his gaze for much longer and opt to stare at your lap. "I care."

Jungkook reaches for your hand. Confused, you go to take it but stop for a moment. There's undeniable injection sites in between the blue black ink of his tattoos. He's been shooting up. What you don't know exactly but you know taking anything intravenously means things are bad. You take his hand, albeit shakily. You say nothing about what you noticed.

"I'm in trouble baby." He says. You've never heard him sound so vulnerable before. Your heart positively aches in your chest. "I'm in so much trouble."

"What's going on with you Kook?" You press, squeezing his hand.

"I think I'm out of control." To your complete and utter despair he blinks away a few tears. "I could have killed someone just because I wanted to get fucked up."

"You've always liked to get drunk Kookie..." You say joylessly.

"I don't know when it went from getting drunk to have fun and this. It's not fun anymore."

"It was so stupid of you. So stupid." You sigh. "You are better than that."

"I want to be."

He's gripping your hand so tightly, so desperately you die a little inside. He's broken.  "You can get help, there's professionals who are trained to help people exactly like you. All you need to do is take it."

"I want to." He whispers.

"Do it." You are almost begging. "Just. Do. It."

"I'll get Hoseok to look into it for me. Take some time off and sort my head out." He offers you another smile but it's somber. You hope more than anything his words are genuine. Not much else is said between you, other than you offering whatever support and reinforcement you can give.

You hold his hand until you leave, kissing him on the forehead before you go.

***

Jimin strokes your hair absent-mindedly as you lay together in his bed. Your head rests on his chest as you scroll through your phone whilst he watches television. It's so sickeningly domestic, it surprises you how much you enjoy it. You find yourself googling rehab centre's in the area for Jungkook. It's not much but you want to help.

Something Jimin's watching makes him laugh and you peer up at him. "I love this show." He smiles when he notices you looking at him. "You should watch it with me."

"Yeah, in a minute." You mumble, going back to your device. You're composing a few links to send to Hoseok, even though as Jungkook's manager he is fully capable of doing it himself you just want to ensure Jungkook has the opportunity to consider all the options possible.

"What are you doing?" He asks. "It must be important to have captured your attention like this. Job searching?"

"No. I'm looking at rehab places for Jungkook."

"Oh." Jimin replies quietly. He understands why when you explain to him that you went to visit Jungkook. There's an arduous history that comes along with dating you, he knows that. In an ideal world, there wouldn't be but you think he likes you enough to put up with it. You hope. "That's nice of you."

"It's the least I can do. I'm giving Hoseok a list and then I'm all yours, babe. Hold on."

With a heavy sigh you put your phone on his nightstand and snuggle into him a little more. You hook one of your legs around his waist, as if you can't be close enough to him. His hand grips your thigh and holds it there. "Do you want to stay tonight?" He hums. Since you've rekindled things you've yet to actually spend the night together. Tonight you don't want to be alone.

"Please." You reply.

Sensing you might need it, Jimin swoops in for a kiss. Having not had sex yet every time you kiss lately it seems to get real dirty real fast. Neither of you show much self restriction now. It's almost too easy to slide over so you're lying on top of him, knees pressed into the mattress either side of his narrow hips. His hands grip your ass outside of your clothes, encouraging you to grind against him. It doesn't take him long to get hard from this.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if you're the last girl he's been intimate with. A possessive part of you hopes so but the thought goes as quickly as it comes.

Jimin has been so patient with you, so it's your turn to take the lead and let him know you're ready now. Breaking away from his lips you sit up, crossing your arms across your torso, pulling your shirt up and over you head. He watches you, dreamy and glassy-eyed as if he can't quite believe what's happening.

"You sure?" He breathes, eyes drinking in your newly exposed chest.

"Positive."

Resuming the kiss, his hands explore your body, feeling every inch of you. He quickly snaps your bra off and you help him slide it down your arms. You whine when his hands cup your breasts, thumbs grazing your nipples. You're extra sensitive there anyway but going a long time without being touched only heightens the sensations. Jimin keens at your reaction and grins against your lips.

"Mm, you like this." He whispers, tweaking one of the hardened buds. You only moan your agreement, rutting against him. Feeling how hard he is against you only makes your stomach lurch with arousal.

"Touch me Jimin, do anything you want. I've missed this." You tell him desperately, already feeling a little light headed.

"Fuck," He says wet mouth against your neck as his hands slide underneath the back of your leggings. "Take these off."

You roll on to your back and quickly wiggle the clothing down your hips while Jimin whips his own shirt off. He's on you in an instant, using his hips to push your legs apart. You're barely focusing on his sloppy kisses over your chest because you're too busy trying to get his pants off. He laughs at your failed attempt and his breath tickles.

"Get naked." You demand. "We've waited long enough."

The belt he's wearing slides through the loops on his pants and hits the floor with a thud. Briefly he stands to kick off his jeans and you can't help but ogle the outline of his hardness through the tight grey boxers slung low on his hips. Naked skin on skin makes you feel almost drunk when he's back in your arms. His body is warm and familiar and god, so soft you melt into him easily.

You're hot all over from his touch. His hands consume your body as if it's the first time he's every touched you and wants to explore everywhere.

The time for teasing can wait. You're already gripping his impossibly hard length underneath the material of his underwear, slowly stroking him up and down. He hisses at the contact.

"Do I need a condom?" Somehow there's still a rational part of his brain functioning right now, despite the handjob. Truth be told, you'd forgot that little detail.

"No, tested right after Jungkook."

"I'm still clean." Jimin assures you.

"Good."

He slides down the bed, ungracefully struggling out of his underwear. You bite back a laugh. He's adorable. "Can I eat you out first?" He pleads, already hovering dangerously close to your cunt. You agree eagerly. His beautiful mouth was always fantastic between your thighs.

Jimin's tongue drags through your wet lower lips from top to bottom and you shudder involuntarily. Lately you've been so busy you don't even remember the last time you'd masturbated so his touch is nearly overwhelming. It takes a few cursory experimental licks before he finds his rhythm again. You fist is hair keeping his head firmly in place so you can roll your hips against his face.

He pulls away so quickly you think somethings wrong. "Jimin - "

" - I need to be inside you, now. The friction of my cock against the bedsheets was already getting too much." He laughs, crawling over you. His cock slides against your dripping, now aching, pussy and you groan. "I haven't had sex since you." He whispers, face hovering over yours.

Your hands grip his shoulders while he glides into you. The stretch is a little much at first and he stills for a minute, watching your face for any reactions after seeing you wince. "Okay?" He murmurs, nosing your cheek and peppering a few kisses across your skin.

"Okay." You repeat. "Fuck me." You whisper running a thumb over his plush lip. You can't help but gaze at his face, eyes blown out. He's gorgeous in such a delicate yet sexy way. "Please."

He slowly begins to move his hips, in and out, in and out, in and out and your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. All you were thinking about was how perfect he feels. Your legs fall open a little wider and your back arches against the bed. "Yes, Jimin - right there - god."

His breath is hot against your skin from exertion. He feels so good, filling you up like this. The more he works his hips the better the stretch is. You claw at his ass, encouraging him to go harder.

"Oh, shit, shitshitshit." He moans loudly, driving into you forcefully. He stops for a moment and you look at him, expecting him to rearrange your position or maybe he wants something different. His eyes are tightly screwed shut and his head hangs, as if he's in pain.

"...Jimin?"

"I'm sorry."

You're lost. What is he sorry for? Then it dawns on you.

"Did you just - "

"Yeah."

He's embarrassed and he avoids your gaze. This has never happened to you before, you've heard the stories of guys coming too quickly but thankfully had never experienced it. Until now. You try not to look too upset at the loss of an orgasm tonight because you can already see how annoyed with himself Jimin is. "I'm sorry, it's been a while and you felt so good...and yeah. Fuck this is embarrassing."

His now softening cock slips out of you and you can feel the tell tale sign of his release being to leak out. "Hey," You pull him down to you, and reassuringly kiss him. These things happen. You hadn't expected to last long either. "It's okay. Don't worry about it, next time will be better."

"I wanted our next first time to be unbelievable." He shakes his head, burying it into the crook of your neck with a frustrated groan. "Let me at least make it up to you now."

He props himself up on his left elbow as his right hand makes it's way down your body, over your bellybutton and straight to your neglected center. Languidly circling your clit with the pads of his forefinger and index you sigh in pleasure. "Do you want my mouth, butterfly?" He licks your neck up to your jaw, kissing the side of your parted mouth.

"I've got your cum in me." You huff, feeling a little self conscious and well, gross. You can't imagine that will be an enjoyable experience for him.

"I don't care." He's already moving down your body before you can protest further. "Want to feel you cum on my face."

"Jimin." You whine, trying to close your legs.

"Shit, ok. Hold on." He tells you, jumping up from the bed and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom in all his naked glory. Puzzled, you can only watch and anticipate his next move. He returns with a washcloth and gently cleans you up.

"You are so freakin' cute sometimes." You grin, unable to quite comprehend his thoughtfulness. Your heart clenches. No guy has ever done anything like this before for you. Although it's not a major display of affection, or even a big deal really, the simple gesture reads; I want to take care of you.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He shrugs. When he's done he disposes of the cloth and before he can resume eating you out you grab at him, crashing your lips to his.

"I like you so much." You mumble against him.

"I like you too."

Jimin kisses you slowly for a few moments more, hands wandering down your ribs before gripping the flesh of your thighs. He spreads them once more, before shifting so he's in a more advantageous position. "Can I? Now?" He breathes. You nod.

When he licks into you, your eyes flutter shut and you allow yourself to just enjoy it. His thumbs rub circles on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. He keeps his eyes trained on you, reading your body language. "Ji-min," You breathe. "Want your fingers. Fuck me with them."

The bed creaks as he shifts to comply with your request. Two fingers slip inside you as you clench down, Jimin moans against your clit. Your hips start moving of their own according, rocking against his mouth. When you cum it's so intense you almost sit up completely as your muscles contract. His hands anchor you down.

"Oh my god." You exhale, panting.

"I'm hard again." He laughs. "So sexy." He murmurs, kissing all over the inside of your thighs.

"You wanna go again?"

"If you do."

When Jimin fucks you again he's spooning you from behind, a hand curled underneath your thigh to hold you open for him. He peers down and watches his cock disappear inside of you, moaning at how wet you are. This feels like heaven to you. You clutch his free hand and lock your fingers together.

He cums with a loud groan against the back of your neck. Sweet praises are whispered in your ear as he holds you tightly to him. "You're my favourite, butterfly."

You tenderly look at him over your shoulder. "You're my favourite too."

***

Spending time with Jimin makes you feel like you're floating with pure, unwavering happiness whenever you leave him. He's so sweet and generous - you feel safe with him. Jungkook might have destroyed your ability to trust easily but Jimin is unknowingly building it back up for you. It might be because it's not what he says, it's what he does, all to let you know he cares.

When you leave his place the next morning, full of the breakfast he's made you (with coffee; he remembers how you like it - milk and no sugar), you catch yourself smiling unconsciously several times. You'd feel ridiculous if you weren't so happy.

There's a few moments where you feel guilty for being so elated, worrying about Jungkook. You make a mental note to contact Hoseok in a few days to check in. Hopefully Jungkook is in rehab by then, or at the very minimum taking serious steps towards it.

Home feels empty without Hyerin now. You need to find a roommate, and soon, but the idea of replacing her isn't one you're ecstatic about. She suggested her friend Taehyung, the person you'd met once when he was roped into helping you move. He might be your only hope at this point.

Your phone chimes as you settle into you room. When Namjoon's name appears on your screen it brings a frown to your face, he texts you so infrequently it can only be bad news. Your heart begins to race as you swipe the message open.

from: namjoon jungkook's disappeared from the hospital. He was supposed to be discharged today and no one can reach him. I know you care about him still so i thought you'd want to know. Let me know if he calls you ok?

You swear loudly as you re-read the message. If you know Jungkook as well as you think you do him leaving the hospital without telling anyone was an escape. You appreciate Namjoon reaching out but you almost wish you didn't know that information. Jungkook is in trouble and there's nothing you can do.

MASTERLIST

[luna--reading]

[PICK A CARD] WHO IS COMING TOWARDS ME IN LOVE?

Hello lovelies~ ♡

This is a pick a card reading for “Who is coming towards me in love?”. It is recommended for singles or maybe those who are in a situationship and you are wanting to see if it’s the person on your mind. Please do find peace if it doesn’t resonate with you~

So take a few minutes to mediate on these 3 piles:

Obsidian Heart

Sodalite Heart

Rose Quartz Heart

Once you’re ready, just scroll below to find the reading that you have chosen!

You can always leave a comment or simply like the post if it resonates with you, thank you so much~ ♡♡♡

Pile 1:

I feel like this person is probably someone you might have rejected in the past, like maybe not upfront but like there is this sense of rejection from this person (4 of cups and Orphaned), so I’m getting a bit of sadness here, as well as just keeping to themselves right now and contemplating on things. But if there isn’t such a person, then this person could have gone through some sort of hurt in their past relationships and I see them already going through the healing period. With The Star, it’s a very healing card, so I see them already going through or have already gone through this healing from their past hurts. Because right now, I see them taking back control of their life (Free Yourself), they no longer want to feel hurt anymore, they no longer want to keep themselves in their small corner anymore. They want to come out and take that leap of faith (The Fool) and they want a fresh start with you as well as a long-term commitment (King of Pentacles). I feel like that they see you as someone who is in the centre of attraction but you don’t seem to notice it yourself (Don’t dim to fit in) as well as not noticing how beautiful you are (Sisterhood of the rose). They really feel for this strong connection with you (Soulmates and Deep knowing). Like I feel that they really do feel this soulmate connection with you deep down and that they really do see you as someone who can go long-term with them. I feel that if you do have someone in mind right now, and you are feeling frustrated that things are quite stagnant, you are asked to Slow down - Pause and allow things to unfold. Else, I feel like they are just taking things slow right now because they know that they aren’t going anywhere and that they want to have that stable foundation with you first before moving onto higher levels of commitment. Because at the end of the day, eventually both of you will Choose love - You always have a choice; make yours with love.

So the following is just for some reference in regards to who this person might be, if it resonates with you, that’s great, if not, please just take it for fun!

Some of the initials that I have pulled out (or if the words that are written on it is relevant to you in any way): I, Y, W, G, G, K, B

Some signs that I have pulled out: Leo, Sagittarius, Pisces, Scorpio//With the Fool, I’m also getting Aries as well as strong Earth signs vibe (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) with the King of Pentacles.

Some personality traits that I have pulled out: Outgoing, Stable, Charismatic

Some descriptions that I have pulled out:Glasses, Average (can be height or whatever else comes to mind), Red hair, Curvy, Friends with benefits, Muscular, Twin flame

Some of the messages that this person would want to tell you right now:

I let my fears get the best of me but trust me, I am trying to fix it right now!!

Wait for me, I am coming to see you very soon.

You are my sunshine

I want to build a family with you

Take my hand and trust that we can make this through TOGETHER

You are the only one for me.

Pile 2:

So for this pile, more cards dropped out while I was shuffling, so I decided to take all of them. Right away, I do see a very strong spiritual connection, it’s almost as if you guys have a past-life connection/karmic relationship with each other (Spiritual connection - A relationship has a connection that goes beyond this lifetime, Higher Power and 6 of cups). Else, this person could be someone from your past that is coming back into your life (Back to what you love - Re-evaluate your desires) and it’s divine timing for them to come back in your life right now. This person sees you as someone who is very beautiful, very loving, very nurturing (The Empress and the Queen of Cups), someone who they do see a very beautiful beginning with. I feel like if this is someone coming back from the past, they might have done you wrong and you might have cut them out from your life (Boundaries) and that they want to make things right this time (Justice). Or in fact, this might be some past-life karmic relationship that requires you to release soul patterns, contracts and past lives (Unbound) in this lifetime and that you are asked to look within yourself in regards to this connection (Inner temple). This person will come in and express their love for you (Express your love) and you would feel a very strong connection with them (Chemistry). I feel that you will feel like this person is a form of Miracles and Blessings - Everything has its gift from the Universe as it just feels like this person is the one that you have been waiting for for a very long time.

Now, for a small number for you, it’s up to you if you want to accept this person into your life, especially if they did you wrong in the past, but you are asked to be flexible (Flexible) about this person’s appearance. Because i feel like this person will somehow be back into your life, be it physically or spiritually, and that it might create certain disturbances in your life. But understand that whether or not you accept this person back, it is eventually some form of Miracles and Blessings - Everything has its gift and you will learn valuable lessons through this.

I am seeing 3, 33 so this might be significant for you or you can check out the messages that the Angels have for you.

 So the following is just for some reference in regards to who this person might be, if it resonates with you, that’s great, if not, please just take it for fun!

Some of the initials that I have pulled out (or if the words that are written on it is relevant to you in any way): J, O, Y, K, P, M, I B

Some signs that I have pulled out: Sagittarius, Pisces, Scorpio//With the Justice, I’m also getting Libra as well as Taurus and more Libra with the Empress. With the Queen of Cups, there’s also strong water signs vibe (Cancer, Scorpio, and especially Pisces)

Some personality traits that I have pulled out: Fiery, Compassionate, Trustworthy, Sociable, Outgoing, Charismatic

Some descriptions that I have pulled out: Glasses, Ex, Red hair, Friendzoned, Short, Blonde, Green Eyes, Tanned skin

Some of the messages that this person would want to tell you right now:

Everything is just so unclear to me right now…

I don’t have that courage right now

SOULMATE

You are so beautiful

I can see a future with you, the first time we met

I got lost in your eyes, now I’m trying to find my way back

I know that there is nothing for me to be afraid of as long as i am with you

I can’t wait to hold you tight in my arms

Wait for me, I am coming to see you very soon

Pile 3:

To start off, this person that is coming in, I feel like you’ve already known this person (with the couple in Very Soon, couple in Passion, the two people in Mending and Spend Quality Time Together and even the two birds in Loyal Heart). It’s almost as if shouting out to me that you’ve already known this person. And I feel like you, yourself might also know who this person is with Trust the Niggle, like trust your intuition.

But if you really don’t have anyone you know as of now, I feel like spiritually you might have already connected with this person and that they are going to come in very quickly (Very Soon).

Okay, so I feel like there is a very strong attraction to you with the Passion and The Sun like, there is so much fiery energy in here. With the King of Wands, this person could be very passionate to you as well. And I feel that there will be a lot of playful energy (Play) between the two of you (it’s like you guys are friends and lovers at the same time). This person is going to be very loyal towards you (Loyal Heart) and I see that they might have not been able to tell you their true feelings right now, because they might be going through some sort of healing within themselves (The Hermit as well as Mending). So, you have to be very patient with this person is what I’m getting. With Justice, I do feel that this person really has feelings for you, like I mentioned previously, you might have already known this person. With Justice corresponding to the sign of Libra who is ruled by Venus, there is love and passion for you. I do see that they see you as who you are and that they Love who you are - You are divine, delightful, and deserving of the wonderful things life has to offer. And they do see you as someone whom they can build a family with (Mintakan). I do see that in time to come Very Soon, they will want to Spend quality time together - Listen and talk to each other. This could come in during the Summer season (End June - End September) or anytime during Leo season, Libra season or even Virgo season.

So the following is just for some reference in regards to who this person might be, if it resonates with you, that’s great, if not, please just take it for fun!

Some of the initials that I have pulled out (or if the words that are written on it is relevant to you in any way): T, Y, N, I, H, C, B, O, Q, I

Some signs that I have pulled out: Cancer, Libra, Aquarius, Aries//With the Justice, I’m also getting Libra. With the Hermit, there’s Virgo as well as Leo from the Sun. The King of Wands has strong Fire signs vibe (Leo, Sagittarius and particularly Aries)

Some personality traits that I have pulled out: Quiet, Fiery, Outgoing, Impulsive, Emotional, Charismatic, Creative

Some descriptions that I have pulled out: Significantly older, no contact, smile, curvy, average (in terms of height most probably), friends with benefits, blonde, friendzoned

Some of the messages that this person would want to tell you right now:

It’s hard for me right now

Everything is just so unclear to me right now

I don’t have that courage right now

I fucked up, can you give me just ONE MORE CHANCE?

“Happy ever after sounded impossible until the day I met you

I am working to build a better future for me, for you, for us

Believe in me, I will come around very soon!!

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 48

Chapter 48 Summary: Rowan meets Marie’s consort and it is revealed that he and Oliver have a past together. (Tag: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long and @sky-or-something-idfk)

Trigger Warnings: Conditioning, reference to previous abuse, dehumanisation

When Rowan awoke there were some servants in the corner, they were assembling something. As he sat up and peered over at them he saw the mattress and pillows and felt his heart jump slightly.

A bed? Is it for me? Is this because the Prince said I wasn’t allowed to sleep in his bed anymore? The door opened and a different man was led into the room by a junior advisor. He had fawny-brown hair which was slicked back cleanly, a soft shadow ran along his jaw and cheeks, his eyes, a bright, pale blue, fell on Rowan and the boy flinched, looking away quickly. The man was as tall as Oliver, and only slightly slimmer, which meant he towered over Rowan easily. I’m the size of a fucking child. I’m basically made for manhandling. “That’s your bed, there.” The junior advisor said, indicating to the structure being built by the servants. The man nodded sternly before glancing back at Rowan. “Why is there only one?” He asked. “You need more than one bed?” The junior advisor asked incredulously. “Well, what about the Prince’s consort?” The man asked, Rowan flinched as the junior advisor began laughing and shook his head. “He doesn’t sleep on a bed unless he’s with the Prince.” Rowan looked down in his lap and sat up, shifting from the lounge to sit up straighter. “Anyway, for today, because of the wedding and coronation in the one day, it would be best if you remained here until tomorrow. Have a guard get whatever you need.” The junior advisor left and Rowan found himself uncomfortably alone with the man and Oliver. On the one hand I have Oliver, who I’ve fought with and don’t really want to be near to right now. On the other, I have this new man who’s presumably the future Queen’s consort, who already thinks I’m nothing much. I wish Oliver would let me onto the balcony. Having seen the fragile state in which Rowan was in having left the dungeon and arguing with him, Oliver thought it would be better to keep the boy away from the dangerous precipice. “Does he always treat you like that?” It took Rowan a moment to realise it was him that the man was talking to. “Sorry?” He asked and the man jerked his head to the door. “His royal highness. Does he always treat you like that?” “Oh, no of course not,” He didn’t trust you to make yourself a cup of tea. He’s just looking out for me. He doesn’t want me to hurt myself. “I suppose it’s just, I haven’t behaved well recently and this is my punishment.” Punishment’s lasting a long time, especially when you’ll still be marked with his crest long after he’s tossed you aside. I killed his friend. I’m lucky I’m not dead. It wasn’t fun being punished, but I deserved it. “Oh yeah? What indiscretion warranted him treating you like a dog?” I hate being compared to dogs. “I-I’m sorry, what –“ “There was an incident, he ended up striking one of the nobles and the noble died.” Oliver spoke over Rowan and the boy looked down gratefully. Alexander was right. I’m stupid. I’m lucky I’m pretty. “Gods. What did the noble do?” Oliver glanced at Rowan, not wishing to speak for him, but finding the boy thoroughly studying his lap. “Details are unclear, but the general understanding is that he became upset and attacked the consort.” “What do you mean ‘details are unclear’? The man’s right here.” Man is a questionable term. I’m just an overgrown boy. Rowan could feel their eyes on him and swallowed heavily. “I insulted him first. I forgot my place and he became angry. He went mad with rage and if it wasn’t him it would have been me.” He said finally and the man whistled. “That’s awful. He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he?” Rowan turned a hesitant look to him and tilted his head curiously. “Who?” The man appeared startled by the question and paused. “The noble.” Rowan shook his head and rubbed at the skin where the cuts had healed. “No, not too bad, thank you.” He said softly and looked down again. “I just panicked, I only hit him once, I really wasn’t intending to…to kill him, I just wanted him to stop.” The man looked at him piteously and Rowan ignored the look by gratefully stretching his neck. The cricks as his vertebrae snapped were immensely satisfying, so much so that he almost moaned in pleasure. “Well, I’m Johnathan,” Rowan was surprised to see the hand of the man being extended to him, it scared him how long it took to remember that it was most likely to shake his hand. “My name’s Rowan.” He replied softly as he reached out to shake the large hand. I’m so small beside him. I may as well be a child. “You can use my bed, if you like,” Johnathan suggested, and Rowan shook his head. “No-no thank you,” He swallowed and rubbed at his eyes furiously. “He doesn’t want me to so I won’t.” He covered his mouth as a yawn stretched through his throat. “I’m-I’m sorry, I’m quite tired, do you mind?” “No, of course not. You sleep.” Jonathan quieted as Rowan curled up on the pillows again, hiding his face under a woollen blanket he had slept with before.

~ The two men were left with their own company when Rowan’s breathing lengthened and his slender frame relaxed among the blankets. “What’s your job, then? Royal consort’s babysitter?” Oliver looked up and met Jonathan’s eyes humorously. “You could say that.” He shrugged and Jonathan chuckled. “Gods, he looks like he’s been thrown off a cliff. What did the Prince do to him?” He asked, eyes drifting back to the purple and blue pattern of Rowan’s skin. “Had him thoroughly punished.” Was all Oliver could reply. “Is he even old enough to be a consort?” Jonathan asked. “He looks like he isn’t more than a boy.” “He’s old enough,” Oliver sighed gently. “I don’t know if he’s ever actually done any manual labour or been fed properly in his life, though, so that’s probably why he’s so small.” There was a brief pause where Oliver’s sadness was squashed by the memory of the boy insulting him and he shrugged. “Maybe that’s why the Prince was so interested.” Jonathan’s face lifted in surprise and Oliver had the decency to flush slightly at the statement. “I see you don’t really favour your current position much, do you?” Oliver sighed softly and shook his head. “No. I don’t. It’s not really because of Ro-the consort himself, it’s just, I’m better suited to other soldiers. He’s a bit too delicate for me to be around.” Jonathan believed that wholeheartedly, looking at the boy he could see the fragility that surrounded him like a cloud. “It’s definitely a come down from since we were together last,” He sighed softly and Oliver snorted. “Excuse me? What about you? Sir professional lover?” Jonathan laughed and shrugged good-naturedly. “It’s an easy life. My job consists solely of spending time with a woman I love, what’s not to like?” Oliver’s smile faltered and he glanced at Rowan again. “Well, it’s easy if you like your master.” He said and Jonathan paused, sighing gently. “Poor creature, I suppose.”

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

If You Love Me Let Me Go (Please Don’t)

Read on Ao3

Summary: It's just ten minutes. Ten minutes to make sure Virgil actually goes to bed, and then Logan will get back to work. Just ten minutes... Warnings: Sleep-deprivation, a mug breaks (no one’s injured though), Logan’s techincally overworking himself but it’s not a main plot point or anything Pairing: Platonic analogical Author’s note: Written as a birthday present for the oh-so-incredible @blinksinbewilderment She’s awfully talented, so please go give her Tumblr a look. Also she’s techincally in this fic ;)

    It was not uncommon to find Logan up at three am. Between editing Roman’s ideas, planning schedules for Thomas, and generally making sense of everything that had gone on throughout the day, he was often too busy to get his work done during the day.

    Normally he’d work in his room, to avoid being caught and given a lecture about the importance of sleep from the Moral side, leaving his work in his room when he got water so he could claim it was just a late night wake-up instead of a work break. He was more behind than usual, however, and had brought his laptop downstairs with him for the water run.

    He set the kettle on the stove, sitting down and organizing Thomas’s schedule for the week while he waited for it to warm. He planned to take the water upstairs with him, back to the safety of his room.

    Logan’s plans for this were foiled when the kettle started to hiss and he stood up to grab it, having to pause for a moment when the room shifted around him. Or, more accurately, he perceived the room shifting around him as he wobbled. Sleep-deprivation was starting to rear its metaphorically ugly head with physical symptoms.

    Logically, the best way to counteract this was with sleep. But Logan had a schedule to finish and three more rather nonsensical ideas to edit, along with one possibly usable one. Logan would sleep once those were finished.

    With this in mind, Logan poured his hot water and sat back down at the table to continue working. He was fairly certain attempting to make his way back to his room would result in exhaustion. Whether that would take form as not finishing any work or collapsing halfway down the hall was unclear, but both were situations he’d rather avoid. Even if staying in the kitchen risked being found out by Patton.

    It had been an hour since that decision, and more water was warming as Logan worked on editing Roman’s first nonsensical idea. The schedule was hesitantly finished, and now Logan was trying to decide if the words he had been trying to read for ten minutes weren’t making sense because he was tired, or because the words were written by Roman.

    He was happy to decide this was a Roman problem as he moved to the next one. The kettle started to quietly squeal, and Logan moved from his work to take it off the burner before anyone woke up.

    The sound of uncoordinated movements and thumping that suggested someone coming down the stairs told him he had failed. Logan sighed, pouring his glass before turning around, already resigned to finding a sleepy Patton ready to lovingly, but toughly, chew him out for working at such an early hour.

    Patton wasn’t there, however; instead, Logan found Virgil watching him, looking both tired and high-strung. Before Logan could say anything, either in self-defense or otherwise, Virgil asked, “Tea time?”

    Logan frowned, not sure how to respond, before he realized Virgil was less looking at him than he was the kettle behind him. “Oh.” Logan said in understanding, glancing at the kettle before looking back at Virgil. “Would you like some tea?”

    Virgil just blinked in bewilderment at him, and Logan decided even if Virgil hadn’t come down for tea, the soothing drink Logan knew for a fact to be his favorite would do him good. While Virgil continued to stand in place and stare, Logan pulled a dark mug covered in constellations out of the cupboard- his own, but he had seen Virgil trace the patterns between the stars before to help calm him down- and found a chamomile tea bag.

    He poured the water, plunking in the bag. He filled his own cup with the hot water as well, watching the tea bag and cheating a little bit with the powers of the Imagination (something he normally preferred to leave alone) to soak it faster. By the time his cup was full, Virgil’s tea was ready.

    Picking them both up, Logan turned to offer Virgil his, only to find him no longer standing where he had been. Logan turned his head, looking for Virgil, and startling almost hard enough to drop the cups when he found him a few inches from the right side of his face.

    “Apologies, Virgil.” Logan said, noticing Virgil’s eyes seemed very wide and assuming his own startle had frightened the clearly very tired side. “I didn’t see you there.”

    Virgil didn’t respond, simply extending his hand. Logan tentatively placed his mug in Virgil’s hand, worried for a moment that it would slip right through the other’s fingers. It didn’t, Virgil clutching it tightly as if he were afraid of that exact possibility.

    Taking a small sip, Logan watched in relief as Virgil’s shoulders lost their stressed hunch and his eyelids drooped. He yawned before starting to shuffle towards the stairs, singing off-key to himself. Logan wasn’t upset he hadn’t thanked him- Virgil was very clearly out of it. He’d probably remember in the morning and thank Logan by leaving him a note slipped under his door.

    Logan leaned against the counter, sipping his own drink and listening to Virgil’s quiet singing, giving himself a moment to breathe before plunging back into his work.

    The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds

    But they haven’t see the best of us yet

    Logan furrowed his brow when Virgil stopped, halfway through the kitchen, taking another sip of his tea before singing,

    If you love me let me gooooo

    Holding the ‘go’ at a shaky pitch, Virgil let go of the mug, watching it as it shattered on the floor. Logan jerked backwards, cursing slightly as he slammed his hip into the counter he had been resting on.

    Virgil, staring at the mess, giggled to himself. “Spill the tea, sis.” He said before giggling even more, as if that was the funniest thing in the world.

    Logan placed his own cup down, carefully walking around Virgil and the mess, keeping an eye on Virgil as he continued to laugh to himself. He had already guessed that Virgil was tired, but it was apparently worse than he had suspected.

    Now standing in front of him, Logan noticed Virgil was swaying slightly in place. His feet were bare, and with the danger zone of still hot tea and shards so close around them, Logan didn’t want to try and guide the unbalanced side over.

    Instead, stepping as close to the mess as he could in his socks, Logan awkwardly picked up Virgil and lifted him over the circle, the other side still laughing to himself while Logan set him down on the nearest counter. After checking that his feet weren’t injured, Logan left Virgil to swing his legs while he cleaned up the mess.

    “There.” He said to himself, throwing out the last shards before focusing once more on Virgil. He was still wearing a lopsided smile, stringing together words that made no sense as he sang them with no tune.

    Logan sighed. “You need to go to bed.”

    Virgil shook his head, sobering at the idea. “No. Bed’s cold.”

    “It can’t be any colder than it is any other night, Virgil.” Logan reasoned, offering a hand to help Virgil off the counter (he had doubts as to Virgil’s ability to do so by himself). Virgil just shook his head again.

    Logan frowned. He knew he couldn’t just let Virgil stay up any later, but the anxious side wasn’t going to make the task of getting him to bed easy.

    He took a moment to analyze the situation. He and Virgil were the same size, given they shared the exact same figurative body, and while Virgil could outpower any side in moments of fight-or-flight, he currently didn’t look up to the task of holding himself upright. Plus, Logan doubted Virgil weighed much more than a complete set of Harry Potter books, maybe two.

    With these thoughts in mind, Logan once more approached Virgil and, before the other could react, swept him off the counter, holding him bridal style. Where he was expecting resistance, however, Logan found Virgil more than happy to be carried, snuggling closer into his chest.

    “Where we goin’?” Virgil mumbled after a moment, Logan slowly climbing the stairs.

    “To your room.” Logan answered. “So you can get some sleep, as you are clearly in need of it.”

    “But bed cold.”

    “So I’ve heard.”

    “Don’t wanna be cold.”

    Logan gently pushed open Virgil’s door with his foot, shivering slightly as he entered. Virgil wasn’t kidding. His room was chilly.

    “I am sure that with a sufficient number of blankets you will be perfectly warm.” Logan assured him as he approached the large, dramatically goth-style bed in the corner of the room. To his satisfaction, he noticed there were already several blankets spread about the bed, saving him the effort of searching for some.

    Gently placing him down, Logan reached over Virgil to pull the mass of blankets over him, Virgil wiggling and mumbling about the cold as he did so. Once he was sure Virgil was securely cocooned, Logan made to leave the room.

    He was stopped, however, by Virgil’s arm snaking out of his blanket burrito to grab Logan’s wrist. Logan attempted to pull away, but Virgil’s grip was surprisingly strong.

    “Warm.” Virgil tugged on Logan’s wrist. “Stay.”

    “I have work to do.”

    Virgil didn’t respond this time, instead flopping his head to look at Logan with sleepily blinking eyes and his tired attempt at puppy eyes. He tugged at Logan’s wrist again.

    Logan sighed before taking a seat next to Virgil on his bed. He doubted it would take Virgil long to fall asleep, the anxious side already curling up around his arm, and he could get back to work then.

    He gave it ten minutes tops before Virgil would be asleep. Yawning, Logan pulled his legs onto the bed, stretching them out. Ten minutes to relax. Then he could get back to work.

    Virgil curled closer to him, pressing against Logan’s side as he tugged more of Logan’s arm into his grasp, the blankets falling out of place as he sought out the better heat source. Logan leaned a little into Virgil as well, moving his free hand to run fingers through Virgil’s hair, almost completely laying down on the bed to make the position more comfortable.

    He yawned again. Virgil’s bed was surprisingly comfy, but it didn’t change the fact that Virgil really was right about it being cold. Subconsciously, he shuffled even closer to Virgil.

    Virgil shifted in response, pulling Logan’s arm around him as he rolled over. So it’d be a little harder to escape the hold. Once Virgil was asleep it would still be relatively easy to slip away. Logan ignored the blurring at the edges of his vision as he sunk deeper into the mattress. Ten minutes of relaxation, and he’d be ready to get back to work. His eyes fluttered shut.

    Just ten minutes.

    ~~

    Humming happily to himself, Patton bounced into the kitchen, expecting to find Logan sipping coffee and already working.

    He stopped when, instead, he found Logan’s laptop open at the table, the screen black. Attempting to use the mousepad, Patton found it wasn’t just asleep, but instead completely dead. 

    Frowning, Patton closed the laptop and headed upstairs, paying more attention to the rooms than he had when he first woke up. He stopped at Virgil’s before he got to Logan’s, curious as to why the door was ajar.

    Patton peeked in and couldn’t help but quietly coo at the sight he found- Logan and Virgil were sprawled across the bed, Virgil tucked into Logan’s sleepy grip, both of them fast asleep.

    He quickly snapped a pic- both to look at and treasure later, and to show proof that he knew they would get together before they inevitably did- before silently closing the door. After all, his boys really did need their sleep.

    And their cuddles.

[xforeveralonerxx]

Don't Go - Valentine's Day Fic (Billy Russo x Reader)

So, I know I am a bit too late for writing a Valentine's Day fic, but I really wanted to write this. I'm still new to the game as this is my second story that I've written. Feedback is always welcome, since I still feel like I'm not sure what I'm doing hahah

*gif is not mine*

If you weren't aware what today was, then it wouldn't have been a problem since everyone liked to remind you. It was due to all the decorations in every building, the red roses people had in their hands and everyone who had told you their plans for today and asked about yours. Valentine's Day. Everyone at work knew about your date for tonight since Tristan also worked for the New York Bulletin. He had asked you a few days ago in the break room. However, you were unaware that the date would take place on Valentine's Day, but you suspected that this was his plan from the beginning. You didn’t really mind it, because for you it was just another normal day. “So what are you going to wear?” Karen was standing behind you when you were trying waiting for the printer to work. You sighed deeply, getting slightly irritated by the question, but also because of the stupid printer that wasn’t doing its job. “Is everyone busy with my love life, because no one has one of their own?” you questioned as you turned around, genuinely curious about this matter. Karen wasn't the first person to have asked that question. In fact, six other people asked the same exact question followed by some other questions related to the matter. 

“To be honest, I don’t really have a love life. So, everyone can back off.” You said and turned back to kick the printer. 

Karen chuckled and nodded. “Fine, I’ll stay out of it.” she promised and stood next to you to see if she could help you with the printer. Mostly, because she probably knew you would break the printer if it would take too long. “What about your love life with Frank?” you asked Karen as you took a step back from the printer before you got tempted to grab a hammer to break the devil’s machine into little pieces.

“He's picking me up in a few hours for a home cooked meal.” Karen answered with a small smile. If anyone deserved some normalcy, it would be Frank and Karen. Before you could comment on that, your phone rang. “Go, pick up,” Karen said. “I'll get you your papers, because I still need the printer to work.” She joked. After giving your thanks, you looked at the caller ID. “Hello, my lovely valentine.” you answered the phone jokingly. “What ever did I do to deserve your love?” Billy answered as he played along. “Hopefully you'll be able to grace me with your presence with dinner. I can pick up pizza’s on my way home.” He asked, since it was what you two always did. Except when Billy had a date with another supermodel, but that rarely happened on Valentine’s Day. “No, I have a date.” you reminded him. “Tristan asked me to go on a date and now everyone at work is making a big deal about it and asking stupid questions.” The frustration was bubbling up again thanks to your ‘lovely’ co-workers. “You're actually going through with that?” Billy expressed his disbelief with a scoff. “He's a fucking nobody.” You noticed there was some tension in Billy’s words but didn’t think much of it. “Bill, he's a good guy. I haven't been on a date in years and he showed interest. That counts for something.” you explained to Billy, but due to the silence from Billy’s end you could sense he would disagree. You turned around and saw Karen with your stack of papers in her hands. You gave her a nod in acknowledgement before wrapping up your phone call. “I have to go, Bill. I still have some work to do." "You can't be serious with this guy?" Billy asked, irritation clear in his voice. Though why it was there, was unclear to you. "We'll talk later, yeah?” you said before hanging up. The only thing you could hear before ending the call was "wait", but you didn't have any time since you had a deadline to finish that was given by Ellison.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  It was a few hours later and everyone was packing up their things to make their way home. You didn't avoid talking to Tristan on purpose, but somehow it made you feel at ease that you didn't see him.

Until now. “Hey, Y/N,” you suddenly heard a voice say next to you. It didn't startle you necessarily, but you did feel unsettled by it. “I'll pick you up at 7, right?” Tristan asked you and you turned around to face him. “Right,” was all you could say, trying to feign a smile and nod. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a nod before leaving. Somehow it made you feel uncomfortable.

Maybe you’re just nervous for the date. It’ll all be fine, right?

When you got home, you quickly showered and got ready for your date. You put on a navy wrap dress that was a bit short, but still elegant. The only thing that was left to do was your hair and make-up, which you kept very simple. You let your curls fall over your shoulders and only put on some mascara and a touch of lip-gloss. All of a sudden you hear someone knocking on your door. You glanced at the clock in your living room and saw that it was 6.30 p.m. Was he early? You walked to the door and opened it to be surprised by the figure standing in front of you. It was Billy. 

You weren't aware that it was raining, but after seeing how drenched Billy was, you could hear the rain very clearly. It matched his sullen expression. You noticed Billy looking you over, taking in what you were wearing. His eyes lingered it bit longer on your lips, probably noticing your lip-gloss. 

After a moment, you finally found some words. “Billy, what are you doing-” “Don't go, Y/N.” he interrupted you as he shook his head, as if it would have an immediate effect on your decision making. “What do you-” Again you weren't able to finish your sentence which didn’t help with processing with what was going on. “Don't go to Tristan is what I'm saying. Stay here, with me,” he pleaded as he grabbed your hands. His eyes bore into yours. “Please, stay.” he begged, however, all you could do was give him a confused look.

Was this really happening? Did Billy Russo really say what you hoped he would say for years?

“I know I don't have the right to ask you to not go on your date, but you should know this,” he started and walked inside your apartment and closed the door with his feet, never letting go of your hands. Before talking he gave your hands a little squeeze. He took a deep breath and smiled. “I love you, Y/N." he chuckled as if it was his own private joke. “I always have and I always will.” he confessed. “If you stay here with me I will make you a promise that I will do everything, and I mean everything, in my power to make you feel loved, beautiful and wanted. Just like you deserve. You deserve the best and I am willing to give my all to make sure you get that.” he told you with so much sincerity and determination, like you've never seen. “So, don't go.” he pleaded for the last time. He gave you a nervous look and cupped your cheek and caressed it. All you were able to do was look at him sheepishly. His thumb reached lower and brushed your bottom lip which made you feel feverish and like your heart was bouncing out of your chest. Am I dreaming? Is this happening? Before you could mentally process what was happening in front of you – and react to it - your phone rang. Billy’s smile was replaced with a suspenseful look, since he was hoping you wouldn't pick up the phone. You both knew it must’ve been Tristan who was calling. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. You let go of Billy’s hands to get the phone and stole a quick glance at Billy who had his head bowed down in defeat. “Hii, Y/N,” you heard Tristan say when you picked up the phone. “I will leave in a few minutes to pick you up from your house. So, we're good for tonight?” You could hear the excitement in his voice, though it did not match yours. “Tristan,” you started but was a bit distracted by the crushed look that was on Billy's handsome face. “I think I'm coming down with a fever,” as you told the lie, Billy's head shot up immediately with a hopeful glance piercing your way. “So, I won't be able to make it.” you continued as you held his gaze. “Oh, no worries.” you could hear the disappointment. “Get well soon, yeah?” You thanked Tristan for his understanding and hung up the phone. You walked slowly to Billy who still gave you this hopeful look, mixed with anticipation. When you stood in front of him, he put his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You rested your hands against his chest and drew patterns with your fingers on his shoulders.

Even though this moment felt strange, it also felt right. Not only had you been hoping for this to happen for a while – and then gave up on it since you never believed it ever could ever happen – but it felt like he made you actually complete. “So this means..” Billy let his question hang in the air, unsure about how to finish that sentence. It made you smile to see Billy in such a state, to see him so uncertain and vulnerable. He was gorgeous and you couldn't have been more attracted to him than in this moment.

You leaned on your tiptoes and came closer to his face. Your lips were grazing his which made your heart beat faster and your stomach flutter.

“It means that I will stay with you.” you whispered against him and finally kissed him passionately like you’d been longing for years.

[the-devil-herself]

Never Enough - Chapter 10

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 10 DESCRIPTION: Certain mates of Jotuns receive soulmate marks on their bodies. What happens when Loki’s mark is found on a girl with immense power? RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Plot development!! Hope you enjoy, all feedback is welcome!

TAGGED: @kneel-before-queen-loki​ @lokis-girl-in-mischief @tarithenurse @fangirls94

“Hello, little one,” Loki’s smooth voice welcomed me in.

I stepped into his room and saw he had made himself at home. His whole room was decorated with colors of green, black, and a splash of gold. His room was simple but neat. He had a few trinkets on his desk along with paper and ink, and several books on his shelves. His bed was huge, covered with furs that made it look insanely comfortable to sleep in.

“Chinchilla hair,” he answered my unspoken question. “Some of the softest hair on Midgard.”

“You just had it get chinchilla blankets, did you?” My tone was snarky, incredulous at the unnecessary blankets.

Loki chuckled and moved deeper into the room. He sat on one of the chairs by the fireplace, which wasn’t burning at this time of year.

“I did not ask for it. Nay, my brother gave it to me as a gift. I guess as a way of saying, ‘Yes you are a prisoner but here are some soft blankets to forget about it.’”

I grinned at his honesty. He could see right through every gesture, especially Thor’s.

“A prisoner that did harm thousands,” I pointed out, taking the seat next to him.

“Ah, yes, that. However, I did not ask you here to discuss my past affairs.”

“Why did you ask for me?”

I sat up straighter in my seat, ready for the oncoming interrogation. I would have to lie. I would have to dance around every question, maybe answering with my own questions. I would have to pull out every trick in the book, even though Loki most likely WROTE the book.

He grinned at my obvious anxiety. “Do not fret, little one,” he purred. It didn’t calm me down. “I won’t force you to answer anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he promised.

I nodded. “Alright then, what is it?”

Loki stood from his seat and faced me. Then he pulled up his shirt to show me his scarred side from where the sword had hit him and nearly killed him. It had healed pretty well, but my powers weren’t an exact science so there would be scarring from the dead flesh I accidentally hit.

“My wound has healed nicely,” he commented casually. “Thanks to you, I should add.”

“I didn’t do much,” I assured him, not looking into his eyes anymore. “It was more of a team effort.”

“Yes, well I don’t precisely believe that so forgive me.” He let his shirt fall back down, covering the scar. He went over to fetch some tea he had been brewing because of course he had that around.

He handed me a cup, still smiling. I drank in silence at first, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Well I’m sorry to say it’s the truth though.”

He let out a small snicker. “Darling, I know you probably thought you were going to come in here and lie to me, but there’s no need. I know you have abilities, but it is your choice on whether or not to disclose them to me.”

I sighed, putting the cup down on the table next to me. He was giving me a choice; I could walk out of this room and leave him confused. But I couldn’t. I think he knew that, too.

Maybe he deserved an explanation for his resurrection from certain death to cope. I wasn’t sure. But the one thing I knew is that I couldn’t walk out of the room and ignore the man that I cared for.

I folded my arms in my lap to stop my fidgeting. I shot a quick glance over to him before looking back down again.

“Yes,” I admitted with a breath. “I have abilities, and they helped save your life.”

He looked interested and nodded for me to continue.

Closing my eyes, I blurted, “I’m different from other mutants. I don’t have cool powers that can create fire or ice or anything. I can’t create anything really. I was cursed instead with immense power that was only made for destruction. My hands don’t help, they destroy. I can kill thousands in the blink of an eye, rather than save them. I’m not a superhero but a monster that’s being caged.”

I waited for him to be disgusted at me. Instead he leaned forward and nodded again for me to keep going.

I took a breath. “I almost killed the people I loved, so they brought me to Tony. He took me in and tried to train me, help me control my powers, but I know what I really am. If I’m not an Avenger well then, I’m a weapon, and that’s how most will see me. So, I hide away… from the world… from people. The world doesn’t need another nuke.”

I chanced a look at him. All I could see was understanding. There was no pity, or anger, just simple understanding. He knew what I meant—what it was like to be thought of as a monster.

A tear fell down my cheek suddenly. I brought my finger up to it and inspected the drop, surprised I had started crying. I didn’t even feel it coming on.

“I don’t know what will happen to me here—if I’ll become an Avenger or stay hidden forever. It’s unclear to me, and I think to the others as well. It’s a new path we’re on together, and I try to stay patient but… I need to live.”

Then, he did the unexpected.

His hand softly touched my arm, rubbing it lightly to say he recognized my situation. My mark spurted to life with a renewed burning, but I tried to forget about it. His hand on me felt too good. I couldn’t risk losing this moment, may it be the last time he touches me like this again. My skin was becoming goose-flesh, and my heart was aflame.

“I do not see you as a monster, Dana,” he muttered to me sincerely. He looked into my eyes but did not let go of my arm. “You saved my life by destroying the disease within me. No monster would do that. No, I see something stronger. Perhaps stronger than I.”

I chuckled. “How could I be stronger than you?”

“You have the world in your hands, yet you choose to keep it running, to keep it filled with life. Not many in your position would make the same choice. Power is not just the ability to do something, it is the ability to do something harmful yet choose not to.”

His words hit me more than I expected them to. He was calling me, a simple Arab girl from the suburbs, a more powerful being than himself.

Unfortunately, he dropped his hold on my arm to collect something from his desk. He brought it back to the seating area and opened the leather flaps to reveal a dagger. The blade shone in the dimly-lit room like a beacon and sharp to the touch.

The bottom was fashioned in gold with a pattern on it I couldn’t make out in the poor lighting.

“My mother gave this to me when I was but a small child,” he recalled, looking at the blade fondly and smiling to me. “She told me that since I was growing up, I needed to start making decisions. I was to be a prince and possibly king, so I had to learn—when to use the dagger and when not to. Then, she said, I would know that mercy, too, can be powerful.”

He handed me his precious blade. I carefully held it in my hands, inspecting the blade. He watched me with a grin as I observed it with wonder and awe. It was gorgeous to be sure.

My eyes moved from the tip of the dagger to the handle. The gold was definitely real, which explained why it was super heavy. There were engravings in different colors.

When I saw what was on it, I dropped it on the couch. I hurriedly stood up, shaking and huffing. “I’m sorry,” I sputtered before running as quickly as I could down the hall to my room. I heard Loki call my name in the back of my mind but paid it no heed.

I reached my room and slammed the door shut. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt ready to burst. I found that my legs were jelly, and I fell to the floor by my door. I brought my left hand up to feel my head and wipe the little sweat that had gathered there from nerves and running.

I looked at my hand then and brought it back down to eye level. Gently, I took the bracelet off and placed it slowly next to me. Turning back to my wrist, the mark was still there, clear as day and still tender from the burning.

What was happening to me? Everything about this seemed impossible, but no logical explanation could be found for why the pattern on my wrist matched the one on Loki’s dagger.

Why did I burn when I touched him?

My heart fluttered, and I leaned back against the door. Nothing made sense to me anymore, but everything was pointing me to Loki. I just wouldn’t accept it yet. Loving him was preposterous. And loving me was out of the question for him!

Love. Tears were flowing regularly now. Yes, love. I had never felt it before, but in my small time with the god, I had come to feel a connection and bond stronger than any I had experienced before.

But he considered me a friend, right? That’s what we were, at least acquaintances. Oh, what he would think when he saw my mark! He would believe I was an obsessed, love-sick girl. I could not tell him or anyone for that matter.

I mean, even I could barely accept the fact that I was destined for Loki.

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

To Be Daumerling

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Complete Work

Master List

Chapter 3

Lucifer showed no sign of the weariness he felt. He walked just as tall and just as briskly as he always had through the entrance hall of Diavolo's Castle, bottle of wine in hand.

He would not let his despair show. He knew the emptiness he felt when MC wasn't at dinner would sit with him for a long time, but it would fade eventually. Through countless losses and heartbreaks the only thing Lucifer knew to be consistent was that everything faded with time.

No he would not let his despair deter him from his daily responsibilities. He would, however, allow himself to indulge in a fantasy. A coping mechanism he'd developed for the losses in his long life. The fantasy that MC was walking beside him.

Invisible to all but him, MC trotted to keep up with Lucifer's long stride. This was not the first time Lucifer imagined the human followed him on his visits. Asking questions and having made-up conversations with him.

It was a fine illusion until his attention was drawn down an inconspicuous hall by a very unusual sound.

ting

So soft it was like a small bell, he only heard it once before a pause, then it sounded again.

ting

ting

ting

Then another pause. Lucifer had never heard this particular sound on his usual visits to the castle. He thought nothing of it, moving to continue down the hall.

It was MC's vision that stopped him.

Lucifer imagined him pulling on his arm and insisting they investigate the sound. He explained in his head that he didn't want to be late, but Imaginary MC persisted. The human never could mind his own damn business.

With a sigh Lucifer led the imaginary human down the unfamiliar hall in search of the sound.

ting

ting

ting

Pause

ting

ting

ting

Pause

The sound continued in this pattern, so specific that Lucifer realized it couldn't be random. Someone was in Diavolos castle, and he needed to know who.

The door was so normal he almost walked right past it. He didn't know what possessed him to investigate the room, but he persisted anyway.

Opening the door quietly he examined the small room.

0Holy crap that worked!?

MC almost fell off the desk when he saw Lucifer open the door. His first reaction was just pure terror at the sight. If the man was tall before that was completely overshadowed now. Like watching a skyscraper walk with the speed of a wrecking ball. Lucifer stepped fully into the room and MC responded by banging on the table leg rapidly.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

Lucifer obviously noticed the change in sound but didn't look towards MC, instead he spun back and forth and listened. Obviously understanding the sound was coming from in the room, but not being able to pinpoint it.

This was pointless, he had to find some other way to get his attention. Standing from his crouched position he started jumping up and down, trying to look as large as possible.

Lucifer seemed confused the noise had stopped. He lent down and seemed to speak with someone who wasn't there, then turned back towards the door.

NO!

This was MCs only shot! He had to think of something fast.  

The pact…

He'd almost forgotten he had a pact with Lucifer from their encounter the day before. But how to use it?

Carefully he placed a hand to the pact mark on his skin and focused on it. Focused on how he felt when he summoned Asmo all those months ago and tried to replicate the sensation. He felt his skin heat up and prayed it wasn't placebo.

"Lucifer" he whispered experimentally.

Said demon stopped in his tracks, whether or not it was from the pact was unclear.

0Lucifer often imagined MCs voice when he spoke to him in his head, but never had MC actually answered.

The voice was so clear in his mind that it was unmistakable. He turned to look at the imaginary MC and gave a questioning look, but he said it wasn't him. Was he finally losing his mind?

Behind you

He heard it again, practically a whisper on the edge of his mind. It wasn't often that he was confused or caught off guard, but to say he didn't know what the hell was going on wouldn't be a lie.

Carefully he turned around.

There on the table by the fireplace were several model castle's. He didn't know what drew his eyes to them, but they caught his attention for some reason. A strange movement made him step closer for a better look.

He dropped his wine to the carpet.

0Yes! He saw!

MC jumped around madly in triumph. Lucifer's giant face was very close and blinking rapidly. MC would've made fun of his uncharacteristically baffled expression if he wasn't so relieved.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Lucifer shouted. Even with the earplugs MC still staggered at the volume, pressing his palms to his ears and doubling over. Lucifer clasped a gloved hand over his mouth far too quickly than should be allowed for such a large creature. The wind displacement of the action genuinely knocked MC off his feet.

Even after several minutes of staring Lucifer didn't know what to make of the situation. Of all the things he expected to be causing the noise this was definitely bottom of the probability list. Tiny MC seemed to be gesturing next to him, and although it was a struggle tearing his eyes away from the comically flailing human, he saw what he was indicating to.

Written in bits of toothpick on the table were the words.

"Help me"

The human was really committed to the "stranded on a deserted island" thing. Lucifer chuckled before coming to a realization.

MC was making the noise. MC was in the room the whole time. He saw Lucifer spinning around like an idiot looking for a tinging sound. He saw Lucifer talking to what was basically an imaginary friend.

His face went completely red, but he brushed it off. Obviously MC needed help and he had to focus on that for the moment. How had this even happened? He put his hand on the desk and MC climbed into it without hesitation.

It was cute how he trusted him, climbing into the palm of the most powerful demon to ever live.

"You're supposed to be back on Earth" he made sure to keep his voice low as he scolded the human. Obviously noises were affecting him much differently since he shrank to the size of a baby carrot.

The human crossed his arms over his chest and stared Lucifer down. Even at such a stature he was unshakable. Lucifer found himself mesmerized by the tiny boy.

He sat down cross-legged in Lucifer's hand. Lucifer could feel his little feet through his glove. His tiny arms and legs looked breakable as twigs. His head rested in his hand as he stared up at the demon.

"Aww" Lucifer didn't even realize he'd made a noise until it had come out.

He saw the humans mouth move but no sound came out, then he stuck the world's tiniest tongue out of his mouth at Lucifer

"Pardon?"

The human cupped his mouth and shouted, still nothing. Bringing his hand to his ear he tried to listen closer. The human spoke again and Lucifer heard a low humming, but no discernable words. He sighed in exasperation.

Suddenly he felt a sharp tug at his earlobe. He pulled his hand away but found MC was no longer in it.

"Can you hear me now?" The small voice asked from seemingly inside Lucifer's head.

"MC what are you...are you inside my ear?! " He asked in a mildly disturbed voice. MC didn't answer for a second.

"Um…" he looked down at Lucifer's shoulder from his perch just above his earlobe. "Not far…" He answered cautiously. Lucifer sighed again and started out of the room

"Alright I'll ask Di–"

"No!" he pleaded suddenly. "He did this. He can't know I escaped" Lucifer almost tripped.

"No Lord Diavolo wouldn't–"

"He said he didn't want me to leave, you really think he wouldn't do this?" He asked resolutely. Lucifer couldn't deny it.

"Perhaps he can be a bit...rash in his decisions, but I can't go against him. If he's the one who put you there then I have to put you back."

"Oh yeah? Then why are you still walking?" Lucifer didn't have to see him to know the sheer smugness dripping from him.

"Ah well...I can't be any later for wine with Diavolo."

"But you dropped t–"

"Yes I know I dropped the wine!" He was grateful MC couldn't see his face flush from his perspective. He snatched the tiny nuisance from his ear and placed him in his breast pocket. A barely audible squeak as he pulled him away.

"You'll stay in there until I'm done and you'll keep hidden. After this I am putting you back, end of discussion."

MC crossed his arms and sunk into the silky material of Lucifer's pocket.

[rosalind-of-arden]

The Canon Wolfe Trauma Reference Post

Since it looks like there’s some interest in distinguishing between canon and fanon where Wolfe’s torture is concerned, these are my notes on what we have from canon. Where relevant, I’ve noted where we have details that we specifically know apply to Wolfe himself vs details we know about the prison he was held in but don’t know for sure apply to Wolfe. I hope this will be helpful for tagging and for inspiring fics to explore the large amount of ground available to cover. Short notes first, then long list of relevant quotes under the link.

Notes:

In theory, the point of Wolfe’s imprisonment was reeducation. He was also tortured for information on his printing press research. The Artifex wanted to hurt Wolfe just to hurt him, ordering the torture to continue long past the point of achieving any other goal.

Wolfe’s research and journals were taken and put in the Black Archives and/or destroyed.

Wolfe was arrested in his house at night, taken to the Archivist’s office for questioning, then kept in a cell in the Serapeum and questioned further before being taken to Rome. Bit of ambiguity, but torture is likely here.

In Rome, Wolfe was held in a dark stone cell. No other canon details given on Wolfe’s cell specifically, but based on what is shown of the prison, it was probably solitary confinement, and he may have been kept chained.

Physical torture methods: Wolfe specifically refers to cuts, burns, and blows, no other detail given. He has scars, no detail given on where, how many, or what they look like (assuming none on his face, since that would have been mentioned). Based on what we see of the prison, probably any historical torture method is possible. While I’d say it’s generally being used metaphorically, “broken” comes up often enough to justify broken bones, depending on your reading.

Psychological torture methods: Being lied to, being told loved ones are dead, being given comfort (specifically better food, baths, clean clothes) only to have it taken away. Other forms of manipulation are possible.

Wolfe was given some amount of treatment for injuries while in prison. At a bare minimum, Qualls cleaned wounds.

Qualls was personally involved with all questioning and frightened Wolfe greatly. He worked for the Artifex but was given little information beyond the instruction to continue the torture. For unspecified reasons, he decided both he and Wolfe had reached their limits and arranged Wolfe’s release and his own retirement. Does not like the Artifex and threatened retribution if the Artifex imprisoned Wolfe again.

By the end of his time in Rome, Wolfe was so severely traumatized that he barely spoke. This continued at least for the first night after his release.

Wolfe returned home injured. He was bleeding and had difficulty walking. Santi cared for him, specifically bathing, clothing, and holding him. We don’t know any more about his condition or recovery process, other than the fact that he came out of it with PTSD and scars (again, no specifics on those) but no physical disabilities.

After his release, Wolfe is banned from research and publication. The Artifex continues to threaten him and the people he cares about. The Artifex repeatedly tries to kill him. Santi is also threatened.

Wolfe’s PTSD is triggered by memories, feeling trapped, anything prison-like, smells, darkness, and lack of sleep. Symptoms include suicidal thoughts, self harm, psychosomatic itching and pain, nausea, tremors, anxiety, panic attacks, hallucinations, intrusive memories, repressed memories, and trouble distinguishing reality from imagination/memory.

Detailed notes with direct quotes:

All page numbers are from US editions, paperback for the first three books, hardcover for the last two.

On the purpose of Wolfe’s imprisonment and torture:

Keria, on what to do with Wolfe after he invented the press: “He should be taken to a place of questioning and there made to see the error of his beliefs.” (I&B, p. 127)

On Wolfe’s disappearance and the destruction of his work:

Santi: “They took his research. And then he was gone.” (I&B, 322)

Santi: “They destroyed his research, his personal journals, everything.”  (I&B, 322)

The Archivist’s guard’s confession that Jess finds includes Wolfe being arrested and questioned, but no record of anything after that. It isn’t specified, but I’m assuming this is a record of what happened in Alexandria before Wolfe was taken to Rome, since it’s the Archivist’s guard. (P&F, p. 62)

Wolfe: “My device was destroyed, and I was charged with heresy. My work was erased. I was made to disappear, too.” (P&F, p. 63)

Wolfe was arrested in his house, taken to the Archivist’s office (he was questioned there, not specified whether torture was involved), then a cell below the Serapeum (implied he was tortured there, but not specifically stated), then to Rome. (P&F, p. 144-145)

Wolfe’s book on printing, at least, was not destroyed, but put in the Black Archives. Unclear what really happened to his journals and other work (P&F, p. 310)

Santi was in Belgium when Wolfe was arrested and would probably have been killed if he’d seen the press (A&Q, p. 134)

Wolfe on what his fellow Scholars ignored: “...he was dragged off in the night, when his work had been scrubbed from the shelves…” (S&P, 247)

On what happened in Rome:

Wolfe’s journal: “There are mornings when I wake and I am back in the cell, and I see nothing but the dark. Feel nothing but the pain. (P&F, p. 52)

Wolfe: “The pattern follows what they did to me: arrest, torture, prison, erasing me as if I never existed.” (P&F, p. 62)

Wolfe may have been drugged, specifically to keep him from remembering where he was held: “I don’t remember. Can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. I can see pieces, but not… not anything significant.” (P&F, p. 66) (this memory loss might be drug induced, as Dario speculates, but torture itself can cause memory problems..)

Wolfe: “I can’t recall any useful details. What they did to me was very effective.” (P&F, p. 139) (As above, this memory loss might be from either drugs or the torture itself.)

Wolfe, mentioning physical torture methods: “I will happily remember every cut, every burn, every blow if it helps set that boy free.” (P&F, 140)

Being taken out of his cell in Rome was always (or at least usually) bad - Wolfe can handle remembering everything up until the Mesmer asks about what happened when he was taken out of his cell in Rome (P&F, p. 145-146)

Psychological torture method: “They lie [...] It’s their favorite tactic - I know it well - to break your mind and your spirit.” Specifically, falsely claiming that loved ones are dead. (p. 218)

Toward the end of his imprisonment, he seems to have become withdrawn: “there is no variety in his responses to questioning, whatever the particular tools we chose to employ. He rarely speaks at all now.” (S&I, p. 82)

As described by Qualls as of the day of his release: “if your plan was to break him, he is long past broken” (S&I, p. 82). “There are limits, and he has reached them.” (S&I, p. 83).

Qualls (hallucination) on some of what he did: “I’ve been with you in your darkest moments. I’ve cleaned your wounds. I’ve listened to you weep.” (S&I, p. 221)

The “gentle” questioning: “That had only made it worse, the times when the questions had been kind and soft, and there had been a cup of tea and a sweet pastry and a bath. Fresh clothes.” (S&I, p. 221)

Qualls did all questioning: “the questions always came, and always, always, the gray, pale shadow was there to ask them” (S&I, p. 222)

“He’d spent months in a cell like this, huddled and broken” (S&I, p. 224)

“...his body broken in the cells in Rome…” (S&P, 247)

Prison details that may or may not apply to Wolfe’s experience in Rome:

Prisoners are rewarded for good behavior with paper and books (P&F, p. 1)

Psychological manipulation: one guard was ordered to be friendly to Thomas to get secrets out of him (P&F, p. 1)

Cells, at least the one Thomas was in, have barred doors, stone walls and floors, a metal ring in the wall that prisoners can be chained to (P&F, p. 217)

Starvation is a possibility: Jess observes that Thomas lost weight in Rome (P&F, p. 217)

Limited availability of personal grooming and clothing options: Thomas’s hair and beard are a mess, clothes are an “oatmeal-colored shirt and trousers that were much worse for wear” (P&F, p. 217)

Prisoners are kept with wrists and ankles shackled for long enough durations that skin looks “raw” when the shackles are removed. Both Thomas and the other prisoner that Jess sees were chained. (P&F, p. 218, 221)

Torture room equipment: “Mechanical devices” with “spikes, straps, wheels, gears” (P&F, p. 221), “a particularly large construction that looked like a bed, but with gears and ropes and straps stained with old blood” (P&F, p. 222) (either a rack or some kind of restraint table?), “machines built to cut, to tear, to pull, to cause suffering and anguish. There was no other use for them.” (P&F, p. 225)

Rations in the prison in Alexandria seem nutritionally adequate, though it doesn’t mention quantities or say how often they’re delivered: “Meat, bread, cheese, figs, a small portion of sour beer and a larger one of water.” (S&I, p. 91). Wolfe doesn’t find the taste appealing (S&I, p. 92)

The Artifex threatens to shoot another prisoner to coerce Wolfe’s compliance (S&I, p. 94)

Mind games from the Artifex: “I will protect Santi if you take your own life” “if you don’t accept this bargain, I will see that he suffers every torment you can possibly imagine in your place. I’ll even have you brought along” (S&I, p. 98-99)

Prison conditions Wolfe does not think of as torture: “deprivation and the boredom and routine of prison”. He does, however, consider the looming threat of horrible execution to be psychological torture (S&I, p. 227)

Qualls:

Thought they had learned as much as they could from questioning Wolfe six months before releasing him (S&I, p. 82)

Did not want Santi dead (S&I, p. 82)

Did not know why the Artifex hated Wolfe (S&I, p. 82)

Does not consider himself a good person: “I am, as you’re aware, not a merciful person, or a kind one; I would not last long in this job if I had even a shred of such fine qualities.” (S&I, p. 82)

Has limits, does not specify what they are: “I have had enough.” “There are limits, and he has reached them. So have I, surprisingly.” (S&I, p. 82-83)

Very thorough in his plan to release Wolfe, exact sequence of events unclear: “I have personally released Scholar Wolfe, and I have seen the Archivist in person [...] The Obscurist Magnus has also been told.” Archivist allowed the release in part because Qualls had information on other prisoners in Rome, in part because Keria was furious. (S&I, p. 83)

Feels strongly enough about Wolfe’s release to threaten to expose Library secrets if the Artifex ever has Wolfe imprisoned again (S&I, p. 83)

Speaks to Wolfe in a creepily pseudo-comforting tone, at least while Wolfe is hallucinating him: “We’re old friends, you and I. I’ve been with you in your darkest moments. I’ve cleaned your wounds. I’ve listened to you weep. Remember?” (S&I, p. 221)

Hallucination Qualls describes the times the questioning was gentle as “the good times.” (S&I, p. 221)

Appearance: “the gray, pale shadow”, Even in full light, the man had always been terrifying. Something about him was dead, and it showed in his eyes, his smile, the not-quite-human way he moved.” (S&I, p. 222)

On the aftermath:

Santi: “It was more than a year before he turned up again. Middle of the night. He looked like he’d crawled out of hell.” (I&B, 322)

Santi: “He’s a walking ghost. He’s been a ghost since the day they finally let him go.” (I&B, p. 323) (could be a reference to his status with the Library, but I read some indication of his mental/emotional state into this, too)

Santi: “I was there when Wolfe crawled bloody to this door. I’m the one who saw what was done to him.” (P&F, p. 138)

Wolfe doesn’t blame Santi for not wanting to see the Mesmer session because “he remembers how I was after” (P&F, p. 141)

Keria was there when Wolfe was released: “She brought me home. To you. She left before you found me.” (P&F, p. 291)

Released by Qualls personally (S&I, p. 83)

“He’d come back from Rome a broken, shaking shell of a man” (S&I, p. 226)

Wolfe’s own memories of his return home: “A broken bone heals twice as strong, he told himself. Santi had taught him that mantra the night he’d stumbled in the door of their house. [...] Santi had bathed him, dried him, clothed him, held him through the night to whisper it in a constant, bracing refrain, because Wolfe had been unable to speak or explain where he’d been” (S&I, p. 230)

Continuing threats and punishment after Rome:

Pretty much every ephemera from the Artifex involves a threat or attempt to kill Wolfe.

Wolfe, to the Artifex: “I’ve done all that you have asked of me since my release. I’ve stood silent when you threatened my friends, my lover, destroyed my life’s work. I’ve borne every punishment.” (I&B, p. 160)

Wolfe: “Saddling me with your class was a kind of punishment. To teach me obedience.” (I&B, p. 286)

Santi: “They wanted him to find your secrets and turn them over. But he found your secrets and he never betrayed them. […] Little rebellions. Wolfe was meant to die on the trip to Oxford. He’s an embarrassment and a risk. Living on borrowed time.” (I&B, p. 323)

Journal monitoring, at least as far as Wolfe knows, began after Wolfe’s arrest. He’s afraid they’re monitoring Santi’s especially closely: “I was afraid you’d change what you were writing. If you had, they’d have taken you.” (I&B, p. 326)

Wolfe: “I was finally released, under the condition that I never again publish or pursue any lines of research that the Library deems dangerous. I live on sufferance.” (P&F, p. 64)

Trauma symptoms:

Suicidal thoughts:

““Better safe than dead, sir” [Glain] said. “As you well know.” “Do I?” His face, Jess thought, looked more set and grim than ever, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes [...] He looked thin and haunted.” (P&F, p. 34)

Santi: “It’s keeping you alive. That’s what I care about.” Wolfe: “Then you care too much.” (P&F, p. 58)

Wolfe: “I’m not insane [...] I’m not on the verge of it. I may be stretched to my limits - my limits being admittedly lower than they should be [...]”

Wolfe, in response to Santi saying he’ll support him: “That’s what makes me live when the alternative seems so peaceful” (A&Q, p. 269)

““Promise me that tomorrow, there’s no prison. No Qualls. If it comes to that-” “If it does,” Santi said, “then it comes for us both.” [...] Odd, that the promise of death would sound so inviting when put that way” (S&I, p. 349)

Self harm:

“He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall, again and again until he felt the skin break and smelled hot blood” (S&I, p. 99)

In prison again: “His skin itched so fiercely that he rubbed scars until they bled” (S&I, p. 220)

Tremors and other psychosomatic symptoms:

“There was a tremor in his voice now, and in his hands, too” (P&F, p. 58)

In prison again: “His skin itched so fiercely that he rubbed scars until they bled” (S&I, p. 220)

When remembering the nicer questioning in Rome: “Wolfe remembered it so vividly every scar began to ache” (S&I, p. 221)

“His hands trembled” (S&I, p. 220)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

Being taken for questioning: “a wave of very real nausea and dizziness” (S&I, p. 230)

Trouble telling reality from hallucination:

Wolfe’s journal: “On those mornings, I am convinced I never escaped that place, and the life I have had since never existed at all, except as a fantastic illusion.” (P&F, p. 53)

Self-induced hallucination as coping strategy: imagining Santi to get himself to sleep while back in prison, he seems to lose touch with reality, and Saleh’s comments in S&P suggest he might have been talking out loud while doing this (S&I, p. 220)

Qualls hallucination (S&I, p. 220-222)

Cell door opening (S&I, p. 223)

Sphinx could also be a hallucination (I tend to see this one as real, with the automaton’s attention drawn by Wolfe’s one-sided conversation with Qualls and attempt to open the door, but ymmv. (S&I, p. 223-224)

In Rome, Wolfe hallucinated Santi with him and was sure it was real at the time (S&I, p. 224-225)

Hallucinates Santi comforting him when he’s in prison again (S&I, p. 225-226)

The morning after the Qualls hallucination, he thinks of it as “a vague dream” and hopes his conversation with Saleh was hallucinated as well (S&I, p. 227-228)

Saleh: “Wolfe spoke of him [...] well… not to me. I suppose better to say he spoke to him when Wolfe was… unwell [...] Prison was not good for the man” (S&P, p. 51)

Nightmares and intrusive memories:

Wolfe: “I see all this every night in dreams.” (P&F, p. 63)

In prison again: “A night when he wouldn’t close his eyes, for fear the past would smother him.” (S&I, p. 87)

In prison again: “relaxing brought the memories. He’d fought them every night, sometimes all night; lack of rest made them more vivid and compelling” (S&I, p. 220)

While hallucinating Qualls: “He remembered. And that was more frightening than the idea that this was a ghost, a phantom, a madness.” (S&I, p. 222) (could read this just as a statement on how traumatic the memories are, could read as repressed memories surfacing)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

Repressed memories:

Wolfe, on where he was held prisoner: “I don’t remember. Can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. I can see pieces, but not… not anything significant.” (P&F, p. 66) (this memory loss might be drug induced, as Dario speculates, but torture itself can cause memory problems..)

Wolfe: “I can’t recall any useful details. What they did to me was very effective.” (P&F, p. 139) (As above, this memory loss might be from either drugs or the torture itself.)

While hallucinating Qualls: “He remembered. And that was more frightening than the idea that this was a ghost, a phantom, a madness.” (S&I, p. 222) (could read this just as a statement on how traumatic the memories are, could read as repressed memories surfacing)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

The morning after the Qualls hallucination: “He’d forgotten that he’d spoken to Saleh in the depths of his delusion. Or at least had hoped that the conversation had been imagined” (S&I, p. 228)

Seems like he’s already repressing the memory of the Qualls hallucination: “Something tugged at him, and for a second he felt a bubble of panic surface. Some memory clawing to the surface, something from the prison. Then he remembered, and a flinch ran through him.” (S&I, p. 348)

Not talking about Qualls more than once could be an effort to repress those memories, too (S&I, p. 2348)

Anxiety/Panic Attacks:

In the prison, Wolfe snaps at the kids, his voice breaks, and Jess observes trembling, sweat on his face even though the temperature is cool, and possible trouble breathing (“Wolfe dragged in a tormented breath”) (P&F, p. 220)

At the castle, Wolfe and Santi end up fighting because of Wolfe’s reaction to being trapped and fear of being captured “So we stay here, in this - overstuffed prison, waiting for the Archivist to turn the High Garda on us? I won’t. I can’t.” (A&Q, p. 267)

Wolfe, to Thomas: “You understand. Rooms grow small. Silence gets heavy.” (A&Q, p. 283)

When the Artifex ambushes the pack in the Iron Tower, Wolfe and Thomas both look “as if their souls had already left their bodies.” (P&F, p. 324)

Wolfe is oddly quiet when first locked up in Philadelphia (A&Q, no dialogue from p. 16-28, while others are discussing strategy)

When put in prison again: “A day of shuddering, flinching, imagining that every sound was a torturer coming for him again.” (S&I, p. 87)

When hallucinating Qualls: “He stopped breathing. Like a child, hiding in the dark from the monsters, that was all he could do.” (S&I, p. 221)

When the cell door “opens”: “something inside him twisted and screamed in terror at the thought. I won’t make it.” (S&I, p. 223)

Wolfe, learning he’s nominated for Archivist: “His eyes burned, and for a moment he thought it was with tears, but no, no, it was anger. He couldn’t speak. Could hardly breathe for the pressure of fury building in his chest.” (S&P, p. 246) (Dominant emotion here is anger, yes, but don’t these also sound like panic attack symptoms? And doesn’t Wolfe frequently get angry in response to feeling trapped?)

Triggers:

Memories, in general, trigger symptoms.

A list of triggers, smell being the worst: “He could ignore the darkness, the bars, the discomfort. But not the smell.” (S&I, p. 87)

Lack of sleep: “relaxing brought the memories. He’d fought them every night, sometimes all night; lack of rest made them more vivid and compelling” (S&I, p. 220)

[slasherscream]

A/N: decided to go totally off the rails and do whatever the fuck i want this week. that's how we arrive at-

     jason dean / jd x black fem!reader ft. that's it .... that's the whole concept

                                                     ——————– 

You two meet when he moves to your city. It's nothing new to him. The change of scenery. Of people. He doesn't pay it any attention no matter where he is. The only thing he concerned himself with was finding the nearest 7/11 to the house he now lives in so he can get himself a slushie. 

You've got headphones on and you're dancing to yourself. Not paying any attention to your surroundings at all. The colors and patterns you're wearing are bright and cheerful but not overbearing on the eye. Just enough pop to make you stand out against the blandness of a gas station. The colors all look nice on your brown skin        like a pretty picture frame holding together an even prettier picture. 

He can hear the music coming through your headphones (hazy and mostly unclear except the hook: it's none of your business      ) and knows you're ever so slightly off beat in your dancing. Distracted. You're staring at the machine intensely like which flavor you're going to indulge in is the most important thing you'll ever decide. His lip twitches upwards, trying to become a smile. Shocking reaction considering you're currently blocking the machine.

He comes up at your side smoothly, close enough that if one of you moves you could bump into each other but not far enough to be truly invasive of your space. It's just enough to make you notice him. You yank your headphones haphazardly off your ears and jolt out of his way. "Oh sorry, man! Didn't mean to be a machine hog. Can't make up my mind for anything today." 

He laughs, moving to pick up a cup of his own, "Don't be. It's a serious choice to make."

"Damn right." You grin and finally make your choice. No choice. You go down the line of flavors and pull each lever. Coke, cherry and that blue that doesn't quite taste like any actual fruit occurring in nature. You step out of the way and grab yourself a straw. You can feel eyes on you. You turn and pause when you see him for the first time ... he's certainly      handsome would be underselling it. You blink the thought away and raise an eyebrow as if to ask, "what?"

He gestures towards the slushie in your hand and the look on his face makes you laugh because you've seen it before. "Oh you're a purist, eh?" you take a sip as you start to walk past him, "life's too short to not get wild sometimes."

"You make an excellent point." He doesn't mix all three like you did but he does mix cherry and coke. You give him a smile on your way out after you pay. He watches you as you go. 

You see each other again at school. There are three other schools in the area. It's a big city. But somehow you go to the same one. Your eyes find each other in the cafeteria. He's sitting at a table totally alone. You can see your friends waving for you but you just wave back and mouth that you'll catch them later. You go to join him in his corner of solitude.

"Well if it isn't little miss. flavor mixer." he smirks even though for once he's happy to see a familiar face. He wonders why that is even as he leans forward on his elbows. 

"Purist." You grin back, "Not that I'm the most observant girl in the world but I don't think I've seen you around here before." 

"You haven't. I'm new. My thing is kinda being the new kid." his smirk is brittle at the edges in ways it wasn't before, an almost instant change.

"Hmm       well guess I gotta eat here with you then. Nothing makes you a target faster than eating lunch alone at the back of the room like a weirdo."

"Thank you for your kindness." You show him another one by telling him not to eat the food he'd wound up getting (a death sentence) and instead sharing with him your fries. 

When you both get up at the end of lunch he's surprised when you loop your arm through his instead of just leaving, "So what's your next class, new kid? Gonna walk you there. Wouldn't want you getting lost." 

He stares down at you but doesn't move away, always been one to roll with the punches, "Won't you be late to your own? Seem like the type of girl who hates disappointing a teacher." 

It's the truth. But you're also not the type of girl to leave anyone alone. You hate the feeling personally and so you don't wish it on him. All the dark colors he's wearing and devil may cry attitude makes you think he's already used to being lonely. But what are moves for if not starting a new chapter in life? "Maybe you need to get to know me before you decide you know what kind of girl I am."

"Hm. Maybe." and so you walk him to his classroom. Then you pick him up from it later and are greatly amused at the surprise you see on his face when he finds you waiting for him. You two skip gym together and instead talk at the back of the school. The more you talk the more you decide Jason Dean needs a fucking friend. You decide you're gonna be that friend. 

You learn about him and he learns about you. Much like him you come from a two person family of you and your Mom. But unlike him and his Father you and your Mom love each other to death. You bring him home to study one day (you are forcing him to do his homework for fucking once in his life). Your Mom gets back from work early and walks into the house to find you throwing popcorn at him from across the table because he's balancing his pencil instead of using it to do his damn work.

Your Mom knows instantly this is the boy you've been spending so much time with. Talking so much about. She's a lot like you in that she takes one look at him and decides "I guess this is mine now.". You wonder if he knows he's already been adopted into the clan when he smiles and gives her a polite little, "Mrs. L/N". He starts spending more time at your place than his own. 

You pass the days together becoming ever closer. Sharing secrets. Insecurities. Going to parties. Getting slushies. Late-night movies. Going to the mall and people-watching. Forcing him to dance with you to music that isn't written by people all mad at their dad's. Him somehow managing to get you on the back of his motorcycle and then somehow being able to sweet talk your Mother into not being mad at him when she catches him dropping you off that way. His rolls up his sleeves and sometimes even takes off his stupid trenchcoat to help you cook dinner. Your Mom teaching him how to cook and him somehow winding up better at seasoning food than you which the two of them never let you forget. He becomes a part of your life too big to ever lose. 

His Dad says they're leaving. He'd gotten so used to being with you and the little life you'd built together that he forgot about the one he'd had before you. The life on the road. Apathy. Loneliness. Quiet. Anger. Reality hits him like a train and you can already see him shutting down. Closing himself off. You grab him by his face and tell him, "don't you leave me yet, Jason Dean."

You never call him that. Always JD or Purist, a throwback to the first day you'd met when you hadn't known you would change each other's lives forever. 

He's going to turn eighteen in three months and the two of you talk. You talk frantically and plan dumb shit the way teens do whenever they're confronted by a problem they don't understand. Your Mom overhears the two of you and once she realizes what's going on she puts you both in the back of her car and drives straight to JD's house. 

Your Mom is a real wildcard and you've never loved her more than when she sits across from JD's bum-ass Father, legs crossed daintily and authoritatively as she says, "your son wants to stay here and settle. He deserves the chance to graduate from one highschool that he manages to attend for more than a few weeks straight. Leave him with me. I’ll take good care of him." 

Jaws dropped. You're just as shocked as JD but still teasingly push his mouth closed. JD's Father? Never been much of a parent anyway. The most he does is help put JD's things all in the back of your Mother's car that same afternoon. You know he only helps that much because your Mom is radiating bad bitch energy. You high five her once you're all in the car driving away. You don't think JD and his Father bothered to say a real goodbye to each other. He's sitting in the backseat looking nearly shell shocked. You reach back and shake him by his thigh in excitement. He grabs your hand and holds it. 

Y'all only get closer to the point that you're inseparable. The guest room of your house quickly becomes JD's room. Your Mother rolls her eyes when she sees how spartan he keeps it and demand he do something to make it his own. He jokingly asks, "Can I paint the walls black?" and she smacks him upside his head.

She comes back the next day from work with a dark grey paint and tells him, "you can paint your room this color". You know it means a lot to him and you two spend the weekend doing just that.

The night he turns eighteen you make him a small, personal cupcake and put it down in front of him at midnight. You also have a slushie for him which you know he'll enjoy more despite all the work you put into the damn cupcake. He's grinning from ear to ear, not a smirk, a grin, "this feels kinda sixteen candles-esque, sweetheart."

"Blow out your damn candle and make a wish, JD."

"Why would I need to make a wish when everything I want I already got?" A moment of surprising honesty. It's not a joke. You can hear it in his tone. He doesn't retract the statement either, or play it off as less serious than it is. His grin has softened into a smile that you've never seen on his face before. It makes you want to melt. The candle is also melting.

You pick up the cupcake and hold it up to him, your voice no louder than a whisper that feels strangely intimate, "make a wish anyway."

He leans in obediently and for a moment the candle's flame flickers over the shadows of his face in the prettiest way. Then he blows softly and the flame goes out. The only light in the room from the moon now. You fall asleep curled up on the bay window seat together. You wake up in his arms the next morning. When you go downstairs to help your Mother make him a birthday breakfast she's shooting you a knowing look that you try to ignore. 

JD talks about his plans now over breakfast and your mother smacks his hand gently when he mentions maybe finding a new place to live. “That’s not how family works, Jason. And you’re family. Don’t you go forgetting that just cause' you turned eight-teen. No boy of mine is gonna be running off to live alone when he’s not ready. You stay here with us until you get sick of us. Don’t go leaving just cause you think that's what you're supposed to do. We love you here.” 

He looks suspiciously teary eyed and can only manage to clear his throat and give her a stiff nod, “gotcha Mrs. L/N”. Your mother is just as good at speaking JD as you are now and knows what he wants to say is “thank you” and “i love you both too”. She gets up to kiss the side of his forehead and you get up and kiss his cheek. He holds the both of you close to him and it quickly becomes a group hug. 

There's a change in how you are around each other. More lingering touches. Longer looks. But nothing happens. Nothing until graduation when there are pictures being taken and you forced JD to decorate his cap to match yours. He walks and you scream. You walk and he screams for you louder. Your Mom screams for the both of you the loudest.

You go to a party to celebrate but wind up leaving early and just walking in the park together. It's surprisingly cold outside for a summer night. He slides his trenchcoat around your shoulders and puts a hand on your cheek fondly. You steel yourself against nerves and raise your own hand to keep his trapped right where it is. You tilt your face into his warm palm and kiss it softly. You don't look away from him the entire time. 

A moment of stillness between you two, "Thank god." JD groans before he swoops in and grabs you by the waist to kiss you breathless. 

You both come home late clumsy and trying to be quiet but mostly too busy holding each other to really bother. Your Mother, who was waiting up for you both, only rolls her eyes and says, "finally." 

                                                     ——————–

[stainandscribble]

Breve

Pairing: Sehun (EXO) x Reader ft. EXO

Genre: Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, one shot

Summary: Black Pearl is now open until late, and although it is wonderful news for patrons, it is not so wonderful for Sehun. Or is it?

The quiet ambience is destroyed with a group of college students stumbling drunkenly inside. Along with them, the cheerful art history student who happens to steal the heart of the youngest barista. 

 Maybe it’s Sehun who needs a little courage in his coffee. 

Warnings: None, but they do drink alcohol. 

Word Count: 4170

As the spring and summer months rolled around, the days were becoming longer, and exam season was approaching. Many students ended coming in at the last minute to order coffee before they would have to leave for closing time. Junmyeon had made an executive decision to keep Black Pearl open until late between Friday and Sunday. It had brought in multiple new patrons and swarms of night shift workers. Club bouncers came in for coffee before opening times around eight in the evening, and plenty of student who enjoyed late night cramming had come to them. 

The late shift had taken on a new ambience. It was relaxing, albeit often being frustrating.

One of the disadvantages of being a coffee shop open very late in a student town, is that you sometimes get one or two stumbling drunk inside on Friday night.

Of all late shifts he had taken, Sehun considered Friday evening’s to be the worst. It was only ten in the evening, but the student population was partying in full swing, celebrating the end of the exam period. 

He was the only barista on shift since Jongin bailed on him last minute to go to a concert with some school friends.  Black Pearl was empty save for a couple on a date and Jongdae and his girlfriend, who were quietly reading on the sofa in the corner.

Bored out of his mind, he sipped on his second espresso of the night, willing his eyes to stay open. Chanyeol’s summer night playlist had numbed his brain as it droned faintly from the speakers, by now sounding more like annoying elevator music than upbeat instrumentals.  Sehun downed the rest of the espresso, content with the bitterness it left on his tongue and the surge of clarity it had brought his mind.

Just as he put his cup down, the bell chimed, and he watched some of his college friends walk in, laughing loudly.

“Sehun!” One of them called out, laughing on his way to the counter as the others followed. 

“How are you?” His friend asked as he leaned against the counter. 

“I’m good.” Sehun put his cup down, quite happy with chatting with his friends, despite the states they were all in. Two of them were leaning against the counter, smiling a little too wide, their eyes wide and hazy from alcohol. 

“Why don’t you go out with us?” One of them asked, their eyes never leaving the funky neon sign that hung behind him. It was glowing a bright blue, the word BLACK PEARL COFFEE spelled out in all capitals. 

“I’m working.” He pointed to his silver name tag. 

“When you finish then?” They asked.

“Maybe another time?” He answered.

“Fine, fine. Don’t pressure him.” One of his friends told the others, making her way to the front. She seemed more cheerful than usual and had been talking to another friend before she came towards him. That, and the fact that she was swaying lightly on the balls of her feet made it obvious to Sehun she had drank her fair share tonight. 

“How much did you drink?” He asked, the twinge of amusement apparent on his face as his brows rose and lips pulled into a wide smile.

“They have ladies’ night before eleven.” Y/N answered, hands fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.

“I see.” he nodded, watching as she progressively leaned more and more towards him.

“Too much.” She had clarified, sending Sehun to throw himself over the counter towards her as his cacophonous laughter broke through the quiet ambience of the café. He had to stop himself mid laugh as to not disturb the patrons. By now Jongdae was also sending glares his way, and he could see them from the corner of his eyes. 

“Would you like anything?” he asked the group but received a chorus of no’s. 

“Can I have a brave coffee?” Y/N asked, looking pointedly at the menu behind Sehun. 

“A breve?” He asked, smile stretching over his mouth. He could not help but feel energised. Watching her right now was better than espresso. 

“A brave coffee.” She nodded, and Sehun set off to work.

“Do want me to put extra courage in this?” He asked, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he turned to face his friend.

“Can you also put in some common sense?” One of their other friends laughed, sending the group into a fit of giggles. Y/N laughed with them, shouting half-hearted insults back at their friends.

“I don’t know if it will fit in the cup.” Sehun told them, before passing a disposable cup to Y/N, barely making out the quiet thank you she sent his way.

 -----------

In your intoxicated state, your brain liked pointing out things you ignored when sober. Hence why you were fixating on the way Sehun’s brown hair was parted in the middle, and the way it fell softly in curtains over his forehead. You liked the soft spark in his brown eyes. Hell, you loved it.

But you didn’t admit it to yourself sober.

When you woke up in the morning, the only tangible thoughts swarming through your brain were the unclear images of Sehun’s face from last night. His brown hair was longer than you remembered, and he had seemed to have matured greatly over the last year. His deep brown eyes had warmed up and softened. He looked healthier, and you knew that was because whatever he was doing now was what he loved. You had to be honest with yourself when you thought about how much more handsome he had gotten. There was something deeply alluring about the air of warm maturity he carried. You had had a small crush on him back when he was completing his dance major, and the little crush had seemed to break through onto the surface after seeing him again last night.

It had been a while since the two of you saw each other. He had graduated, and you were still a student. He also now had another group of friends, who were also his bosses and co-workers. College friends had become second place over time. You understood him. You too, had not seen your friends that often now with all the fuss of graduation and work.

The club was buzzing with blaring music and dancing bodies. The heat and energy it possessed directly contrasted with the quiet summer night outside.

It was in the warm night that Sehun’s friends waited for him to come. Tonight was one of the rare nights when all their friends could make it.

“You made it!” One of Sehun’s friends exclaimed as he approached them, wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt with some sort of yellow leaf pattern and black jeans. He towered over his friends, being the tallest of all of them.

He was also the first person Y/N saw as she approached the club.

“Where is Y/N?” She heard him ask, and her heart skipped a beat at the way his deep voice reverberated through the still air.

“She’ll be here soon.” Someone told him, right before she neared the group.

“I’m here!” Y/N announced, smiling brightly as she hugged all her girlfriends.

“Let’s go.” Sehun motioned for them to start making their way to the club, the brightly lit sign of Oasis casting a glow over his sharp features. 

You had caught a glimpse of Sehun’s face illuminated by the pink glow of the neon lights, making his look even more ethereal than before.

If Sehun emanated warm maturity in Black Pearl, he was oozing playful charisma in the glow of the Oasis.

Your friends laughed and joked as you entered, their voices swallowed up by the blaring music as the lights blinded you.

You had made your way to the reserved booth before the guys left to get your drinks.

“Y/N.” One of your friends called out, catching your attention.

“You and Sehun?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. Your other friends joined in, teasing you.

“What do you mean?” You asked. You had no idea where they got the idea of you and him together, seeing as you barely saw each other nowadays.

“You’re matching.” Another friend pointed out, tugging playfully at your shirt.

“How?”

“Look at your shirt.” Indeed, the shirt you were wearing was similar. In fact, it was same shirt if not for the fact that Sehun’s had a leaf pattern, but yours’ had flowers instead. Even the colours were the same. You assumed it was from the same brand. There weren’t that many shops in the city, so you had probably brought it from the same one recently.

“Where did you get it from?” The same friend asked, before her attention was caught by someone else, as she started waving at the boys who were coming back with their drinks.

“I went thrift shopping.” You told them as Sehun set a drink down in front of you, before sliding into the seat next to you, bringing you closer as another friend sat down beside him. The girls sent you teasing winks from the other side of the booth. 

Some time had passed, and the booth was almost empty as the rest of the group left for the dance floor. You were slowly sipping on your third drink, enjoying the warming buzz coursing through your blood stream.  Sehun was still sitting beside you, sipping on his own drink. Despite the multitude of empty seats, he remained close, your body still pressed to his side.

The buzz of the alcohol and the blaring music were a pleasant contrast from the usual bitterness of coffee and soft instrumentals playing in the background that he was used to. Everything about Oasis was energising. The neon lights, the mass of people, the way Y/N swayed lightly with the music, absentmindedly bumping her knee with his, and the way Sehun’s arm was draped on the backrest behind her as her hair tickled his skin. It made Sehun buzz inside as he settled into the ambience of it all.

“Come out with us more often.” She told him, looking up to see his face. Sehun smiled lightly at her, hyperaware of their close proximity, and the looks their friends were shooting at them from the dance floor.

“I’ll try,” He told her, “but only if you buy coffee from us.”

“I will be a loyal customer.” She laughed, nodding in agreement, as Sehun got up on his feet, steering her towards the rest of their friends on the dancefloor.

 -----------

The next Wednesday happened to be an awfully hot day. Sehun and Chanyeol were sipping on their iced coffees in between serving customers. The sun shone outside, and Yixing was collecting glasses from the tables they had set out outside.

From the corner of his eye, Sehun noticed as Yixing waved at someone, before he entered behind Y/N as she was holding the door.

She smiled at Sehun, before walking up to the counter.

“Oh wow, you need a new summer playlist.” She commented when the next song began playing. Honestly, Sehun had stopped paying attention to the music a week ago.

“You also noticed?” He asked, a smile braking through onto his face. He was slightly embarrassed that a customer had criticised their playlist. Out of habit, he scratched the back of his head as he looked away from Y/N.

“Yeah, I heard this song seven times in here already.” She told him, a smile still on her face.

“What’s wrong with my playlist?” Chanyeol’s booming voice sounded behind him, startling him. Sehun jumped slightly, before spinning round to face the other tall man. His eyes were open wide, and his mouth was still open, as if he was about to start complaining.

“Add new songs in.” Sehun told him, a playful giggle broke through his throat. He was very aware of the way Y/N was watching their exchange, still waiting for him to take her order.

Chanyeol huffed, but turned around to their coffee press, and began making himself an espresso.

Sehun turned around to face You, a light blush dusting his cheeks, before he took your order.

“What are you up to?” He asked, handing you the cup of coffee.

“In depth analysis of multiple Art Nouveau pieces due next week.” You sighed, drumming your fingernails on the wooden countertop. You loved the art style, but you didn’t necessarily like writing a ten thousand word report on it.

“How many words?” He asked, and you had to take a gulp of coffee to keep yourself from swearing at him.

“Too many.” You answered, making him laugh.

“You graduated dance.” It was a statement rather than a question, and Sehun looked at you confused, his thick brows furrowed as he scrunched up his nose, not knowing how to answer you.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Why do you work in a coffee shop?” It was an unexpected question. No one had asked him that in a while. In the beginning, people had been curious, but over time the curiosity had died down. You knew he loved dancing, so it was a mystery to you why he had stayed a barista for this long. After graduating, it had not been a bad job to have, but it was a year, and Sehun had taken more shifts as the business expanded.

He moved around the counter. Leaving Chanyeol and Yixing behind. He motioned for you to sit at the table for two. Once you were sitting opposite him, he leaned back in the chair.

“Minseok and Junmyeon were my long-time friends,” He began telling you, “and Minseok always wanted to be a barista, while Junmyeon was a business graduate. They opened Black Pearl together, and got a bunch of their friends involved, me included. It was a good place to start right after graduating. After some time, we all just stayed.” He finished, his fingers drumming over the table top.

“Sometimes we do other odd jobs on the side.” He continued, a smile on his face. His warm brown eyes looked into yours, and there was warmth and happiness shining in them. The air of warm maturity he carried around him returned, enveloping you in a cocoon as he spoke.

“What do you do?” You asked, leaning closer over the table.

“From time to time, Jongin and I volunteer as dance teachers. Last year we were teachers at a summer school.”

“Did you like it?” At this question, he laughed, his head thrown back as the soft sound of childish laughter broke out of his lungs.

“It was fun. But I like it better here. With everyone.” He confessed, his eyes gazing over the shop.

“Plus, we get free cake and coffee every day.” He added, leaning over the table the same way you were.

“Living the dream.” You laughed with him.

“What will you do?” Hi eyes caught yours again, and you smiled.

“I’m going to be a curator.” You told him, taking another sip of your coffee. The bitter liquid was refreshing, bringing you out of the slight daze Sehun had you under.

“Where?” He asked again.

“The art gallery right here.” You told him, and he visibly brightened up at the idea of you staying here, in the small student town you had learned to call home over the years.

 ------------

The night air was warm and fragrant as the earth released the warmth it had absorbed during the scorching heat of earlier in the day. To battle against the temperature everyone from Black Pearl was sitting around, enjoying cold affogato and some brownies.

“I’m going out tonight.” Sehun announced, earning a groan from Jongin and a few pats on the back from Baekhyun and Chanyeol. Another weekend rolled around, and Sehun’s friends decided to visit a new bar that had opened last weekend. 

“Should we expect to see you stumble in around midnight?” Jongin asked, not ready for his evening shift to start.

“Count on it.” Sehun told him through a mouthful of cake. He smiled teasingly at his friend, feeling no remorse for leaving him alone during the night shift. Sehun counted it as payback for the time Jongin ditched him for a concert a few weeks prior.

“Who is going with you?” Junmyeon asked, picking another brownie from the plate.

“Y/N!” Yixing told them, liking his spoon clean as the others burst out laughing. Baekhyun even whistled when Sehun’s ears turned bright red. Amid Sehun’s embarrassment, his friends started teasing him, asking all kinds of questions as he buried his face in his hands. The attempts to escape their teasing were futile, however, because in the middle of Jongdae’s scolding to finally ask you out, the bell chimed, and you entered, completely unbothered by the ruckus. 

Sehun turned to look at you. His breath hitched in his throat when he caught sight of you. Dressed in a black velvet dress and a pair of high heels made you look older than usual, more mature. Behind him, Chanyeol was patting him on the back, before pushing him out of his chair so that he could greet you.

“Hey!” Sehun said, his friends’ eyes burning into the back of his head. 

“Where is everyone else?” Yixing asked you, surprised that the rest of your friends were absent.

“They bailed on us last minute.” You sent him a wink. Your friends had texted you about setting you and Sehun up earlier in the evening.

“Let’s go! Happy Hour is about to start.” You told Sehun cheerfully before you left, waving at Yixing, Jongin and the others as the door closed behind you. 

“Where are we going tonight?” Sehun asked, walking closely next to you, so that his fingers brushed against yours.

“Love Shot.” You told him. Sehun nodded, the name sounding vaguely familiar. Neither you nor he had been there before. From what you heard the bar was a little fancier than what you were used to. The bar’s vibe was meant to be classier that that of the student bars you frequented with your friends. From what Liz told you, it was perfect for an outing for two. 

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

The bar was indeed classy. The furniture was all dark polished wood and plush velvet couches. The dimmed light came from a multitude of vintage lamps and small, dangling chandeliers dripping crystal tears that dispersed broken rays of light in all directions. It was way fancier than what you were used to, but it was undoubtedly beautiful.

Sehun led you through the bar, holding tightly into your hand so that he could not lose you among the tables. Since it was a new place many people had decided to come and try their drinks out, so tonight it had amassed a bit of a crowd. Sehun managed to find two seats at the bar, and so you sat down, Sehun’s wide shoulders bumping into yours as he called over for the barman.

“What would you like?” The man asked, looking at you rather than Sehun.

“Can I get Paradise Found and a White Russian?” Sehun said for the both of you, already knowing what you wanted. The bartender’s eyes slid to Sehun, before he smiled at you.

“Coffee lovers?” He asked, noticing your choice of drink.

“You could say that.” Sehun answered before you burst out laughing, finding it ironic that even out of work Sehun’s drink of choice was the caffeinated beverage. The bartender left you and Sehun as he got to work.

The bitterness of coffee and the crispness of the alcohol complimented each other perfectly.

After a few more drinks and an exchange of funny stories, you were so close your noses almost brushed against each other when you breathed.

“I know why they bailed on us.” Sehun told you. The dim light illuminated his face just right, accentuating his high cheekbones and sharp nose. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, black dress pants and a pair of lacquered black shoes. To put it bluntly, Sehun looked expensive. He looked like he belonged right here among the polished hardwood and crystal chandeliers. The smell of fresh coffee was still on his clothes, and it was as if it had permanently seeped into his skin. It was intoxicating.

“Liz texted you?” You asked him, and he nodded, pulling out his phone from his pocket and laughing at all the texts he received tonight.

“Yeah.” He smiled, catching your gaze in his.

“You could have just asked me out.” He teased, and you laughed in return, the sound echoing like a melody in his ears.

“I could have.” You agreed, teasing him in return as your fingers made their way up his arm, a playful smile on your lips.

“Will you?” He asked, and you could not help but notice the hopeful tone behind his question.

“I don’t know.” You teased; fully aware that you would have. Eventually. When you mustered up the courage.

“Y/N!” He whined liked, reminding you of how young he was, and how young you were. It was nice, feeling young, being infatuated. With him.  

“Sehun.” You caught his attention again, and he smiled at you, anticipating the next words to fall from your mouth.

“Do you want to go on a date?” You asked, mustering up the courage, aided by the drinks you already had.

“I’d love to.” He told you, and your heart sored.

Sehun watched you, smiling to yourself at his response, fully absorbed in the way his heart pounded against his ribs.

The rest of your time at the bar had been spent with Sehun resting his hand over the top of your knee, his thumb brushing soothing circles against the bare skin. His lips would brush gently against the shell of your ear when he whispered jokes into it, causing you to erupt in giggles on multiple occasions.

 -----------

“How much did you drink?” Jongin asked. Your night had ended back in Black Pearl and you exchanged shy, flirtatious looks over coffee and dessert.

“We went out for happy hour.” Sehun told him, sipping on his breve.

“How is the new bar?” He carried on the conversation. You could tell by the way he was leaning against your table that he was trying not to fall asleep.

“It’s nice.” You told him, taking a bite of your cherry pie.

“Posh.” Sehun added, remembering the fancy dark polished furniture, far classier and far more expensive than their own wooden tables and chairs.

Jongin nodded, before leaving to disappear at the back of the shop.

He came back a few moments later, too tired to tease his youngest friend about the way he was leaving kisses against Y/N’s cheek.

“Close up.” He told them, leaving the keys on the table before he left.

 “Can I get a brave coffee?” You asked your boyfriend, earning a soft giggle from him and a few whistles from Baekhyun who was with him behind the counter.

“Later.” He told you, handing you your usual iced latte. You leaned over the counter, catching his lips in a quick kiss.

You left promptly after that, rushing to the art gallery, where you were working as a tour guide during the summer.

“What’s a brave coffee?” Jongin asked when you left, laughing at Sehun’s flushed cheeks

“Cold brew but make it vodka.” He coughed.

“Should we add it to the menu?” Baekhyun asked, still laughing as he cleaned the coffee press.

“No!” Junmyeon shouted from the back of the shop, causing the three boys to laugh even harder. 

 Later in the afternoon, you ended up lounging next door to Black Pearl, at the tea room owned by Baekhyun’s girlfriend. The two of you were sitting at one of the tables, enjoying a cold infusion and a slice of spiced plum pie as you complained about the new exhibition and the workload you had for next year.

She ended up drinking three more cups with you, before enough customers came in to fill up all the tables. 

At one point, Baekhyun came in to exchange some iced coffee for pie, before running back when Junmyeon figured out he was missing. 

Sehun had sneaked in after him with a cup of lemonade and a carton of ice cream. 

“You’re the best.” You told him, kissing him on the cheek when he handed you a silver spoon.

“I know.” He told you, brushing his hair back and out of his face. On his day off, instead of the usual aroma of coffee beans, he smelled like your favourite cologne. You leaned in closer, breathing in his scent.

“Do I smell?” He asked, looking down at you, one of his thick eyebrows rose questioningly at you.

“No.” You shook your head, smiling when he brought you closer, you that your nose was buried at the crook of his neck.  “You just don’t smell like coffee today.” 

He chuckled, his large hand patting your shoulder lightly as he enjoyed the quiet afternoon with you. 

[reenakawwa]

Final Draft of Non-Fiction

Reena Kawwa

Professor Reiter    

ENL 267

04 February 2020

            Qahweh of Life

I grew up around the rich aroma of Qahweh. Qahweh is the Arabian version of brewed American coffee. It is lightly or heavily roasted Arabica coffee beans with a hint of Cardamom. There is no limit to what Qahweh can be served for. In Middle Eastern countries, Qahweh is a commonality between everyone from poor to rich and muslim and christian, which is why it is used as a peacemaker. In The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, Qahweh Sadah (Black Coffee) is a hospitality staple. We greet our friends, families and royals with 3 oz of dark, boiling, black liquid. To not offer coffee during meetings is seen as disrespectful. During engagement parties in Jordan called Jahaa, the groom's family visits the bride's house to ask for her hand in marriage. The groom will be offered a cup of Qahweh, but will usually postpone drinking it until the bride’s family gives their blessing for the marriage. This simple act is seen as respect for the two families involved.  During the Jaha, the Qahweh Sadah is seen as a peace offering. This tradition adds emphasis as to why Qahweh is not just coffee. It is a sacrifice, a gift, and a common denominator.                                

I personally never knew what the hype was about. The 3oz cup of bitter coffee

seemed like torture. The first sip is somehow also the last. After that, you’ll be up for hours,  

possibly on the edge of an anxiety attack. My Grandma never started her less-than- busy day without a Finjan (espresso sized cup) of Qahweh. She also never ended her day without

one.  Making Qahweh is a process. You put the pulverized coffee beans into a Rakwe. A Rakwe

is a small pot that is used specifically for Arabic coffee. Many people in Arabic countries prefer

to add cardamom pods to the Rakwe. That addition however, is your choice. Oftentimes, people

enjoy Qahweh black, but you will get the occasional guest that prefers to get a sugar rush with

the caffeine boost. In that case, you can add the desired amount of sugar into the Rakwe before

the coffee is made. Kids were never offered Qahweh. They would be given Chai as a substitute.

Arabian Chai is not your regular Starbucks Chai latte. Chai is the Arabic word for black tea. It is

our Earl grey.  Up until the age of fifteen, I was enjoying a small cup of Chai every morning with

breakfast and every night after dinner. The caffeine boost is minimal but it goes great with

Jordanian meals.

One morning, I woke up to a fresh Rakwe of Qahweh being made by my father. At that time, I was a kid trying to rush into adulthood. Being surrounded by older cousins, the escape from childhood is justified. Being a kid is hell. I was done having Chai while they all sipped their little cups of Qahweh and gossiped about everything that is far from important. I wanted in. So, naturally, I picked up a finjan and poured myself 3oz of that black liquid diploma into adulthood. My mother was not having it. She bombarded me with negative side effects to coffee as she was sipping on hers. If you are under the age of 17 and drink Qahweh, in a few months you’ll be cursed with a full-ass beard. That myth is the ultimate threat to Arab women as facial hair is seen as the end of the world. The full-ass beard is not a threat to me. I drank up. I sipped it while listening in on the ted talk that my mother hosted with her sisters in our kitchen.

             I did not enjoy the first sip. It was bitter, too hot to take as a shot, yet too tiny to drink slowly. Nevertheless, I intended on finishing it. The second sip took me by surprise. I could feel the Qahweh’s acidity in the pit of my stomach. For beginners, Qahweh is like taking a shot of liquid ginger. You close your eyes, pinch your nose and pray you don’t gag. I did not enjoy the second sip, but I also did not hate it. I tolerated it. My pinky finger did not get the gist of the Finjan. It was not supposed to fold around the baby cup, rather it was supposed to be slightly tipped to the side. At least that is how the adults held it. I eyed how my Grandma held it closely because it somehow looked elegant. The conversation had shifted from travel ideas to juicy family gossip.

                   As a teenager, there is nothing that amused me more than the talk of family members. I listened closely until I had an anecdote to add. I finally had a great addition to the story of my cousin’s messy engagement. I might have shared too much and I blame that all on the two sips of Qahweh. Nevertheless, I got everyone’s attention instantly...there it is! I mastered the art of sipping the Qahweh! That was the third sip. The ultimate sip. During that short-lived moment, the Qahweh in my mind became a rocky road ice cream. I could still feel the sharp acidic flavor on my lips. It was far from the French vanilla, splash of caramel, soy milk latte everyone seems to be obsessed with. I suddenly did not mind the blandness. I somehow enjoyed the sharp sting that I had previously dreaded during the first few sips. By the third sip, when you finally start to want more, there are only two more sips left. The second to last sip is just as good as the third, if not better. It’s still boiling, silky smooth like velvet, and pitch black. This sip is a hard one to swallow. You can feel the end of the Finjan nearing so you take your time. You make small talk, pretend like you're interested in whoever’s story you're listening to, and try to make plans for the next Qahweh session. Most importantly, you dread the upcoming sip. You despise it. You mull over the idea of just pouring the rest into the sink and running. It’s crazy to think that just as you start to want more, it becomes distasteful. You crave more of that third and fourth sip. You know the one coming will be far from good. You wanna know what the last sip of Qahweh feels like? It is similar to the feeling you get when you go overboard on that “All you can eat sushi buffet”. When you promise that that Philly roll is the last order you’ll put in, yet you somehow end up getting three more. You enjoy the first two pieces, but then wonder how you’ll finish the rest. Your full but yet you don’t want to stop. It’s a deadly cycle.

Ultimately, you never end up pouring the rest of the Qahweh out. You want

to stay in the conversation and force yourself to pull it together. You close your eyes, pinch our nose, and try your hardest to keep it together in front of your family. This sip is the only sip I took as if it was a shot of Irish Car Bomb. It was no joke. Almost identical to taking a shot of hard liquor. It was bitter, potent and yet essential to the after-effects. Do you want to be vigorous? You must drink the remaining sip. The last sip is not smooth. Since the Qahweh in the pot is unfiltered, the grounded beans end up at the end of the Finjan. So the last sip is filled with little tiny bits of coffee beans that get stuck to your upper lip as you drink it. You pull through though because what comes next is the most exciting part of drinking Qahweh with family members.

After everyone finishes their cup, we flip it upside down and rest it on the saucer that the cup comes with. We let the residue dry and then turn it over. The myth is that once the residue of the Qahweh is stained on the cup, a superstitious person with a gift of reading the future will try and “read the cup”. This is called Tasseography. The stain of the left-over liquid and coffee beans make all kinds of shapes on the cup. Usually, in most Qahweh dates, there is that one person who is gifted at Tasseography. They can make out crazy stories through unclear shapes on the cup. They analyze every little stain pattern and interpret it into real-life situations for the person who drank from the cup. No stain is left unread. Every detail is a clue to predicting the person’s future. I’m Christian, so this tradition is only for fun, we are not allowed to take the predictions seriously because we believe fate is in the hands of God. Yet, we always find ourselves asking someone to read our cup. It’s like even though we know it’s wrong, we still need all the hope we can get.

I can not help but wonder if life is merely a cup of Qahweh? Is our life those five sips of roasted coffee beans? It’s a weird thing to believe, but let me explain myself. The first sip if you recall, is bitter, too hot to take as a shot yet too little to drink slowly. The first sip is not exactly enjoyable. You get a sudden wave of anxiety mixed with indescribable energy that keeps you going for hours. You want to stop drinking but you can’t. You encourage yourself to suck it up and keep going. What if, the first sip of Qahweh, was the first time you felt rejected? It's a bitter moment when you realize that something you wanted so bad, was simply not for you. Maybe it was that fancy-schmancy job interview in the city that you could swear you mastered. You left the office thinking you secured that position with a wide smirk across your face. That smirk, however, was wiped right off two days later when you got the “I’m sorry, but thank you for your interest and time” email from the manager. Just like that first sip, you would love to just give up but something tells you to keep trying. The second sip of Qahweh took you by surprise. Just when you thought things might start looking up, you are filled with that acidic flavor in the pit of your stomach. Maybe that acidity is the butterflies you get when you are in that second job interview. You worked on your weaknesses and vowed to show up with more confidence. With this sip, however, you want to keep going and see how the finjan will end. You get that call back for a second interview and suddenly those butterflies in your stomach become a little more tolerable.

The third sip or as I like to call it “The ultimate sip”, is nothing short of amazing. You start to feel the Qahweh in action and begin to love the acidity. The third sip is an unexpected adventure. Maybe that third sip is the first time you locked eyes with someone you love deeply. You're still nervous, the butterflies are still flying all over your tummy, but that look is too beautiful to give up. You feel safe and decide to continue on this unexpected, eccentric, and personally unorthodox journey. The fourth sip is even better than the third. It is still hot and smooth like velvet. It flows right out of the cup with ease and elegance. You can feel the end of the finjan coming up shortly, so you take your time and enjoy every second. Maybe this sip is the unforgettable moments that you have with your significant other. In those moments, you do not have a care in the world. All your focus is on each other. However, stressful thoughts about every minor detail in your life cloud your mind and all of a sudden you fear the end of those carefree moments. As humans, we are wired to think about our future and often overthink details that are simply premature.

The last sip is nothing like you’ve ever feared. It is messy, way too bitter, and almost scary. The little coffee bits that roll off the finjan into your mouth are inevitable. You knew this was coming. Maybe the last sip is that crushing feeling you get when you are not given that promotion. Maybe the last sip is the moment you learn that you are being evicted due to a large amount of rent money left unpaid. You worry you do not have what it takes to pay that bill, or even talk to your boss about the promotion. Even with all those fears, you push through it. You talk to someone you trust, you work a little harder, and you encourage yourself by believing that what comes next will be exciting and life-changing.

After all that, once the finjan has come to an end, the tasseography begins. Maybe the Qahweh cup reading, is us trying so hard to predict our destiny and see where life will take us. We know that no matter how hard we try at reading every detail in that cup, our future is not in our hands. We do not have full control of what is coming up next. Instead, God is the only one who holds our future. We can try all we want, but life is a beautiful, tiny 3oz cup of hope. It is unexpected, enjoyable, delicious and bitter all in one. The only thing for us to do is close our eyes, pinch our nose, and pray for the best.

[marginalgloss]

gold leaf

There is a passage in Levels of the Game, a short book about tennis by John McPhee, where the narrative pulls back and begins to consider the family of the tennis player Arthur Ashe. Names cascade, one after the other, starting from back in 1735 when a ship full of slaves sailed from Liverpool to Virginia, and ending in the present day: 

‘…On the Blackwell plantation, where Hammett had lived, the plantation house—white frame, with columns—still stands, vacant and mouldering. The slave cabin is there, too, its roof half peeled away. Hammett’s daughter Sadie married Willie Johnson, and their daughter Amelia married Pinkney Avery Ashe…and Amelia had a son named Arthur, who, in 1938, married Mattie Cunningham, of Richmond. Their son Arthur Junior was born in 1943…’

The details here have been taken from an immense family tree, painted on a huge piece of canvas at the home of one of Ashe’s relatives. There are over fifteen hundred leaves on that tree. Only Ashe has his leaf trimmed in gold. This is not all:

‘The family has a crest, in crimson, black, and gold. A central chevron in this escutcheon bears a black chain with a broken link, symbolizing the broken bonds of slavery. Below the broken chain is a black well. And in the upper corners, where the crest of a Norman family might have fleurs-de-lis, this one has tobacco leaves, in trifoliate clusters.’

Ashe was one of the greatest American tennis players. He was a black man who forged a career in a sport dominated by white faces. He is one of the two subjects of Levels of the Game by John McPhee, which is really a sort of long essay. It documents a tennis match at the 1968 US Open between Ashe and Clark Graebner. They made for an ideal contrast because Graebner was everything that Ashe was not: white, conventional, republican. The passage I have quoted above is immediately followed by the following line, before any break in the paragraph: 'Graebner has no idea whatever when his forebears first came to this country.’

The book alternates between a point-by-point description of the match and a dive into the lives of both players. The reportage is startling in the amount of detail it captures, to the degree that I began to wonder how McPhee had actually managed to write it at all. I read somewhere that he had access to a recording of the match, though exactly how he watched it again is unclear — this is long before the era of home video recording. At times the writing has all the quality of slow-motion, long before live action replays became an expected part of watching any sport. But beyond these practicalities, there’s a sense here of authority in McPhee’s writing, and of implied trust between the writer, their subject, and the audience. 

He addresses us like a professor, and his grand statements are taken to be the work of careful consideration. He quotes both players extensively throughout, but doesn’t care to mention the context in which they spoke. At times he delves into their thoughts, their fears, their hopes. None of that is cited, of course; how could it be? I suppose we oughtn’t to care. There’s a feeling throughout of being invited to experience a certain kind of privilege. Are there room for questions? Sure, but if McPhee tells us that Ashe or Graebner strikes a ball just so, then they did. We have no recourse to say: I thought he hit it differently, or, that wasn’t what he was thinking at all. Were this written about a tennis match that happened yesterday, that’s what we would expect. But now nobody will ever see this match except through McPhee’s language.

A simple description of the match won’t suffice. We need to know about the players themselves: ‘A person’s tennis game begins with his nature and background and comes out through his motor mechanisms into shot patterns and characteristics of play. If he is deliberate, he is a deliberate tennis player; and if he is flamboyant, his game probably is, too.’ This is entirely true. Tennis is an unusual sport in the degree to which it becomes a battle between the abilities, physical and otherwise, of two individuals. No outside interference is permitted. The person you are shapes the things you will do on the court. 

Ashe is mannered, careful, polite. He is well-read and quietly radical. He plays difficult, risky tennis — he takes clever shots. He has a full arsenal at his disposal: slices, dinks, lobs, volleys. Graebner, with his huge serve, is altogether more conventional. He relies heavily on serve-and-volley to get him through. But Graebner’s was the game of the time, especially on fast grass courts with heavy wooden racquets. According to McPhee, the longest rally in an average set is six shots. But most points between Ashe and Graebner are over in two or three swings of a racquet. By comparison, rallies in a modern match in men’s tennis will start at about six shots and go for up to fifteen or twenty strokes. (I’ve seen rallies go past forty.)

It was a different game for other reasons. Both Graebner and Ashe were amateurs; they had full-time jobs outside of the tennis life. It seems almost cute today that these men should take the subway home after their matches, and no doubt pay for their own fares. Today’s top players make millions from prize money and endorsements, although hundreds of professionals still struggle to eke a living at the lower stages of the tour. 

In 1997 they opened a vast stadium named after Arthur Ashe in New York, which became the centrepiece of the US Open as it stands today. Played on a hard court rather than grass, it is today the largest tennis venue in the world. It is so grand that you might easily forget the unintentional pun in the name: Ashe Stadium, built on top of what was once New York’s largest dump of incinerated ash. The seats are clustered so tight and small and high around the court that the effect is vertiginous and slightly nauseating, even when glimpsed on TV. A couple of weeks from today the US Open will start up again and it’ll become a hot, humid cavern for a brawl, packed every night to the rafters with screaming fans. 

It’s odd somehow that they still manage to do it. I’m a fan, but even to me tennis still seems like an odd, anachronistic sport; a sport for people who don’t really like other sports. When there isn’t a Grand Slam on, it’s difficult to watch, and when there is a Grand Slam there’s inevitably too many matches spread across too few channels, squeezed into too few hours of the day. It is supremely impractical, elitist, difficult. It also has a strangely internationalist flavour. Devout fans of particular flavours might drape themselves in a flag, but for the most part you don’t go to a tennis match to support your home country. (That the Davis Cup, once the great international World Cup of tennis, is now teetering on the verge of irrelevance, is surely the exception that proves the rule.)

Today’s big name players reside in Monte Carlo and travel the world for ten or eleven months of the year. Their home country is relegated to the status of the little flag alongside their name on the scoreboard. They play for themselves; the extent to which that self represents that flag is entirely up to them. And yet that only serves to make the achievements of its early masters more impressive in retrospect. That Ashe in particular did all that he did in an era where tennis stars had no expectation of the level of reward and popularity they enjoy today, and when he in particular faced such outright racism while rising through the ranks, seems nothing short of miraculous. But again, such is the nature of tennis that while Graebner and Ashe could share a stage as Davis Cup teammates, they represented entirely different ways of life. That American flag next to their names meant nothing at all when they faced each other across the net.